poetry

Hear O hear
Listen attentively to the thuds
Sweetly escaping the beating drum
Listen closely to its screams
Bewitchingly exploding
Expressions aforetime caged
Listen carefully to the beats
Rhythmically expelling sounds
Swollen with dreams long forgotten
The African drum sings songs of hope
The African drum speaks speeches of hope
In her every sound is sewn Africa’s sweat
A testament of toil, her toil maintaining peace
In her every tempo stands bold
Illuminated wishes of her people
Hear O hear

i was surprised by your call
i rejoiced when i heard your voice
for i left you minutes before–
you were tired
i was weary
we kissed and parted
when the phone rang
i was near the driveway
the ringing worked its way
through a forced focus on driving and tear filled eyes
but
i rejoiced when i heard your voice
and i knew the assistants, nurses, and doctors would watch over you during the night
until i returned to gaze into your beautiful blue eyes and hear the joyful sound of your voice

Torch-wielding hate-mongers,
Your time is over.
Where once stood your statues
Will grow fields of clovers.
The hour grows late,
And your gaslights are dim.
We’re not here anymore
To exist on your whim.
Your monuments crumble,
And fall piece by piece.
Those you oppress
Shall be released.
No more shall your rhetoric
Rule heart or mind.
The vile past you deify
Will be left behind.
Gnash your teeth in the darkness,
Wail, cry, and wring your hands
But our time is now.

When you are an immigrant
it is status, illegal
when you are refugee
it is non status, status quo
you don’t know what you are
who you are
you are left to fend from bins
pick newspapers
the homes that shelter you totter
torn plastics cover your head
you are immigrant
not refugee, how dare?
(you or others call you one?)
you are Rohingyas
not Myanmarese
at best you are Bangladeshi
who also are immigrants- illegal
so you see it is full circle
this debate cause- effect- cause

The granddaughter trailed behind her
Grandmother and aunt
When they passed by two young black women
Sitting on a bench outside a landscaped building
The grandmother said loudly
That’s the way she spoke
“If they weren’t black they’d be pretty”
The aunt looked down and sped up her step
The granddaughter halted and whispered
To the two young black women
Sitting on the bench
“I’m sorry”
The two young black women shrugged their shoulders
And smiled seeming to say
“We are sorry for you”

We didn’t listen then
and aren’t listening still.
Perhaps we never will.
Who do you think will win
the Doomsday Bowl?

It all boils down to character and personality,
coloured and flavoured by lessons learnt or ignored,
along Life’s strange, crooked pathways.
You evolve or stagnate, flow or rupture,
all is Change and Change is everything!
No one remains the same longer than an Action,
unless stubbornly repeating unhelpful cycles.
That ‘Stingy Nettle’ stung, that ‘Fire’ burnt,
the ‘Liar’ lied and the ‘Player’ played you…
now, off you go, better and stronger than before,
armed with the power of knowledge and experience.

If lost was a place
and heaven was found
would you be willing
to be paradise bound?
With blind expectations
we continue to search
truth always evasive
leaving us in the lurch
Words hidden in hours
phrases lost in days
as life pushes forward
time dissolves in the haze
With so many questions
few answers have we
in the final conclusion
we just wait and see

Trading Lexington
Once for Mott
Trading the city
For what it’s not
Trodding mornings
To the lake
Do not a handsome
athlete make
Gurgling coffee
In the corner
Sleep disrupted
Peace obstructed
Finally caffein
Turned to ink
Trading places
For space to think.

Some people want to read
about the Holy Spirit;
others would rather God
never be mentioned.
Some people want to see
the inner workings of crystalline visions;
others just close their eyes
to attempt escape.
Some people want to bleed
their hearts and souls upon the page;
others spend entire lives
running from pain.
Some people want to seethe
openly to release their anger;
others always hold hatred in
until they explode.
Some people want to breathe
the purest air of meditation;