Replying to a comment on:

Black streets of Hackney (Free verse) by cpill

Young men gang the streets looking for a time Watch the clocks trickle time Life makes no friends with dreams They wear their ideals sold to them at full price For the youth here destiny is only tomorrow The answers are always under English rubber stamps (which you can not have nigger) Coldly smothering the fetus: rebellion Night frays the edges of appearance The whitehate blind dates the hateblack They are unfaithfully with any passer by Poverty stokes Hackneys fires Burn the lands to dry barren earth On which these dark seeds lay strewn.

-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. 19-Aug-04/7:09 AM
"Burn the lands to dry barren earth
On which these dark seeds lay strewn."

If only the government would adopt a similar policy of ethnic fire bombing. Look at what Britain has become: Ethnic foods stain our cobbles, tainting the earth in vast swathes of brown; Ethnic smells pollute our parks and town squares, sullying our nostrils with the filth of distant, foreign lands; Ethnic wipes litter our streets and places of work - is it any wonder Gentlemen have taken to wearing gloves at all times? It's all decent, civilised people can do to keep from accidentally reaching for a teacup only to find you've picked up some monstrously soiled tow'lette instead. No Sir, this is not the land I once loved; a land in which all men were free to stroll through the gardens of St James, gay and carefree, unhampered by the constant, crippling fear that at any moment you could end up tredding on a giant upturned turban stuffed full of spicy sausage meats. -10-




Track and Plan your submissions ; Read some Comics ; Get Paid for your Poetry
PoemRanker Copyright © 2001 - 2024 - kaolin fire - All Rights Reserved
All poems Copyright © their respective authors
An internet tradition since June 9, 2001