Race/Ethnicity

Bait

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The Early Works

I’m not saying you’re easy
But you aint making it hard
The way you act to tease me
Aint getting this dark

I don’t mean to dislodge serenity
But you’re creating your image off a stolen identity
You wonder why eyes are cutting, automatic enmity
Cos your attempts to be indigenous
Fit in is based on ignorance
Yet you do it with all diligence like chameleon shark
Your whole dress and swagger are walks in the park
Swinging your bits to fling yourself at anything dark

You want to call yourself a Naija Girl
Once he fills you with his Naija world
All you want is that boom shack a lack
You want that big black cock
Back shots giving head
Cos he made your body rock back
You want to call yourself a Yardie girl
Because he filled you with his yardie world

I aint saying you’re an easy target lady
But your chocolate orange tan wont match your mixed race babies
I got no problems with mixing races
But your simple flavours aint for my taste buds

I feel the buzz of a thousand stings
Blinding like the bling of a thousand rings
I see a bait-a-black and I hear a thousand dings
Avoid, Avoid! She’ll learn a thousand things
Playing one big game called arouse the kings
Who dares wins but I won’t play with her
She’ll take the W off woman and put it on Wigg-er
If it wasn’t for the law she’d say she loves her Nigg-er
Its not a case of Beyonce, Blondes or Bigger
It takes more than a figure to get the balance right
But this chick only hooks up with stereotypes
I should call her pasture blaster
Sony or Panasonic
Cos regular folk she looks past but anything hot black she’s on it
She’s a hole sale chav
Super sonic wag wannabe
But Wha Gwaan aint got Wog in it honestly

I aint saying your easy
But take some of the blame
Girls like you but the good ones to shame
If bait-a-black is your only game
What are you giving other than time body and name

See you might chat patois
Understand everyting
Speak to every trib e in their own tongue
but what do you bring?
Where is Your Culture
I’m trying to make you think
See any girl lost in me has to come black from the brink
Till then I’ll sing

I aint saying your easy
But you aint making it hard
The way you try to please me
Makes you a walk in the park

Said I don’t want to call you easy
But you don’t make it hard
Never want to call you easy
But you obviously are
Bait

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colored

don't paint your colors on me

when you're too blind to see

that there's so much more to me

than you'll likely understand



i'm more than just a shade of white

that creeps up on you late at night

and slowly disappears at light

to hide into the day



all the words you need to hear

fall silently on your dead ears

they fall away like wasted years

but i've said them just the same



i'm not tuned into color schemes

you live in lands of make-believe

where nothing is quite what it seems

and hatred's all around



if you choose to be my friend

you must do more than just pretend

you've got a mind that transcends

the pettiness of time



if you're big enough to look through

the labels here that have no proof

and know there are no absolutes ~

we are all the same.

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Untitled -- 4.21.2010

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

I do not wince at misfortune



Rather praise for trails

I see my brothers and sisters fall

I pray to be broken



For the weak are the strongest

Humble are the Grateful



My God crucified  for grace and forgiveness

I will fear no evil

Because  my God is alive

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sharecropper

from dawn til dusk

i toil my land

skin sore and spotted

by the blistering sun

my brow damp with sweat

my hands dark and dirty

once i heard

my fathers were kings

and now my riches

are claimed by a man

who never kneeled

to toil my land

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THE COLOURS OF MY AFRICAN INHERITANCE

Red is for the blood I share with Kunta Kente

That indelible ink that flows through these veins

So justice unserved left empty plates till this day

Yellow for the gold that was sold off by my folks

The wealth of my people stacked on foreign boats

For the cowards that sold their own tribe men's souls

Green for every family tree rooted, generations recruited

Sons from fathers parted;

Daughters from mothers abducted

Black is for the hue on my skin

The hope of my kin

Then, now and again!



