Detroit Love-n-War by Poem by Rosemarie Wilson a.k.a One Single Rose
The Spirit of Ðetroit’s head bows in shame.
Uninviting images broadcast through the idiot box
and the tangled web they’ve weaved
turn enlightened minds all over the globe to mush with fear of the Ð.
Flights canceled…
overnight and extended stays
delayed.
Pictures of crime scenes
on dilapidated streets
with abandoned houses and vacant lots;
schools closed because kickbacks
weren’t thrown back.
We’re being laughed at
but ain’t nothing funny,
stop smiling,
don’t nothing move but the money!
Emergency managers handled our cash…
Smash and grab ATM heists—
24-hour lock down.
I can’t even front that my city isn’t messed up.
I’ve caught an infectious disease called Detroit love
that I can’t shake
nor do I want to get rid of.
I’m a Ð girl,
born on 313 girl,
Ðetroit’s favorite girl,
riding,
not dying as I rep for my city!
Forget what you heard!
Poetically I dispel prejudicial myths about the 313.
COPS highlights a small percentage of thieves in the Ð’s temple.
Hardcore Pawners do not depict the spending habits of every person living south of Eight Mile.
Not all of our elected officials have hidden agendas.
Ðetroit’s title as Murder Capital was relinquished to another Michigan city
but our name remains fresh on tongues that aren’t privy to that fact.
Creative juices keep our sanity intact:
Musicians share their Kemistry.
Poets care Moore.
A pastor listens to us wine and
Anita’s my baker.
Young Barry Gordy eyes sparkle at his dream girl.
Together they scream in the Red Dawn after a 1-8-7.
Let’s transform the world’s thinking
‘cause ain’t nobody fresher than my clique.
Ðetroit, baby!
We’re the ugly ducklings with nothing to lose budding beautifully as swans.
Our roses don’t smell like boo boo,
the stench from breath of the uninformed who snub us does.
This story is to be told
and sold.
We are the few,
the strong,
the proud.
Brilliant,
resilient,
built Ford tough!
Ðetroit hustles harder!
Our roads have always been rocky.
No matter how many times we fall,
we dust our shoulders off before overcoming the next speed bump.
We ain’t no punks!
We’ll finish what the bullies started.
Don’t get it twisted!
Talk ill about the Ð,
you might catch a Joe Louis southpaw to your left jaw!
Don’t ever count us out!
We’re ready to bounce back off the ropes.
When we do,
our Old English Ð will beam brighter than Batman’s spotlight in the sky.
We’ll band together,
prepared for flight!
Our wings are long–
our determination’s intense
‘cause when we play,
we play to win–
now run tell that to your friends.
