In churned up soil the poppy rose
On top of death, still steadily grows
And in our minds we see the crosses
That lie in rows and count our losses
Blood that drips from tiniest bloom
Beloved children, lost from the womb
Their essence blown upon the earth
For infinity, will show their worth
And so they marched by decree
A war they fought, so we could be free
The poppy, how we remember them now
So in silence we do reverently bow
One single day, just once every year
To remember all the horror and fear
To give thanks and praise, to those in need
Who saved us through unselfish deed
For so young when they said goodbye
With no idea that so many would die
In Flanders Fields where poppies grow
Innocence, now lays buried in each row
For those that did return safely home
Their spirit lost and so had flown
To fly away among the peaceful skies
With friends and larks with carefree eyes
In the thunder hear the roar of guns
Calling to all our native sons
Arise, arise, from sleep once more
For once again, there will be war
In Flanders Fields, the poppies grow
They cover our loved ones, buried below
Like a blanket, they protect all within
From a world that is ravished by sin
More souls will join them as the years go by
More wars will be fought, as the lark does cry
More fields will be filled, with our dead
And poppies will mark their graves in red
"Lest we forget and more shall die"
"In Flanders Fields our loved ones lie"
If only I can ask the world
To gather all the love
Each person has.
If only I can feel the love
Free of inhibitions in some extent
And share it all.
If only I can be
With the love of yours
So that I can have my last wish.
If you permits me to live and die
Unconditionally with and without you
Oneness reflected indeed.
We treat it like a marble
in our pocket for a while
we win it
we lose it
but no matter where it goes
it always holds
the warmth of our hands
"Times Square was magnet to rejoicing
hearts, as mine was on that day the victors
came. With roses, red, as were perhaps,
my cheeks, I vowed each bloom for
every home-come valiant there I'd see."
"I see her still despite the sixty years,
a taintless angel clutching there a bunch
of roses, red, as were her lips, a pair of
magnets that had drawn me close and
closer yet, and in a flash, the kiss."
"The kiss, a flash of light, and all from
senses blotted out, save for warm, tender
lips on mine, my body backward bent
in sweet surrender held by arms, the scent
of roses crushed between our breasts."
"Our breasts thus pressed, the roses in
between; how long did we remain thus
still in time? For but a span of breath
commingled, held? A moment's measure
of twined heartbeats kept in trance?"
"In swooning trance, then rudely snapped
out from by surging mass, rejoicing river
crowd, there wrenching him away, and me,
still stunned, forgetting there to hand him
but a single, breast-pressed rose."
"A single rose, if but to press to lips, or
in between the pages of a book held dear,
a keepsake from an angel kissed but with
no name to call in sleep-failed nights,
for failing there to even give my name."
"My name, I wish I had the sense there
but to whisper to his ear then yet so close.
Perhaps, it would have been the key
to worlds away from lonely wards and
wakeful nights with just the sick with me."
"With me is but the memory of lips, their
warmth the years have deftly dimmed;
that kiss, a quick-eyed lens man stilled, now
wrought a lifelike replica of vanished time,
one budding love rose crushed by fickle fate."
The eye,a sign the
unwise can't comprehend
Forged from the world's
illumination in darkened
enlightened ones like
Leonardo da Vinci,Isaac
The eye is a tree
with many branches like
Priory of Scion,Knight
in all corners of earth.
The world is clothed
through wisdom from
The eye,all seeing
emblem of power and
riches to the lion hearted
and loyal souls.
A seat of influence and
Creating the social order
through men of power....
Some see it as a
curse,others a blessing.
I feel it,the great eye is
Trapped in a perfect world, what does time
mean? Wait, nothing is permanent in this
Stay or go. Which way did you decide?
Is that your hand reaching out to me,
Shall I grab your wrist; wait, this is fine.
The sweet scent of timelessness circles
over my head spinning me heedless.
