Under the Sea

May 17, 2010
By LCHStack75 BRONZE, Placitas, New Mexico
LCHStack75 BRONZE, Placitas, New Mexico
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

They stripped us down,
Treated us like cattle.
We were poked prodded and inspected.
Looked upon with distain by the white man,
Like the color of our skin some how made us less than people.

I ask you now,
Who is the lesser man?
I or the man who looks down upon me,
Puts me below him.
Poem #1
The Big City
Bustling, Vibrant, never stopping.
This place seems to never close, never get quiet.
People coming, and going
But never stopping,
like there is always somewhere they have to be.
The cacophony of the cars sirens and people.
Some say it is like a piece of music.
To us it is ugly noise,
Something we can live without.

But not for my family and I,
The exhaust fills our lungs with every breath,
It is nothing like the air we have in the country,
Crisp clean and best of all smog free.

I proclaim to my family,
“this is not for us, and as the father i proclaim we never move here”
at that i heard a collective sigh of relife.
Poem #2
Van Gogh’s Bedroom
A small room with few amminities.
Save for a wash basin, bed and mirror there was nothing.
There was an odd yellow tint in the room.
This was from the poisons wof the mans trade.
The materials which made him great caused him so much torment.

Poem #3
Bowling Ball Poem 1
Surprisingly enough, even with three eyes i do not see much.
I always have fingers in my eyes.
And when I don’t my whole world starts to spin,
As I am set upon a collision course with the pins at the end of my lane.
After hitting them I am sucked up into a black hole.
Only to come out and do it again, and again.
Day in and day out,
Ooh the monotonous life of a bowling ball
Poem #4
Bowling Ball Poem 2
Yeah, I am the bowling ball.
I am the toughest guy this side of the casino.
I beat up pins for a living, then go and hide underground.
I am the one people come to, to take out problems.
Poem #5
Poetry is an art, it comes from the soul, the heart.
And the poet is an artist.
He takes a collection of words and phrases,
and turns them into a masterpiece.
There once was a man who liked whiskey,
He liked ti so much he got drun as a skunk,
And ended up getting quite frisky,
The next day he woke up he had gotten some funk ,

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