Sneakers on the Cross

By Stacey Williams

A book of poetry to let people know that no matter where you are from or what you see, God is in itstreet or debate, crime or death. This is not to prove a point; just something to make you think and laugh.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514400982

Stacey Williams

Stacey Williams is a lover of the Dallas Cowboys, Star Wars, his children, his family, and especially God. He got his most encouraging start doing poetry at Peoples Baptist Church in Newark, New Jersey, where he was told, “As long as you praise the Lord, do what you do here.” His father once told him, “Never get mad about anything you’re not willing to change.” Through this book of poetry, he takes this advice as his pen became a drive through the hood. Not to just get home but also on his way to church. Some crimes, others’ wrongs, sometimes are cries for help. The purpose of these writings is to bring a smile to heaven and on the streets that’s manipulated. Please don’t be offended by some titles, choice of words, and/or the topics. Like different countries have foreign languages, so does the hood, and this book of poetry is one of them. God bless you.

Book preview

SNEAKERS ON THE CROSS

Looked at, the sky today

Heard the clouds, applaud

Saw two, telephone poles

Sneakers hung, from their cords

I laughed, to myself

At how, the sky changed

All of a sudden, I was buggin

The atmosphere, rearranged

It wasn’t, the weather

I couldn’t, believe my thoughts

This time, the sneakers

were hanging, on a cross

I said, who would do this

I couldn’t, understand the cross, spoke back

It wasn’t, by the klan

I said still, that’s wrong

And the cross, spoke back

They took me, out of schools

Besides church, where am I at

So I’m here, today

There’s no love, inside the hood

They took Christ, off the cross

But his blood’s, still on my wood

The teen that was shot

In the air, the bullet caught him

On his way, up to heaven

I caught him, by his Jordans

What you, just saw

Is what, I do

And what happened, on Calvary

Still is true

Come back tomorrow

And the day, after that

You may see, hair weaves

And vials, of crack

But before, you leave

I want you, to know

Christ doesn’t judge, by appearance

He judges, by the soul

Looked at, myself

I said lord, I hope I’m worthy

On your cross, one day

Maybe, my cowboy’s jersey

THE BLOCK

What if the block, could talk

Would it, be frequent

It feels, we don’t see him

Because he’s, cement

As he gets trashed

From many, that’s thoughtless

Before, the cop cars

He was stepped on, by horses

Before the murders,

By gangs, that bang

He was stepped on, by