Spitting on MLK"s Face (from Confessions from a Racist)

It ain’t the white man
That drags Martin’s face
Through the mud,
Dragged down with each statue
With the stupid belief
They march with Martin’s legacy
When they barely grace his shadow,
Black Lives Matter
Looking to make history
The way he did,
But lacking the skill or conscience
Or more importantly the brain,
A mob filled with scarecrows
And cowardly lions
And tin men without a heart,
Encourage by ignorant conviction
And self deluded fantasy
As they throw the lynch ropes
Around icons of their enemies
To tear down, never looking down
Into mud to see Martin’s face there, too
Staring up at them,
More in common with Lee
Than this rat pack filled
With black faced scarecrows,
Holding the edge of a rope
In hope to find someone else

They can lynch.

The real racists (from Confessions of a Racist, a satire)

Don’t talk too loudly,
You must be a racist
The only people brave enough
To speak their minds
These days are racists,
Because they don’t care
What people call them,
The deluded do not
Know they are deluded
But always think
They are right
And so keep still
Or you might be called
A racist
Even when you’re not,
Preachers and politicians
Who ought to know better
Keep silent
Too fearful they might
Get scarred with a scarlet letter,
Not so obvious as the Nazi numbers
Yet indelible,
Once a racist always a racist
Or so the saying goes
With us or against us
There is no in-between,
No room for mild voices
Lost in the rail of radical rhetoric
In this civil war
That was not our civil war
But we get dragged down anyway
Like old soldiers’ statues
Because we refuse to stay silent
And speak out against racism
Nobody sees  as racism,
So those who would call it what it is
Stay silent, intimidated
By radicals that have no shame
Mirroring the Nazis they blame
Attacking anyone who would
Call them what they really are.

All the news that’s fit to print (from Confessions of a Racist)

They bleed us like pigs,
Ink dripping from their fingers
As they skew us with words
No poison letters,
Just vicious headlines
Corrupted over time,
And like zombies
They feed off our brains
Until we can’t think without them,
Inky fingers pulling strings
To make us react,
To inspire artificial outrage,
They are the perfect puppet master,
Proving how easily then can control us,
Ruling the world without obvious symbols,
They need no swastikas
To show us they are the master race,
Nor soviet sickle to slice away our history,
And yet, like an iron rod inside a silk sleeve
They violate us,
Stirring up the froth they have created
Inside our brains,
Telling us they give us all the news
That is fit to print,
And like the robots we have become
We believe them.

Making us racist (from Confessions of a Racist)

I do not feel the whip in my hand

Or the rub of rope

I never even imagined either,

Yet they tell me I must pay

For crimes I didn’t commit

On people I never met

Because those people

Have the same color skin as me,

They like me ache to make

Our own decisions,

Make our own mistakes

Good or bad; rich or poor,

Though most who died in that fight

Never owned a whip

Let alone a black back to use it on,

Fighting blue coats not to keep slavery

But to keep some arrogant know it all

From telling them how to live their lives

Telling them what is right and wrong

When they need to

Decide that for themselves,

Knowing that rich are the same

North or south, only the north rich

Learned to hide the whip better

And let other people swing the rope,

Or pay for some poor immigrant

To die in a war that was never meant

To free slaves but to make rich richer,

And now, all these years later

Some new know it all,

Deluded by some new rich guy

Tells us we have to pay the bill

Calling us racist for clinging

To those few shreds dignity

Carpet baggers didn’t get,

Pushing people into becoming racists

The way those know it alls

Pushed people into a war

Nobody wanted to wage,

Hating us then and now

For refusing to kowtow,

To feel shame,

To pine our lives away

For something we never did,

And most of our ancestors never did either,

Painting us into a corner

So that the only way to fight back

The only way to survive with dignity

Is to become what they say we are,

Which is probably what they wanted

All along.

Black lives don’t matter (from Confessions of a Racist)

Black lives don’t matter

No lives do

In this age where everything

Is disposable

Like diapers or razors

Mass produced education

Regurgitated through the hypocrisy

Of abortion clinics called health centers

Or the starvation of welfare checks

Capitalism democrats use to keep people poor,

Race set against race

By a rotten rich until we riot

And still point fingers at each other

As the filthy rich hide

Soros just another Koch Brother

Wearing batman wings as disguised

Just another wizard of oz

Hiding behind a curtain

As he manipulates the levers

That keep us all apart,

Keep us all deceived,

Telling us black lives matter

When only the voting booth does,

Selling us snake oil philosophies

About love which is really hate

About fairness that is unfair,

When all we are doing

Is pumping up their power,

Getting nothing for our investment

Except grief and pain,

Souls sold to his party of that

When they are all the same,

Walking over our backs

Like Egyptian pharaohs did,

All of us, still slaves

White or black or green or orange

Betraying ourselves

With unreal ideologies

that infect us with foolish notions

of justice

even they do not believe

telling us black lives matter

when no lives do,

once they are done with us.

I love you, Kevin Allred (from Confessions of a Racist)

I love you so much

All I want to do it spit in your face

You the bad news bear

With a superiority complex

Fabricating morality you lost

When you gave up religion,

Bent on spreading hate

So as to allow us to feel your shame,

Making up plead guilty

To crimes we never committed

But to which you have pleaded

Guilty for us, forcing us

To incriminate our selves

So you can feel less guilty

About who and what you are,

Fair skinned when all you ever wanted

Was to suffer like a black,

Feel the lash of whip across your back

The way Christ did,

But making us carry the cross

While in your classroom,

You played Pilate,

Making sure you washed

The blood off your hands,

Sending your students out

In your own personal version

Of the Children’s Crusade

Feeling guilty over imaginary historic crimes

But not about the ruined lives

You’ve caused in your classroom,

Arrogantly assuming yourself right

When all you need is for someone

To spit in your face

Pickett's Charge (from Confessions of a Racist, a satire)

If you force me to pick a side
It won’t be your side I pick,
I won’t be part of any rat pack
Of bigots in black face
Deluded into waging a war
They have already won,
Tearing down every bit of history
The way Stalin did
Simply because it offends them
And in doing so, shape themselves
Into the very monsters  they
Perceive the rest of us to be
A mindless mob filled with questionable degrees
From institutions that teach them
How to hate; not think,
A mob that mistakenly deludes itself
Into thinking it has moral high ground
The way the Union Army did at Gettysburg,
Leaving the rest of us to pick a side
And live – as Faulkner claimed –
On the very edge of Pickett’s charge,
Knowing we can’t win against such rage,
Yet knowing we have to try.