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Love #1.

E'en her own eyes tell Beauty she is fair;
And Love need know no language save his own
In any clime to read the heart's desire;
The Titicacan and Caucasian's his —
All tongues the theatres and temples where
He plays or prays while e'er the world endures,
And sun and moon, and night and day are true
To their beginning.

poem by Robert Crawford
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Heterosexuality

Were you ready for a virginity test
to cross the umbrella of harpoons.
A chilled moon

will welcome you after slaying
the hot sun in the valley
of gods. A schism scoops

ignominy. Seeing the lights
which were not there. Almost
sexy, the sky pretends to unrobe.

No weeping. A Caucasian brings
red grapes for a naming
ceremony of black password,

searing the age of complicity.
A rocket propelled grenade
is going to blast a whisper.

poem by Satish Verma
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She Is The Best Qualified

Whether she is Latino,
African-American.
Caucasian white!
Or anything they decide to be...
Day or night.
Chinese, Korean, Arab...
Homo, lesbian or transvestite!
Hypocrite or hemorphodite!
She is the best qualified.
Like most folks of color.
If it wasn't for that ignorance used...
This country would not be experiencing,
Its current downslide!
Or racial abuses used,
From the onslaught of insecurities!
She would make a terrific supreme justice.
And perhaps...
With too many over qualifying credentials!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Random Foursome

Just a little while ago,
that bald African-American
who's sitting at the window booth,

that young, unshaven fellow
with the earring and the cap,

that silver-haired Caucasian
daydreaming in his polo shirt

and I, were congregated,
quite by chance
around the coke machine.

'How 'bout a game of golf? '
I could have said,
though of course, they would
have thought me mad.

[...] Read more

poem by Max Reif
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sex ***** CHESS MONARCHY, SEDUCING THE QUEEN

Come play with me

My black horse
ready to abduct the
caucasian queen
as I double-tapped with
the totalitarian king

the unordained bishop
is cornered
meditating for a miraculous
pawn sacramental jihad

I jump thru horse riding
with my mighty armored knight
to capture the virgin queen
in ancient board monarch

out of illicit desire to own
the queen for my life

[...] Read more

poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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There Is Simply Love for the Feast of Valentine

There is no black love
For the feast of Valentino
There is simply: LOVE.

There is no white love
In the cappuccino
There is simply: LOVE.

Coffee will always be black
Milk is sometimes white
And chocolate on occasion brown.

Mix all three and the ending product
Is just kaleidoscopically divine
Out of this world, almost perfect.

Love has a great mind
That’s why he or she is blind
This is something that is hard to find.

[...] Read more

poem by Hebert Logerie (February 2012)
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Prometheus sonnet

Thou brave old Titan, that in chains didst lie,
Bound to the rock on the Caucasian hill,
Who by sublime endurance didst defy
Imperial Jove and all his shapes of ill;
As I invoke thy spirit here to-day, --
From the old Pagan world thou speak'st to me,
I hear thy voice across Time's sounding sea,
Bid me thus bear and conquer. -- I obey.
Henceforth, like thee, I will endure and wait
On life's bleak summit bound, without dismay.
Then in thine iron car roll on thy way,
Thou stern, relentless power that men call Fate,
Loose then thy bolts thou dark and threat'ning sky --
Thou vulture at my heart, feed to satiety!

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Color of Skin

Today we celebrate and cheer.
We all scream today a new era begins.
But wait and ask ourselves has the past really come to an end.
Are we cheering because hope is on the rise?
Or are we cheering just because the color of the man.
and if the latter the dream has yet to come.
Because we did not elect because of content of his charter
most of us voted just because the color of his skin.
Those who are Caucasian mostly voted because it is now
fashionable to be liberal, and us who are black vote mainly
because of the color of his skin.
So as you're cheering saying the dream has come true
understand in order for the dream to be true we all
must see past the color of our own skin.

poem by Lore Me34
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The Story Of White Man Leading Viet Cong Patrol

The Story of White Man Leading Viet Cong Patrol
-AP Dispatch, Des Moines Register, August 4, 1968

The slain enemy resembled
an American Marine
who was 18 years old
when he disappeared.

The violent episode
was one of the strangest
in this strange war.

*

For a moment
the two young men--
the American Marine
and the white man
in the uniform of the enemy--
stared at each other.

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Torgersen
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In High Noon's Heat

In high noon's heat in a Caucasian valley
I lay quite still, a bullet in my breast;
The smoke still rose from my deep wound,
As drop by drop my blood flowed out.

I lay alone upon the valley's sand;
The mountain ledges closed in all around,
Sun burned their yellow peaks
It burned me, too-but deep as death I slept.

I dreamt I saw the shining lights
Of evening feasting in my homeland.
Young maids with flowers in their hair
Spoke gaily of me 'mongst themselves.

But one maid sat apart in thought
And did not enter gaily in,
Her youthful soul was caught it seemed,
Lord God knows how, in some sad dream:

[...] Read more

poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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