Social Justice – Page 2 – Fevers of the Mind

#stopthehate challenge poem by Pasithea Chan : Able & Sable Hearts in Color & Deed

Able & Sable Hearts in Color & Deed

The world is a stable filled with creatures both able & unstable.
Those who are able have hearts capable of empathy towards their community.
But those who are unstable have hearts so sable they cripple humanity.
Their differences define a life of dignity for the rest of humanity.

Able hearts play their parts sorting people by acts
not words in the name of equality & justice
But sable hearts take part in breaking people’s hearts
sorting them by color to spread terror in the name of service.

Able hearts have peaceful minds that analyze words
to sort what they fear from what they see or hear.
But sable hearts have broken minds that pander to their fear
blinding their eyes with what their hearts steer.

Able hearts are driven by compassion to foster good even if late
because for them right and wrong are black and white.
But sable hearts are driven by obsession to spread blind hate
because for them freedom is a bait to catch black enjoying whats white.

Able hearts will do what’s fair because they care
But sable hearts will just be there to hunt those unaware.
Like day and night, one is light bringing wealth
the other is dark with crime bringing death.

Show me a man who ran & I’ll show you fear from those near.
But show me a man who stood his ground & I’ll show you justice.
There are many George Floyds and Breonna Taylors out there
but sadly there are few who truly care or dare
to say times have changed yet sable hearts haven’t
Because right and wrong are not the only black & white
In a world where grey is for those who chose to bray
blind lies to hide behind a colorful rind.

In the end, hearts and minds dictate the kind
of life we lead not our colors because we all bleed Red
So how can color decide who is good or bad?
We are all one; color is just one kind of human kind
I’m sure we can agree that deeds can sort the human kind.

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology. Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction. To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

3 poems by Pasithea Chan : Fist in the Mist, Frozen Smiles & Melting Moons and Threading Stars

Love and Poetry by Pasithea Chan

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Pasithea Chan

#stopthehate challenge poem by Sarika Jaswani

Stop the hate poem 

Below the lambent candor of periwinkle sky
Beneath redolent shades of sovereign sun
In a garden of remembrance lays a Martyr

Farther from littered complexities
Yonder of stinking grudges

Away from leaking old bottles of comparisons
Mildew and rotting timber of America's foundation

Off the beaten track
Floyd breathes beyond color of skin

Where grief ceases to be transient
And shuns mute palette of emotions

At the end of rainbow
where they each call out and
Say their names 
There rests a harbinger of hope and change.

Wolfpack Contributor: Sarika Jaswani

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Sarika Jaswani (artincrochet)

Bio: Doctor by profession. I'm a Crochet Artist, Art Tutor Writer of Children's Stories, Philanthropist. Poet. Published. Passionately reads & writes poetry. Art Lover. Bird lover. Dreamer and blogger.Published on 'Tide Rises Tide Falls' & on Medium with A Cornered Gurl @ACG @Scittura 

Fevers of the Mind Poetry on WordPress
Silver Birch Press
The Organic Poets 
A frequent VSS prompt writer on twitter
My poems run on theme of love, reflection and philosophy of life.

ArtinCrochet on Twitter @sarikajaswani

#stopthehate challenge Poem for George Floyd by Catrice Greer : Come Home

Come Home

Come Home a poem for George Floyd (June 7, 2020 Catrice Greer)

These wombs, sacred,
we build placenta worlds of blood and bone
cord by cord, cells churning with life
a zygotic landscape

s .. a .. f .. e

safe from gunshots, lethal force, blue bias, blows
safe from bent-tongued accusations, chokeholds, grief
tears and pain light-years away
the amniotic sac aglow
you hear only my voice

Mommy …

I walked with you, my love, my sun
floating close to my own heartbeat
tethered in the mitochondrial house
we are one
my peace, your peace

my child, to lose you to this world
that does not know you
never carried you
is not the deep-rooted tree of life I birthed
a premature exit is not the afterbirth of my labor

Call my name
when the end is near
I will come again for you
I will come again for you, my angel
my sweetness
you will reside here with me, rest in peace.
Come home.

breathe
breathe
breathe

Fevers of the Mind Interview Catrice Greer w/poetry “Yearning Through the Fog” & “Cortical Cartography”

#StopTheHate Poetry Challenge for Social Justice, Injustice Poetry, Essays, Rants & Unity

Bio: Catrice Greer @cgreer_greer is a poet and writer who resides in Baltimore, Maryland. She is a 2020, Pushcart Prize Nominee. In November 2020, Catrice served as a Cheltenham Poetry Festival, Poet in Residence. Catrice’s poetic work explores a range of topics about the human condition. She currently performs as a featured poetic artist or via poetry artist collectives in international virtual open mics. Her recent poems were published in Icefloe Press, the historic Afro-American Newspaper, a Phenomenal Womxn Anthology, Baltimore Health Behavioral Services art gallery, and local newsletters. She is currently working on publishing her first chapbook.

