Our future to see
What will our injustice and cruelty flout
cleaning up the historic debris
as we exercise our newfound clout
The politicians with all the words of know
will no longer have their show
They will be put where they belong
singing a soulful begrudging song
Those who have been called gentle
will have their say, in more ways than one
No longer accused of being temperamental
For them, the instructors of our law will be done
The wars that kill us, in the name of country
Their ignorant cry of bounty
There will be a peaceful transaction
of good towards our neighbour’s station
Corruption, fraud and lies
Not permitted in the new party’s world
I hear the angry impatient cries
that will roll out the carpet of dreams unfurled
Those drunken men of wife and child
No longer permitted in their inns so wild
The dens of iniquity shall be destroyed
and the many numbers of our grace employed
It is time for the voice of suffrage to abound
and never stop until the old force is thrown
We know the answer, it has been found
and the new winds of victory blown
Futile attempts to break
in its land of nooks and crannies.
Our dreams dictated
by news that shakes
except to be.
The drag of our day is a celebration, though
We might not know it
Not believing, believing
The giant urban blanket stretching
and sports palaces
Reality TV, a form of death.
Of a third kind.
This is syncopation
The beat, complete
receiving echoed drums
Would you like gifts
extravagant symbols of empty measures
Notes of triumph
as your feet, bare
Make the drumbeat
Glory to the infusion
that continuous pulse
counting years in pain
as the drinks are poured
We remember decrepit shacks
No white man has seen this
In the place
where he fears the moon
At night we are quiet
our Darkness a peace
but our ears pick up the chorus
as we lie in slavery’s sea
Here, the trumpets blare
but the Voice, no one knows
You have my heart
so we’ll never part
Many things can destroy us
Turning us to dust
but we are never passed away
As the sun shines so gay
The music of our dance
is the infinite sound of our chance
What befalls the white man’s hand
Footsteps in our sacred sand
Our home is empty, except our love
tenderly held by our sister’s glove
The plains are bare
our knives in much less care
We speak not to our beasts of life
our friends that freed us from starving strife
Do what you must
but we have to conquer trust
and not let hatred steal
The faithful passion that we feel
Curse the fate of the human soul
no matter who or when the drums do roll
We are blessed with courage and faith
tying us to the past warrior’s wraith
Time to smile
Let go of your angry heart
There is a mighty throng of those white people
Who want good, and know good
So we have to empower them
As we do ourselves
Our tears will drown us, if we
Cry in a bowl of despair
It has been unfair
All sacks we carry on our backs
Full of deadly stones
And putrid ignorance. And when we hear
It is better for them, than it is
Something that tore our breasts
We almost forgot our names
But to them we are Indians
To us, we are people of the land, the water
and the spirits of soul and mind
We have conquered
So victory is here
Do not pout
Love and talk and forgive
I saw the madness all around me. Black men dragged by their broken
Feet. Perforated dreams
Holes in their family
Death not an adequate explanation
Teenagers, far from their gilded homes
Not afraid. But Christ
They should be. The power of unity
Taking us for an ill-fated ride
We know not why or
How. But we protest what we don’t know, and stand up for what we
Also don’t know.
If I hear the word justice one more time, I will
Puke. All it means is keeping the world as it is.
Destruction, disrespect, jealousy. But mostly
Fear. Big strong men, in armour. A brutal
Army… fighting off innocence.
There might not be
Corruption, if everybody gave in. But then the world would
Suck, even more than it already does.
Serving the country by killing. Having to be
Stoned, to survive the memory.
Assholes. Telling me what to do when they’re
Drunk with power.
Camp in the tents of our souls. The insects
Don’t bother me. Let the wind take us
At least it knows where it’s going.
But if you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell you is brother you have to wait*
What is this burden I have pursed
I dare claim myself a victim
For I am a woman and I am forever cursed
and I shall not blame you or him
I have crawled to, in my drunken whine
for some reward, I do not know
Expecting to be a pet, how low
or planning on you to be leashed as mine
When we are little, we are told
Everything, and our puny spirits glowed
and we nodded our stupid heads
The easy path to successes beds
Oh what a colossal blunder we have been
I will certainly volunteer
and make myself scarce again
There is no loss to that, no tear
I bid you good riddance
but I fear we will meet in circumstance
and go for one of our passion rides
alas, to be carried away by the lonesome tides
I drink a toast
As I go to the coast!
Poem 16: A Tribute to Lewis Carroll
The duck, David, not Donald
Spoke perfect English
And never quacked
But tact, he lacked
He did not like Durwood, the bowler-hatted dog
He seemed so pretentious
With his country gentleman act
And plethora of silly facts
“You should appreciate me,” the dog said.
“I am of good stock.
And with me, good friends you’ll make,
with a little give and take.”
“You are simply a snob,” said the duck.
“You do not belong with us.
You act so superior
When you are essentially inferior.”
“Your problem is obvious,” Durwood replied.
“This language you speak.
Quacking is how you should talk.
You knew it before you could walk.”
“I am advanced,” said the duck.
“A new generation and breed.
Taking us beyond the ponds
Forming new and aristocratic bonds.”
The dog laughed, stepping forward with his cane,
gently correcting his ascot.
“There are no aristocrats here except me.
And I certainly won’t ask you to tea.”
“And I will not have you over for millet and smartweed,” answered David.
“A fine treat, I must say.
Ferdinand Fox and Walter Weasel are coming today,
and I will put on a fine display.”
“What!” exclaimed the humored dog. “Are you serious?
Don’t you know why they have accepted your invitation?
They want YOU for supper.
You are indeed in a scupper!”
“Ha ha. You are wrong stupid man.
Bobby the Bobcat will be my guest too.
And I don’t like to share my grains.
My other guests will be roasted, before the evening rains.”
I taste a concoction
An investment of time
sublime. In the elegance of the heritage crystal
Of berries so rich and royal
The family room
Takes on an air of inebriation
Like the carpet is dewed
with aged cherry
a merry playful mist ensues
There are words of nectar
Wine and fortification
Going to fine Inns
To carry on this rousing
Shall there be but more?
This, the soup of hope
In nature’s bowl
Our souls the spoon of courage
Rimmed with idle curiosity
Sweet and sour
The pain of what draws me
And the joy of dawning retreat
The victory of my shelter
Whether wood or a broken heart
The little miracles
In frantic flight
The sight of buzzing Bees
In their visitation
of fragrant passing
a part of me