Now I die

In this dark night silently I write

of the fountain of youth I found hide-a-seeking
behind the blossom-blooming tree of life, in our season of love.
Now this season as all seasons must has passed,
the tree of life turned death, alive but barely
grotesquely bare with spidery fingers
and arms upwardly arched
obscuring the fountain
I grow old. I pray
I grow old
quickly,
eagerly awaiting
my revelling -
like lovers in spring -
in your love.
Again

17-02-09
22:44

Random Poetry

Aye Dread
Nice to see you again.

So why can’t she
Just smile at me?

Looks good working it out
Breathing open-mouthed;

My semi manliness
Manifests my interest...

Must look nuts
Happening to be just

Here when she is
But I really wanna be where she is.

She’s a dread.
I’m a dread.

So why won’t she smile?
Fine sistas are like that all the time
I’n it?

I look buff, fit whatever,
How do I get to her?

Got to get her to smile
Just one time
I’n it?
(16-10-2008)

Hai

(A Tobagonian exclamation)

Deprivation aids
Heightened sense of clarity…
Love springs eternal.

Spring? (Villanelle)

Dey say is spring
but me eh feeling a ting
just cold breeze nipping.

A whole 12 degree swing
from minus five trembling
so dey calling it spring.

Sun bright, out light and shining
so two layers thick I wearing
but still cold breeze nipping.

De grass greener and ting
an dem small, brown bird well singing
so dem saying is spring

but once past four in the evening
I have on my long JLo covering
and still I feeling cold breeze nipping.

I wondering if we have different skin
and I not just talking about colouring
cause dem saying is spring
but cold breeze still nipping.

Winter cometh

Winter cometh

Gold red brown leaves
In those tall yet elegant trees
Flittering fluttering to the ground
On the ground you see
Gold red brown leaves
Re-paint the side walks and streets
Rustling around your feet
A thing of true beauty
Appealing to sight, sound, feel, sensory
Gold red brown leaves
Mashed into the ground
Are no more
Now messy, muddy, dirty
Like a metaphor for life
And that’s a simile for me
Gold red brown beauty
Fallen
In the change of seasons
Trodden under foot
Down trodden
Difficulty
is to see the
Gold red brown beauty
In winter

08/11/08

On Black History Month

On Black History Month

If you love me you will think of me
If you love me you will love all of me
You will love my thick lips, my big bottom, my wide mouth
You will love my raucous laughter,
you will love my innocence.

Ask yourself
In stealth
Solid mental health
Wealth of joy or joy of wealth?

If you love me you will think of me:
Will making that choice
make me more or less happy?
What will please me?

What pleases me
is your black beauty
amidst black consciousness
flowing through black lips.

If you love me you will think of me:
Will being this kind of man make me proud?
Make me shout out loud
That my man, my brother my son

Has only now begun
Only now begun
To truly come
into his full potential,
Becoming something special.

If you love me you will think of me
You will think of me, your mother,
When you are with elders;
Me your sister, when you look at her;
Me your wife, when you shape your life

Shape your life developing
From greatness to greatness growing
Spiritual guidance glowing
Through ancient blood in contemporary veins

My black people - God be praised

If you love me you will be me
Be me all the time
Black
Free
And overflowing with pride

24-10-08
London, UK

Recurring Dream

I dream poetry now I don’t write it
Awake mumbling lines full of it
Poetic content analyzing those problems
That plague me in the day …at night release them
Into my poetry

But I cannot escape it, to my bliss
My poetry is embedded in me, in my kiss
In my semi-consciousness
My poetry still exists

Every time I nod and pull my head back
There’s a poetic line on my lips lurking where I lap
But I’m always supposed to be doing something else
So I forcibly focus and push it back on the shelf

‘Till I awake the next dawn
Mumbling on
About work and life and love
And pains and strife and death
And fear and desire and darkness
And light and hate and forgiveness
And learning it And loosing it
And seeking it And finding it
And recognizing it

I don’t write poetry anymore
I don’t have the time
But I do awake every night…
Poetic lines