By Chad Carlson
The title says it all. I've been cursed with family deaths... Let me explain. 1 grandmother and 2 uncles is 3 deaths in the last 4 months. 5 weeks ago my grandmother passed, my uncle Tom was found dead 6 weeks before her death and at 7 A.M. my phone rang to inform me that my last remaining uncle was found dead. Like the superstition death came in 3's and the numbers were in order... Odd to think about... But on that note I'm going to get off of this and crawl back into bed or the nearest hole and pretend none of this ever happened.
Where is the canvas? The little girl said.
Her father was a cut-up type artist, went by Odd Ned.
I will use your face and your hair I think.
She was relieved that her Daddy used a bit of pink.
You have the coolest daddy! The kids all said.
She loved his creation so much, she did not want to go to bed.
I am afraid when I wake up it will all go away, she told her Mom.
Go wash it away, he can make another one, said her Uncle Tom.
he is big and fierce, a mean looking ogre too.
On his bald head is an enormous spider tattoo.
My boyfriends all became terrified, they stayed away.
His name is Mad Manfork, with them he loves to play.
Why did you have to fall in love with him I asked Mom.
It was either this yahoo or your weird uncle Tom.
You mean in the whole world there were only two?
She nodded her head, and said, less than a few.
Giants are hard to come by in these times I know.
But having Mad Manfork as my dad keeps boyfriend level low.
Once they meet him, they dump me and run promptly away.
Potential suiters are especially terrified that my Dad likes to play.
...He brother railed at her when they were wed,
‘Uncle Tom, race traitor!”such words were said,
‘Raised by a white man, you’ll mess up your son!”
She just rolled her eyes, and said, “Are you done?”
She had no more time for her brother’s hate,
it impeded with a life that was great,
Keenan had a new dad, and soon sisters three,
no more self-destruction, no more misery.
Steampunk Cat had some weird feelings in his head.
They clanged around against metal, filled him with dread.
Something is happening, he told his Uncle Tom Stead.
I feel a storm is coming, that might make us dead.
Tom was a cagey old codger, all curiosity gone.
He rolled over sleepily on the couch he was on.
Steampunk has made you suspicious he told his nephew.
Even if a tornado comes, it probably will not get you.
Steampunk Cat did not know what to make of this.
He rolled his eyes merrily and blew his uncle a kiss.
His uncle never got stressed or excited anymore, he was old.
His advice was sage however, incredibly gold.
He came into my room glowering.
I rolled my eyes, but inside my head, silently, so he could not see.
He comes to me daily, to get away from his “mean” teacher.
I am feeling a bit mean myself.
What happened?
She is teaching math, she is looking mean at me, I hate her.
I know this child well; he truly just wants to play in a sand pile.
And he despises math like I despise math; I keep this thought a secret.
We play in the sand pile and he says “My uncle died.”
I ask him “when?”
He says “we don’t know, we have not found his body yet.”
I said “How do you know he died?”
He glares at me. “Mom and me went to his house this weekend.
We knocked and knocked, and no one came.”
I am on board so far.
Mom pointed to Rex’s water bowl and said “You know what this means don’t you?”
Rex is his dog?
Head nod.
“What did it mean?”
“It means Uncle Tom is dead. He would never let Rex run out of water.”
In the fantasizing brains of all Nigerian Fulanis,
Including their kindergarten still urinating on nannies;
All the entries and exits within country’s Aso Rock
To keep obeying their adjustable, Fulani clock!
Presently, the unstoppable aspiration of the Purest Hausa teens
Recklessly announcing the same to their napkins:
The Achilles Heel of the Brazilian Football Team,
Easily her ruinous tears commanding,
When she should a loser’s smile beam,
This, thorough Good Breeding demanding.
By the United States beautifully masked,
In her playing of Uncle Tom, enormously tasked;
Her millions of Dollars readily releasing
A loved President, the next election, losing!
To nearly every deprived tribe
Something to fight with the fattest bribe
Or surrender with a loaded gun
Making sure it doesn’t away run!
I’ve tried to The Mentality justify,
Baring a Bible verse that does it fortify…
Or so to me it had seemed
Or, probably, I has deemed…
‘The Elder shall serve The younger’…
And God must’ve, the service years, made longer!