Moods float keeping my goodness in
place; there, now I can see your face
floating on the canvas circled with a
brush in all the grand colors.
The thrush of ochre, gray and sand.
Tips of green highlight the tops of
trees sitting against a sky splashed
in blue hue.
I feel you there pulling my hand
spinning me around and around
through years of you and me,
burning candles from the heart,
aroma swerving through the soul.
We set apart, not going somewhere
flames burn to keep you a part of the
great mountain that only you could see.
I wake in scented timelessness every day.
(in memoriam, Eugene Lawler, d. January 29, 2012, aged 83 years)
You fancied yourself a singer,
and indeed you were.
What songs we heard from you
you had made your own,
and you gave them freely
to all who would listen
(though we were just a few
who were, at times, inattentive.)
Time and remembrance may color
the images you left behind,
and the sentimental songs
you sang (and scribed on silver disks
for us to hear when, and if, we will),
may prod us to recall
your willful, dour demeanor
which could bloom into benevolence
or darken further in stormy sneers
at tardiness, or at perceived
maltreatment of any sort.
You were your own arbiter of behavior
who kept before you expectations
of what was appropriate, for yourself
and for us, the others of your kind.
We were few (still fewer now),
who flocked together on occasion
to celebrate, in quiet fashion,
whatever anniversary we chose --
perhaps your passing date
will become another to be marked.
And your voice, reproduced mechanically,
amplified, may remind us of our loss,
and of yours.
A nation of peace,a nation of pride
A nation that's spread far and wide.
A nation of hope,a nation of joy,
Thats free for all, man,women ,girl and boy.
A nation to give,a nation to take
A nation filled with reggae,socca,calypso and rake and scrape.
A nation of colors; black,gold,aqua....sometimes called blue
can be seen everywhere above land and under sea too.
A nation of democracy and old english style,but things sure have changed if you
look up our file.
From outside rock stoves,to TV,radio,computers and wi-fi connectivity.........
I'd say that a long way from July 10 1973.
An nation filled with hospitality,love and history,
Arawaks,Caribs and American Indians are the basis of our nationality.
A nation where Tourism is number one, because of the Bounty of sand sea and sun.
Yes,a nation of Youth,sports ,culture,uniqueness and island fashion trends,
Like native Androsia our own local blend......and straw work and junkanoo,the list has no end.
This nation of beauty,splendor and self defense ;yes its celebarting its own INDEPENDENCE.
Tonight, the full moon blooms
And foils the looming gloom.
The remnant doom from noon
Has lost it's bullish tune.
And embraces dusk's eerie cool.
The village square it illuminates
Arena of moonlight tales of late
The little ones gather and wait
While the elderly engage in debates
And the goats noisily ruminates
The bright night, lights sparks
Of bliss and joy in trees' barks
The tall iroko whistle in parks
Where young lovers end their tracks
And skimpy skirts lose their tacks
The son of perdition frets unsure
The thief in the night fears exposure
The pirate sailor steers from ashore
The night fisherman denied action
For the kind light bathes the ocean
Tonight, the full moon beams proud
As the town crier makes his round
Belting forth a piercing sound.
While the town's chorus echoes loud
The stage is set for the yearning crowd
Love breeds hate, we are her children,
lost and scared, blasé and meek.
We curse the ones who left us lonely
and blame the ones who made us weak.
Love will shove you to the ground,
on all your fours to crawl through dust.
You'll lift your head towards the sunrise
to catch some light but only just.
Love breeds fear, now watch me shiver:
too scared to open up the door,
in case in comes another stranger
to add more damage to the sore.
Love will leave you lying breathless,
your body scattered on the bed.
A hopeless pilgrim gone off radar,
still longing for the words she said.
Love will show you the error
of your pathetic little ways.
With every hand the stake gets higher
and in the end - the loser pays.
Love will never give you pity,
too many fallen, fools galore.
A lesson learnt, I should know better
but here I am, begging for more...