Tag Archives: poetry

The natives are revolting Carruthers old boy

I am a 72 year old white man. I cannot go out to join a protest as I am currently in self-isolation so my protest is in the poem below.

The natives are revolting Carruthers old boy                                                           wind blows, rain falls but the blood spilt on the land
is never blown or washed away.
Cherokee, Apache, Arapaho and Sioux…..
Hey Joe where you going with that gun in your hand,
to wipe those painted savages clean off this land.

The natives are revolting Carruthers,
 well Fortesque you know what to do,
just pop out and shoot a few,
put the rest in chains and throw them on the boats
and make sure you beat a Zulu or two

I gotta chop down cane or pick a bale o’ cotton.
The money lust English are on tour again.
The sun beats down but there’s no bright new day
At night the cross is lit for the murdering KKK.

Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves.
The stately homes of England were built on the bones of slaves.
Colonialism, Empire and Commonwealth to boot
The great English history of pillage, slaughter , loot.

 Michael McCormack

Poetry: In memory. x

Your strength is your weakness
Your poise a disgrace
Your indifference, no mercy
As you knelt by his face

Your hand in your pocket
With a casual pose
Your arrogant distaste
That so few of us knows

Your power misused
And your status no more
Your act of no mercy
Now we close your door

How could you not care
Your image now world wide
How could you murder the innocent
We are not on your side

You bring shame to our homes
You bring shame on your own
How could you not hear him
As he lay there and moaned

What hatred you harbour
In your position of power
This cannot continue
It is the day, it is the hour

For unite we all must
Against racism unpure
Now is the time
Now we must be sure

Each voice must be heard
Each human, black or white
This must end, this must finish
Not another day, or another night

So for now, we all pray
That never again
Will discrimination win
And cause so much widespread pain

Lolly
2020

Poetry: Who Killed George Floyd by Trevor Homer

Who was it killed George Floyd?

Not I said the cop, I’m just employed

to do a job, and felt annoyed that

Just because he used his weight

To crush his windpipe and suffocate him

On the street in broad daylight, while 3 more officers

Held him down, like in so many other towns.

I only acted in self-defence,

to save the white folk from attack, he just happens to be
black.

You know our policy – Aim to Kill

He shouldn’t have passed that dollar bill.


Who was it killed George Floyd?

It wasn’t I said the passer by.

I pay my tax like all the rest,

And want the cops to keep me safe.

I just stopped to take a look,

I always do things by the book.

He must have done something wrong,

For them to hold him down so long,

I walked away when I heard him shout,

‘I can’t breathe, please let me out’!


Who was it killed George Floyd?

Not I said the teacher who taught him well

In practise for his living hell.

He wouldn’t listen to me at all

However much I made him crawl.

You might say it was neglect, but

He never showed me any respect.

Always expected to finish last,

Always put at the back of class.

I just kept him off the street,

Until his time came to leave.

There’s plenty more where he came from,

Mother’s grieving for another son.

You can say life’s unfair, but don’t blame me,

I wasn’t there.


Who was it killed George Floyd?

Not I said the man at the Labour exchange,

Even though he was unemployed.

I tried my best to arrange a job,

Sure, it was 12 hours a day that

Didn’t even cover rent.

By the time you’re paid the money’s spent.

It doesn’t matter what you do,

You’ll find his kind are never content.

I’m not saying I’m better than him,

But it helps to have white skin.

‘Cos every time he gets in line,

There’s a million others to stand behind.


Who was it killed George Floyd?

Not I said the populist journalist

I just tell it like it is.

I listen to what the people say,

Then turn it ‘round the other way.

I check the facts with utmost rigour,

Then make it sound like propaganda.

You can’t deny the facts are true,

It’s just a different point of view.


Ask my editor, he agrees,

It’s all about the sale of copies.

Who was it killed George Floyd?

Not I said the President from his lair

But then, I don’t really care.

Talking to the howling faithful,

Telling them they should be grateful

Living in the land of plenty,

With half the country’s pockets empty.

Using them to take the blame

And make America great again.

To be the first, to be the best,

To fuel the flames of racial unrest,

With cops who acts as judge and jury,

His ‘Land of the Brave – Home of the Free.’

Trevor Homer / June 1st 2020