Red is for the rage I have for the recurring civil wars

The continual exploitation of our poor

The brain drain that leaks from our shores

Yellow for the increasing immigration fever

Tribalism,ethnicity and political anomaly from above and nether

For those that refuse to see a brighter future

Green for our young and staggering economies

The pawn of Western strategies

The pasture on the other side of the fence, the reason I left thee

Black for the colour of my pupil

The once blinded vision I now keep vigil

The perception of hope for my people



Red is for the blood I will share with my children's fold

Yellow for the richness of their minds acquired from the old

Green for a replenished generation, hopeful and bold

Black is for their social caste

That which they now embrace in haste.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

As the title suggest I talk   as a young African living abroad coming to terms with my disgraceful history,seemingly hopeless present but sharing a common revolutionary cry as a proud African child. I align these colours to the colours of the national flag of my native GHANA!

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Gesindl!

Martini a year ago now,

The saints day,

Martinsmass,

Not the drink.

The children,

Happy playing with brightly coloured lanterns.

Eat milk bread shaped like a man.

After the long procession through the town.

We take shelter, briefly, from the intense cold.

The old half-timbered pub next to the church.

The land-lord and his wife, old friends, join us at the table.

Another old friend and colleague, a Scotsman, joins us.

My neighbour comes in with his daughter.

Uncomfortable in a public house, he is a Russian German.

Raised in Khasakhstan,

After Stalin deported Russia’s Germans speaking minorities from the Volga.

A strict Baptist, out of his territory, he is pleased to see a face he knows.

His daughter needs to use the toilet.

I beckon him to the table and introduce him to the others.

Two elderly fur clad German ladies occupy the table next to us.

They order coffee.

The Land-lady wipes their table down.

I know one of the ladies.

A regular church goer.

She owns a good deal of property in the town.

Left to her by her lawyer husband of one year.

He took poison in 1968.

We once rented a flat from her, for two years.

Before we were married.

It ended in accrimony and a court case which she brought,

And lost.

She recognises me and takes in the rest with a disparaging look.

And with a sweeping gesture of the hand.

Asks the land lady.

"Was ist das für ein Gesindl?"

Gesindl – Rabble, - Riff Raff, the class which serves.

Un word, missing from modern dictionaries.

It was used too much by a previous generation.

To mean.

Underclass,

Un-people,

Inferior breeds,

Non humans.

I detest this woman.

And now my blood boils.

Not so fast however as that of the land lady.

In meinem Kneipe kennen wir kein Gesindl!

Und NAZIs wollen wir nicht kennen!

Sie haben hier Hausverbot!

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Mysterectomy

nourish common misconceptions

a conquest goes unaided

elaborate

em,bellish

entangled within this thorned labyrinth

no visibility surrounding everything

nor stones to follow home

ignorance

ugliness

integrity spilling from the wounds

no innosence remains inadequate

nor riteousness to call upon

sanctum

sordid

someone falls prey to the illness

no family to see this night

nor the child to hug once more

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Alien Nation



I entered the small shop and found the few things I required.

The shop-keeper viewed me with suspicion,

Standing chatting with his family at the till.  He never let me out of his sight.

As I approached to pay, silence fell, like an axe.

“Good morning” I said.

No response was forthcoming.

No pleasantries were exchanged.

I paid and left the shop, fully aware that I didn’t belong.

My custom was not wanted there, In the village where my family have lived and farmed for four centuries.

In the melting-pot,

alien-nation.


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I'm Married to This Muslim Arab

I'm married to this Muslim Arab,

A lovely woman who wears the hijab.

Our differences dissolve in love

Of God, of life, of one another.

A lovely woman who wears the hijab

Comes naked to my marriage bed.

Of God, of life, of one another,

We then say not a single word.



Comes naked to my marriage bed,

As naked as we are to God.

We then say not a single word,

But silently I thank the Lord.



As naked as we are to God,

Our differences dissolve in love,

But silently I thank the Lord

I'm married to this Muslim Arab.

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