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The Negro (Free verse) by Everyone He toils;
Gnarled hands grope the tilth,
Baked-black hide caked in filth:
He's soiled.
He bolts;
O'er the fence, thro' Master's grounds,
Straight into the waiting hounds:
He halts.
He wails;
Bulging lips swell with rage,
Thrashing limbs to break his cage:
He fails.
He stoops;
White palms clenched about the bars,
As Master's whip inflicts new scars:
He droops.
He toils;
Gnarled hands grope the tilth,
Baked-black hide caked in filth:
He's soiled.
Up the ladder:
You tell me
Down the ladder:
Love
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.1666665
Posted: April 21, 2004 3:55 PM PDT; Last modified: April 29, 2004 9:03 AM PDTWeighted score: 5.313765 Overall Rank: 3541 The following users have marked this poem on their favorites list:
Comments:
[n/a]
richa @ 81.178.249.235
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21-Apr-04/4:10 PM
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Reply
Good God Lydia, I know you lean towards the right, but giving this -10- is taking things a little far!
[n/a]
Shuushin @ 207.5.211.177
> richa
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23-Apr-04/8:40 PM
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Reply
its more of a "bending over" to the right.
This is the best poem I have read for ages. Is this a collaborative effort? It's absolutely superb.
I admire the economy of language. SupremeDreamer should take note. He travails; His anfractuous metacarpals impinge upon the alluvium, His cauterized and atramentous integument is begrimed with feculence: He's besmirched. -10-
It's the result of a year-long collaboration between a raging, bulging, crushing desire to write an offensive poeme called "The Negro", and my conscience.
Complete genius. However, I would recommend changing "He's soiled" to "He soils". -9-
By "He soils" do you mean "he soils himself", or "he tends to the soil"?
Or, indeed, "he soils such moveables and/or immoveables as with which he may (from time to time) come into contact"?
nice, but I do have a couple problems. Some of the rhymes sound forced and the ending is nothing special.
however, that jolting sensation? Where you smoothly rhyme two long lines, then go abruptly short? Don't change that.
A dullard;
Widely thought to have an enormous knob, Picks his teeth with a dried corncob: He's coloured.
A darkie;
Says things like 'Right on' and 'brother', Robs the henhouse and engages in other Malarky.
He slouches;
When Master's gone to bed, He sneaks o'er 'hind the shed And crouches.
He stabbéd
The overseer with sawed-off spoon, And when exposed to the light of the moon Goes rabid.
Li'l Dora
Didn't believe us; down by the creek She found him - O! I daren't speak Of the horror!
THIS IS A PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT
NEGRO HOUR WILL BE ENDING IN TEN MINUTES JESU HOUR WILL COMMENCE AS SOON AS NEGRO HOUR ENDS LATER TODAY YOU WILL BE ENCOURAGED TO PARTICIPATE IN NAKED MUD WRESTLING WITH TEENAGE CHRISTIAN VIRGINS PLEASE EAT YOUR GREENS
He slouches;
When [his] Master's gone to bed, He sneaks [away] [behind] the shed And crouches. Better?
The Rajah's Morning Movement by -=Dark_Angel=-
He strains; His royal fruity gas is followed By remains of what he last night swallowed: Chilled monkey brains.
curried monkey brains would be better.
Obviously you have never seen Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Your opinions on all matters are therefore void.
Faces of death has a mint live monkey brain beating to eating that's quite ace!
Wow, Very Very Very intense, strong wording. I really loved the way you wrote this, its so dark, and horrible. Great write
O yer so youv seen ROOTS as well. 6/10 for observation.
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