The Poetry Marathon

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

The wind

in its land of nooks and crannies.

Our dreams dictated

by news that shakes

rattled

and helpless

except to be.

Endurance

Survival

Walking, talking

Amidst rumours

The drag of our day is a celebration, though

We might not know it

Not believing, believing

Unheeded

The giant urban blanket stretching

Immunity

Doughnut shops

and sports palaces

Reality TV, a form of death.

Destruction

Of a third kind.

This is syncopation

The beat, complete

receiving echoed drums

More

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

Overflowing

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

Waves crying

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

Sorry

It is better for them, than it is

Us

Because it

Happened

Something that tore our breasts

and decimated

Hope

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

With us

Do not pout

Or scorn

Love and talk and forgive

And BECOME.

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

Experimenting

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.

Let us

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*

*Revolution (Lennon/McCartney)

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

Such potency!

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

And wonder

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

Tasting

a part of me