Robert Morris

6 yrs

Lefty is Among Us

Lefty came down to Georgia.
Lefty didn't come to play.
Lefty was run out of town.
Lefty will be back another day.

Lefty says war is not over.
Lefty still trying to reconstruct.
Lefty will never throw in the towel.
Lefty say's our voting had bad conduct.

Lefty wants our history gone.
Lefty wants our past vanished.
Lefty wishes Southern ways deleted.
Lefty demands our flag banished.

Lefty wishes Stone Mountain blasted.
Lefty wants R. E. Lee street renamed.
Lefty wants Confederate graves dug up.
Lefty wants Southerner's properly shamed.

Lefty won't be happy,
until school books are replaced.
Lefty won't be happy,
until all monuments are de-faced.

Lefty won't be finished,
until all of Dixie is broken.
Lefty won't be finished,
until hey y'alls are no longer spoken.

The sad part of it all,
no one is fighting back.
The Cyclorama's not the same.
The South is under daily attack.

One day it will all be gone.
Maybe smarter heads will prevail.
I sort of doubt it though,
Kids taught, all just a racist tale.

Lefty came down to Georgia.
Lefty didn't come to play.
Lefty was run out of town.
Lefty will be back another day.

R. S. Morris

6 yrs

My Day With the Confederates ... A video poem by R. S. Morris

6 yrs

Paper Gangster ... A video poem by R. S. Morris

6 yrs

Farmhouse By the Racetrack

A town, deep down in Georgia,
below the mountains and hills.
So tiny, only a few lived there.
Then came the new saw mills.

Money rolled in from timber sales.
Forest gave way to farmland.
Where deer once pranced, corn now grew.
Planted by rough and strong hands.

Years before, a farmer built,
a small house to call his home.
He worked on it day and night.
Now a house he could call his own.

The money men rolled into town,
wanting to buy up all the lumber.
The farmer said, you can buy my trees,
the dollar amount will be a big number.

My home is not to be touched.
Cut only the trees you see.
I have a plan, don't you know.
A racetrack where there once was trees.

My dream is to see the cars race.
To me, the farm life is boring,
I've waited all my life for this.
I can't wait to hear engines roaring.

All the trees were cut down.
A racetrack carved out in their place.
All he wanted, was to be in his home,
stay comfy, and watch the cars race.

The races went on for years.
His track, the only one around.
But there came a time when others saw,
a much better use for his ground.

They came to take his home.
They came to take his track.
The farmer went for his gun.
They came to take it all back.

The farmer died that day.
Killed defending his place.
He only wanted to be in his home
stay comfy, and watch the cars race.

R. S. Morris

6 yrs

Stories From My Colors ... A video poem by R. S. Morris