Six Million Reasons
the World:
doesn’t mess-over the Jews,
like it used to,
since they built them
a Country,
that’s definitely, a
“holocaust of trouble”
for anybody,
thinkin’ final solution
for Israel’s army.
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poem by Ronald Stroman
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She Likes It Big & Loooong
she asked me
was it big:
(being the man that I am)
i said it was.
she asked me
was it long:
i said looong enough,
to satisfy her
plus two of her girl friends.
and if… she had any doubts
about it,
that she was welcome to
come to my house,
to see how large
it really was.
when she came over,
i dived right in it.
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poem by Ronald Stroman
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Good RiDDance
some wondered
why i
smiled so much
at “Bully-Boy’s” funeral
and brought my laughter
to his burial.
as if… i enjoyed
some humorous moment
inside myself
from his early passing.
well… i did.
and i wasn’t the only one.
i was real about my feelings.
if you had known him
like i knew him
you would have known
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poem by Ronald Stroman
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A Private Matter.
This may be a Prıvate matter:
But no Generals died today.
Many of their aides,
Guaranteed them medals
When they suggested.
As long as they
Did their war-planning;
İn the office,
That “car-bombs, ” would be the least
Of their military worries, in Iraq
İf, the action part of the plan
Was delegated, to 'gung-ho' enlisted men
Drafted to do it.
News from Washington says:
Too many Prıvates,
Seeking 'medals of honor, ' in 2011
Are too willing to die.
For their country
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poem by Ronald Stroman
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3rd World Mentality
maybe
it's my '3rd world' mentality
that makes me of aware of 'nuclear education'
being the best mode of American travel
and not a Iranian Camel
pertaining to remaining alive
beyond 6 Egyptian days
in a 3rd world country
miles away from Israel's border.
i sit in my 3rd world country
and i'm no longer left to wonder
why i'm taken for granted
and why so many nuclear countries
are concerned about what
'weapons of mass destruction'
am i cookin' with propane
in the desert
when so many missiles
are pointed and threatening me
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poem by Ronald Stroman
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The Angry Soup Of Racism
ain't it a shame:
when hate lynches
a 14 year old, Colored boy
in 1955, Mississippi,
and blows away the dreams of
(four innocent little Negroe girls) ,
in 1963, Birmingham, Alabama.
yeah,
bus that to your segregated thoughts:
as I “interracially” walk you,
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poem by Ronald Stroman
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