This week let’s write a poem with the words freedom, justice and protest in it. This is another of those prompts where I randomly choose three words from a list of the top 1000 words in the English language plus a few of my favorites. However, this time the words were chosen quite deliberately. Post your poems in the comments below.
I missed Freedom. Does mentioning an abolitionist count?
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A lovely tribute to Black History and, yes, even though one of the three word prompt was missed this one definitely counts. Well done!
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https://bartbarkerpoet.com/2023/01/16/the-arc-of-the-moral-universe-is-long-but-it-bends-toward-justice/
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I like the clarity and sentiment of this work.
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Cosplay
Her pouted lips
show protest
to the restrain
She wants freedom
from the rope
tied around her limbs
“Say it!”
He commands
“Justice is being served
Your Honour!”
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Ha! BDSM cosplay, apparently. 😉
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I was determined to write a piece that is alternative to the apparent prompt words. I guess to some degree, I achieved that goal. 🤓
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Goal achieved, prompt contrarian!
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😊
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Sassy! This was unexpected. Thank you for the twist on the prompt.
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I am glad you like it. Thank you JeanMarie.
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Migration Protestation
Don’t put your suitcase on the bed
in a hotel room, they say,
the bathtub is a better bet,
as a disinfectant sluice-way.
Bugs deplore shiny inanimate ceramic
no traction or sanguine treat at all,
on that smooth, cool, slick surface,
bereft of blood to siren its call.
You could help a bedbug refugee from Istanbul or Teneriffe
to freedom in the idle, succulent, west
yet to leave him/her hungry and oppressed,
is in your own manifest self-interest.
Perhaps travel is a right for all
who share the blood, and yet,
those who are once bitten and twice warned,
ignore justice and harbor no regret.
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Ha! Nice one and good advice for staying in any fleabag hotel. Well done!
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Thank you, Bartholomew!
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Thanks, Bartholomew!
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I will never go to a motel or hotel again without doing this.
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This is semi-cheating, I know, but still … a version, extracted from a (just now) published poem of mine, shortened, changed for this rendition, but still the facts, true, as they happened.
_______________________________________________________________
I remember the evening Dr. King died …
Me, a full-time 3rd shift police clerk by night,
a full-time college student by day …
At shift change, the desk Sgt.
stood on a rung of the booking desk stool
and shouted, ‘King’s Dead, Shot Dead in Memphis’
Silence, stone silence ensued.
Then cheers. Yes, cheers.
Our lone black officer
fired his riot gun into the air
and stormed out.
Peace? Justice?
No more.
Now only fires. Rage.
No one died in St. Louis that night.
But freedom, so long hoped for,
now buried in the ashes of
what could have been.
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A sad story for a sad time. Thanks for sharing.
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Oh dear Lord save us all.
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Sadly, all true. The only good news from that – there was no “code 1000”, which likely would have led to many deaths. Code 1000 = riot. Heavy weapons would have been deployed and all districts would have “rotated” to the scene, all off duty and aux PD called in … would have been a war zone.
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