3 social justice poems by Samantha Terrell : “Advocacy” “Who We Are” & “Hurry Up Justice”

Advocacy

What happens when all the advocates are gone, and those who profit
Unknowingly from battles fought by others, must learn to cope
Without
The hope

Of realizing change? Then,
The ones whom martyrdom didn’t spare,
Will no longer be enslaved by the victims
Who took for granted their wares

And the rest will be left
Questioning their fates.
But those who sought their downfall, while victorious,
Will find the only game they won was hate.

Who We Are

We are the terrorists,
Who condone the murders of
Innocent children on their school buses, or
Lock them away from parents and loved ones,
Giving them a foil-blanket
Substitute for comfort.

We are the unreasonable,
Who close off
Our safe harbors—
The same ones our ancestors
Were offered—
From others.

We are the presumptuous,
Supposing the world
Will keep giving to us
Without repercussions
For our actions, while we
Continue our greedy consumption.

This is what it means
To be American,
In the land who shot the man
Who said, “We shall overcome!”
So, if this is who we are,
Who, then, shall we become?

Hurry up, Justice!

Hurry up, Justice! Haven’t you tarried long enough?
Masses wait in silence,
Or rage, or somewhere in-between
And still you taunt us with your absence.
Still, you mock us with your lingering, looming sense,
Withheld from our grasp.

But, you were never ours to hold.
So we push and prod to no avail.
We pray and
Wait
For you to prevail.
But Justice,
We’ve heard your arc is long.
We beg your Narrator to keep us strong.

Bio: Samantha Terrell, author of Vision, and Other Things We Hide From (Potter’s Grove Press, 2021) is a widely published American poet whose work emphasizes self-awareness as a means to social awareness. Her poetry can be found in many fine publications, and her work has been featured on Sunny G Radio Glasgow, Dublin-based Eat the Storms podcast, and “The Open Collaboration” all-acoustics show (Bristol, U.K.). She writes from her home in upstate New York, where she lives with her husband and their two sons.

http://www.samanthaterrell.com

Poetic Trinitas poem (pdf) from Samantha Terrell : Visual Broadcasting

2 New Poems by Elizabeth Castillo : New Start & Black Dolls for Christmas

New Start

In all my languages, I have found there is no word for you. Although most vowels are the same, no matter where they sit on your tongue,
and life goes on, I’ve noticed, and tries to drag one along with it. But my bags are not packed. This time I do not travel light, or alone.

You’re mistaken if you think I’ve folded all this up neatly behind me.
You’re an idiot if you think I don’t know your twitter feed by heart.

I want to be like that crab that builds itself from bits of detritus- that decorates its shell with rubble from the sea floor. To feel and not feel, and breathe while underwater, to be a hundred people, a hundred creatures, and not be anyone at all.

Who said that healing from mishap and mischief is linear? Who gets to decide the shape of my bruises but me?

Such a tiny thing! Such small, such humdrum hours- all rolled up together into a quiet avalanche. Like a leech, I can’t shake this nuisance from my ankle, beneath each stone, battalions of fire ants advance. If I can’t carry this on board, I will sew it to my ribcage: (I’d like to see them try and prise it off me then!) Dawn is just the start of another day, when the
aircraft shudders, then dips, then plunges into the horizon. Down below, in the cargo hold, I’ve packed most of myself safely away.

You’re deluded if you think I’m not taking you with me. You’re a fool if you think I’m ever leaving this alone.

Black dolls for Christmas

A pair of black dolls sit under the tree,
waiting for my girls,
with a gripe about how hard they were to find.
And this is veal. Do you know veal?
Oh look! Another book,
Collected short stories from West Africa.
And… is that… a pot of shea butter?
Oh no, false alarm. It’s body cream.
A fruit-based concoction of some kind.
Smells like that pineapple I’ve been asked to carve.

They mean well, his family,

(although their ancestors didn’t.)

It’s the thought that counts
What thought was that exactly?

(I know what their ancestors thought.)

They don’t mean anything by it,
they want you to feel at home.
Home, my home?

(I thought they’d taken my home.)

In the lift, I nudge, and nod towards them,
the mixed-race couple, she- brown, he- white.
He- a tourist, she- a local delight.
“Do you see us?” I ask. You shake your head
and pull me close. I believe you.
But this is what they all see.

They mean well, these people,

when they called me bold. Exotic. “Audace!”
When their eyes snap to you for confirmation
as if you speak for both of us.
They mean well, these people,
with their books and black dolls
and explanations, and pineapples.

They mean well, these people,
But their ancestors didn’t.

Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Elizabeth M. Castillo 

 6 Micropoems from “Cajoncito: Poems on Love, Loss, y Otras Locuras” by Elizabeth M Castillo

photo by Elian Jushari on Unsplash.com