Old White Men Poem by David Welch

Some students with a tanned skin tone
have decided they should bitch and moan,
over the fact they were made to read
the greatest writers in history.
It wasn't the content they attacked,
instead it was that the writers lack
the desired amount of melanin,
as if that were unforgivable sin.
Of the classics they would not avail,
because their authors had been pale.
They're too young and dumb to ever see
it is they who reeked of bigotry.
Judging men not by their souls,
and the great tales they have told,
as if human nature applies to
only those who might share your hue.
They're idiots who fail the test,
make their lives all about flesh,
no clue the wisdom awaiting them
if they'd only read those old ‘white' men.

To understand man you must know
of the things that Shakespeare wrote,
no better judge of how we act,
of where we thrive, and what we lack.
He understood what made us tick,
why we go from joyous to tragic,
why we love those we can't have,
how power corrupts a noble man.
All the foibles of those on Earth
In iambic pentameter,
and though he shines brighter than most stars,
in truth he only is the start.

Dickens told all the peoples' tales,
with novels numerous and hailed,
and not just tales, but tomes that seek
the betterment of society.
Dostoyevsky probed into the mind,
to see what hidden demons lie,
while Tolstoy took a wider glance
or countries clashing, nations askance.
Orwell warned of horror to come,
did it so well, we all look dumb
when his prophecies come true,
we can't say, "If we only knew…"

Poe brought us detectives on the page,
and creepy tales that defy age,
Melville's whale, in fine fashion,
taught us the danger of obsession.
Twain brought humor and jumping frogs,
dialect, humor, and raft logs,
while Hawthorne peered into the soul
and saw the contradictions unfold.

Can't forget the Romans and Greeks,
creators of drama, philosophy,
who warned us of defying fate,
and showed the depths of a man's rage,
taught us how to study our lives,
and ask how best a man survives,
wrote the histories of their time,
giving us an unbroken line.
Dealing with the very same flaws
that to this day cause flapping jaws.

And all of this is just the prose,
not the folks who made poetry flow,
like Frost, Longfellow, Tennyson,
Virgil, Coleridge, and Milton.
The war in heaven, by Milton made,
Tennyson's immortal light brigade,
Virgil's tale of Aeneas' lost,
striving on a sea wind-tossed,
Albatrosses hung by the neck,
Evangeline dying heart-sick,
even the road less traveled by
came from a man pale to the eye,

In truth, it seems our very words
were first forged by these men in turn,
to ignore twenty-five hundred years
of stories, studies, joys, and fears,
because the writers had light skin…
I don't even know where to begin!
You'd be better off just growing up,
Listen to those who've seen enough
to know that wisdom has no shade,
that it's by truth and trial made,
that it's justifiably insane,
to reject it based on the claim
that if they do not share your hide,
they cannot speak to you inside.
Such nonsense you cannot afford,
not when it closes useful doors,
better to start cracking books again,
and get to reading those old ‘white' men.