A Rainbow Coloured God
God gave us colours in our daily routine,
A clear blue sky the grass so green,
The colours of the mammals, all the life in the seas,
Our rainforest habitat they're all there to please.
Our colour's a gift which we can use and enjoy,
Yet it's also an issue we can use to destroy,
This subject is unique to the human race,
That we can judge another by the colour on their face.
Racism is prevalent wherever you travel,
It's a problem the scientists have failed to unravel,
We claim to love colour but that's strictly not true,
If you're the wrong shade there could be trouble for you.
We claim to be intelligent yet nuance is still used,
As a reason for hatred an excuse to be abused,
If only we could accept that we are what we are,
Racism would die we'd be on an equal par.
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poem by Bri Mar
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The Colour Of Our Skin
Why are we obsessed with a persons colour,
When life without it would be so much duller,
We only get one chance in this life,
Yet another's shade can cause so much strife.
We'll buy black and white paint without thinking twice,
Decorate Yellow and Red and say it looks nice,
Yet when it comes to the colour of a persons face,
For some unknown reason we think of their race.
Why do we create this terrible mess?
We are all human beings, no more no less,
Regardless of colour it's perfectly true,
One colour can do anything the other can do.
Let's try and put this into perspective,
All other life forms are just not as selective,
Colour to them is mainly for disguise,
It is also an attraction which pleases their eyes.
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poem by Bri Mar
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Lies, Damned Lies And Statistics
World politicians adore the stat,
It can hide their lies in any format,
They can say we are now out of recession,
Despite the fact we're still in a depression.
What is this miracle we call the stat,
I hear you all ask what exactly is that,
Politicians will tell you that yes it's a fact,
If it's based on a stat then they will act.
They are the ultimate masters of the stat,
It can hide their deceit during a chat,
They truly are masters of their craft,
They'd have us believe that we're all daft.
Homes repossessed are contained in a stat,
Their figures are lower than we know they're at,
But the truth is different we're out on the street,
The fact is their stats are full of deceit.
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poem by Bri Mar
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I Told You I Was Ill
I'm lying on a cold wet slab,
I seem unable to breathe,
Is it because I smoked too much?
That thought just makes me seethe.
The pathologist said as he went in,
The cause of death I think,
Is the fact this guy smoked far too much?
He also enjoyed his drink.
I'm trying my best to answer back,
I want to make it clear,
That what he's saying is rubbish,
I should not be lying here.
I've never felt like this before,
Could someone tell me why?
Is it something that I've said?
I didn't ask to die.
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poem by Bri Mar
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I'm A Very Old Tree
Some of us can live for millions of years,
We've watched as the world's rolled by,
Witnessed all of its hopes and fears,
Now we weep as we watch our Earth die.
Living this way can be so hard to bear,
As none of us can intervene,
Which is really tough when you're fully aware,
Things are worse now than we've ever seen.
We watched the Dinosaurs come and go,
Mammoths and Sabre Tooth's too,
We're warning you now to let you all know,
The same fate is what awaits you,
Contrary to what you Humans think,
Your intelligence is really quite small,
As you take our planet to the very brink,
You are heading for an almighty fall.
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poem by Bri Mar
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It Leaves Their Victims Distraught
Somewhere in Wales little April lies dead,
Killed by a paedophile not right in the head,
A cigar chomping celebrity? is now being exposed,
His years of abuse are now being disclosed.
Now his ‘' friends ‘' all come out saying they knew all along,
Why didn't they report it, they knew it was wrong,
Their inactions encourage this heinous crime,
They're just as responsible as these pieces of slime.
Rapists and paedophiles are two of a kind,
They have similar styles both are sick in the mind,
Their aims in life are to have total control,
With evil they're rife they have forfeited their soul.
It's the victim who suffers this is presently forgotten,
As their life hits the buffers it is they who feel rotten,
The criminals spend their time in a five star cell,
For such a heinous crime they should be condemned to hell.
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poem by Bri Mar
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All's Fair In Love and War
Who said war is civilized,
What idiot made these rules,
It was probably politicians,
That bunch of sad old fools.
Our enemies wear no uniforms,
We are dressed and on display,
While we advertise who we are,
They just go on their merry way.
We train them in the art of war,
Treat them as our friends,
Then they turn round and murder us,
Their evil then transcends.
They blow us up without a thought,
We're told, oh that's allowed,
But if we dare retaliate,
The enemy cry out loud.
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poem by Bri Mar
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Cut Price Bloody Flights
I fancied going on holiday,
So I searched the Internet,
I tried out various airlines,
Just to see what I could get.
As I'm on a real tight budget,
The price had to be the best,
Nothing fancy, there and back,
Costing less than all the rest.
I then came across a company,
Their seats were really cheap,
A no frills airline that would do,
My debts wouldn't go too deep.
When I searched their website,
I was amazed at what I found,
A flight to where I want to go,
For just a single pound.
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poem by Bri Mar
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Hatred Is A Heavy Load
My hatred for life knows no bounds,
Anything to me is fair game,
Why I am like this really confounds,
I even abhor my own name.
I detest being fat I hate being thin,
Why can't I be shapely but lean,
Regardless of size I can never win,
For me there is no in between.
I loathe my work with a passion,
I'd just walk away if I could,
But as hatred is part of my fashion,
I don't really see why I should.
When I look around me it springs to mind,
I hate the whole concept of living,
To people and animals I can be so unkind,
At times I am so unforgiving.
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poem by Bri Mar
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That's The Real Price Of Lust
What's this obsession,
I want more from this life,
It gives me depression,
Then fills me with strife.
We've a life of pleasure,
Our lives are for living,
I have found my life's treasure,
But I have this misgiving.
My wife is my rock,
There's my wonderful kids,
So I need to take stock,
Or my life hits the skids.
We've a beautiful home,
What more could I want,
If I decide to roam,
Will it come back to haunt?
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poem by Bri Mar
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