He's a black cop
in the neighborhood
He protects his people
a force for good
Dials down the heat
when he's on the beat
Keeps the 'boyz at bay'
on the ghetto streets
Moms and Grandmas
glad he's around
Troubled teens
cast eyes to the ground
Then this year in the month of June
Protestors taunted, 'You dumb raccoon'
'You're an Uncle Tom; yes you are
Take off that badge; turn in your star'
Every rock and bottle they threw
struck his guilty conscience too
He hung in there for seven nights
But on the eighth, he gave up the fight
Now he's tormented -- What to do?
He can't beat 'em; so should he join 'em?
~ Wait! Didn't he already pay those dues?
I’m in a Ultimate Rap league/
Of raps supreme/
Knowledge reigns three hundred sixty degrees/
Smack haters google me/
Can’t this my hidden identity/
(“YAHU”) \THE ALMIGHTY/
I’m favored Highly/
Barring em to death the Irony/
Barbarian/
Barbaric/
The bars bearing /burying/them/
Heavy burdens/
They in my nest the birds dens/
I’m not cowardly dog/ I’m pushing bravery to courage/
You not cowardly god through (“JESUS”) we can overpower the odds/
You all can feast on these bombs/
Dynamites I see you UNCLE TOM/
(“JESUS”) MY ROCK
I beat em with my ROD
CUTTING THE GRASS the beast in my crops/
This my territory/ I’m tearing through Tory lanes/
I’m eating bugs bunny carrots shorty/
Silly rabbits in the turtle race my back strong as a tortoise/
Daffy ducks it’s rabbit and duck season/
(intro)
There is a vampire
in my dreams
that Sing calls
uncle tom
he treats me like
a sun indeed
he's not the only one
he sneaks inside
my tired mind
I don't know how
to sleep
and sucks the dreams
right out of me
along with memories
my mother was a hamster, man
my father was a goat
I myself am
feeling lost
like in a sinkin boat
the one I love, or maybe two
smokes salmon in the night
people know I
I love him so
but he is not so bright
(lead)
he treats me like a sun indeed
and he's Not the only one
I dunno how or why or who
is able to finish this song
(outro)
Brown nose,
head bowed low
Sniffing submissively so
Wag the sniveling tongue,
show the power privileged ones
much servile love
Catch the prime scraps
tossed from your master’s table
Give a howl of gratitude,
back bent ... eyes to the floor
Do a lot of begging for a little more
Disgruntled windbag gas,
from the top cat sphincter mouth crack,
wafts in an odious fashion
Pet brown noses love that unappetizing smell
Obsequious odor
is their collared passion
Pungent leftover scent passed over
bottom end face down —
Complete compliance drool dripping
grovel to the ground
Beggarly you beagle bark
for an extra morsel
Missy gives you a moonshine treat
out the backdoor
Brown nose do as you’re told,
and your belly
will always stay belch full
Sleepy eyes resting by the Uncle Tom cabin fire,
the odor of rotten servitude pleases you
So in lap tongue love with your desired
bowel oppression fate
As you dog-eared wait
for an anticipated olfactory taste
of the next tummy toilet pull
He lies in peace beneath this tree
where death by shock came suddenly.
That thunderbolt struck Uncle Tom-
he faced the storm before the calm.
April 16, 2019
Premiere Contest: Your Best Light-Verse Poetry
Sponsor:L Milton Hankins
Uncle Tom and me are limerick queens
A bit on the feminine side we tend to lean
Only speaking for me
I still stand up to pee
But wearing a bra sends a message guaranteed
He’s got a job, he works real heard,
Got an apartment, and a used car,
He puts in the hours, bears the scars
That is the path he’s on.
Gets a promotion, then moves away
To a nice suburb, he’s bound to stay,
With room for some kids to run and plan,
Even a space for his old mom.
Gets drinks with work friends, meets a girl
She smiles at him, and his whole world,
Comes to him as they wedding-dance twirl,
Another there is none.
He settles on in, is living his life
He’s found his was free of old strife,
A kid on the way; a fine, lovely wife,
He handles it with aplomb.
But those he once knew, sorely lack
the success he has, the winning track,
They say he’s forgotten being black,
They think that he did wrong.
The call him race-traitor, a sell-out.
Most vicious slurs, they do spout
their own ‘wokeness’ they loudly tout,
They call him ‘Uncle Tom.’
But he listens not, never again
will he let himself be defined by them,
His choices he’ll make until the end,
That is the path he’s on,
It’s a path both sweet and long.
Tam Pierce
a gray mare
the circus-clowns' car
old uncle Tom Cobbley et al
going to Widecombe Faire
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