My name is Gary Fields
And I am at the Poetry Convention
Their are a myriad of Poet's
They are all in contention
There are so many that I may
Want to mention'
So, pay attention
Fore they must do this
At my table there are three
Their are four including me
The second choice in my contention
IS Dr. Ram Mehta
He is such an easy catch
He is a voice/a reflection
He shares' so much love and affection
Being one of so few words
His disposition is the best
And his Human Psyche will
Could this be some sort of test
That his deepest guarded secret's
Are guarded close to his chest
Being a doctor and all
It is unlikely that he will ever confess
Third at the table is the X DESTROYER X POET
Due to the lack of word's
She always' have something for ya
And will certainly destroy ya
If not, then simply ignore ya
Fore she deserves' to seat here
And not just on the foyer
It is a main bone of contention
There is no reason why I can't enjoy ya
Or at least releave the tension
With her advanced degree
her suplituding pensoin for Poetry
It seems' that her messages' are
Aimed straight for me
She give's to this her all
She never seem to miss a call
And to past the test
One may think that
She seem's to be a little obsessed
Most of all
She keeps' her secret
Buried so close to her breast
And what wonderful breast they
Only saving for us
The one's she profess to be the best
But never the less
She rises' among the rest
Fouth at the table is Ms. Sweetheart of Poetry
Wish she will spend more Poetry with me
And plain not just ignore me
Because I'm a fan of her now
She introduced me to this race
She is all ways' on the case
She is fully comfortable in her space
I just hope that she won't have to use
All of her mace,
She composes' herself with grace
Fore this is so much an adventure
And not just some silly old Snail Race
If I haven't said enough by now
Then it is because I am running
Out of space, or being run out of town
But, there is always one next year
Same time, manybe not
The same old place
Dr. Ram Mehta
X DESTROYER X POET
LINDA Marie/Sweetheart of Poetry
Carol (Next on Deck)
*******For the Contets "Tt The Convention
FROM OUT OF THIS EARTH, IN EVERY GENERATION
MUST ARISE A MIGHTY PROPHET...
SO DON'T YOU HAVE NO FEAR, YOU HAVE DONE YOUR SHARE, YOU ARE THE HONOURABLE
YOU BROUGHT US OUT FROM IGNORANCE,
AND FOR THIS WE WILL THANK YOU HONESTLY.
ALTHOUGH WE KNOW THAT IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE BIBLE THAT MANY WOULD BE
CALLED,BUT ONLY FEW OF THEM WOULD BE CHOOSEN.
ROBERT NESTA MARLEY, HE LIVED HIS LIFE FOR WE.
AND NOW WE HAVE GROWN, WE ARE THE SEEDS HE HAS SHOW, TILLED BY HIS IMPERIAL
OH BROTHER BOB YOU WERE ONE.
YOU WORKED FROM DAWN TILL DAWN.
NOW IN THE PHYSICAL YOU HAVWE GONE, BUT IN THE SPIRIT YOU WILL CARRY ON,
THE WORKS OF MARCUS GARVEY.(CHORUS)
NOW BOB ARISE,
OPEN THY EYES.
BECAUSE WE WANT YOU TO KNOW, I 'n' I HAVE DISCOVERED YOUR FOE,
TRAMPLED BENEATH THY FEET.
SO IF YOUR TRODDING IN A STREET,
OR IN A HIGH MOUNTAIN.
DON'T YOU HAVE NO SHAME,
REGGAE MUSIC HAS BROUGHT YOU FAME,
YOU ARE THE HONOURABLE NATTY DREAD.
(C)1982, 1996, 2006 ALBERT WILLIAMS
Jasmines are flowers of paradise...
an absolute work of God...
sense of the splendid inheritance...
omniscience of God to his servants...
nutrient for the pure of heart.
Nobody can be absolutely...
album, which sets no time...
The love for resemblance does warm the soul...
harmonic songs echo in the life of love audible noise...
actors are like living shadows...
nugget, voice and feelings of those who want to hear...
igneous flame that all travel...
exercise for the imagination of those who observe...
living is not for everyone - only the strong survive.
Birthdays are acts that comprise only a single contemplation...
equivalent to the jasmine garden of the Lord...
host for the coming...
real, for those who know how to love.
A Woman’s Worth
By Nate Spears
Her purpose in this world is hurting
She’s never been a designed of perfect
But she is a mom, so she’s super
Then roll up her sleeves ; and
Take care of the kids; and
Making it a home
For a beautiful family to roam
Building wonderful memories
Becoming a woman of worth
Keeping her faith through Christ
Keeping her pace through health
Keeping her sanity through managing
This is a woman’s worth
I’m giving you
Despite of all the stress
She receives her family with open arms
Through all the mess
She’s a fantastic mom
A wonderful woman
Deserving a round of applause
Plus a standing ovation
For always being an American sensation
That held this continent down since day one
Since the Plymouth Rock landed on us
Thank you for her giving
Thank you for her living
Thank you for her children
This is ,
A woman’s worth.
The old woman argued relentlessly, her case.
Resolute, she raved in her conviction;
two thousand and one reasons were there for her to be mad.
Eleven was given to questioning eyes.
It was September,
and Bernice brought home the bourgeois man,
and the two fell
from the pedestal
they held among friends in the big city,
(the city) a melting pot,
now a city in affliction.
Bernice’s brown eyes combed the neighborhood;
two boys, with open arms,
played aero planes;
Across the street,
the rug pilot laughed his ass off
as if mocking the bourgeois man,
and his woman hid her face in rags …,
in degradation –
but her sad eyes openly mourned her son’s suicide.
Grief of that magnitude brings offense,
and the bourgeois man was red with wrath,
and he abhors the old woman
with every inch of his being.
Racism was reversed.
He avowed by God to ruin the rug pilot,
and the people that loved him consented.
Hearts were left to wonder
what makes men so cruel.
The reasons for the old woman’s rant was explicable,
and of the grounds for the revenge
the negros conceded,
in only one instance.
Revenge was foreseeable,
and the spirit breeds more phobias.
Twenty one years of your love,
Twenty one years of your hugs,
A tale of our happy home,
All wrapped in one poem,
Our wonderful kids,
Twenty one years of bliss,
We now sing in chorus,
How much this means to us,
And it doesn't need to be said,
The best times are ahead,
Where our love always will,
Grow even moreso still,
I love your scrunched up grin,
You are indeed my best friend,
You have cared for me always,
And now I want more todays,
When you jump in my arms,
Full of pure love and charm,
I thank the Lord for all I have,
As a spoiled husband and Dad,
So on this most precious and revered day,
Vickie, I love you in every possible way,
And thank the Lord you agreed to marry,
Me, on this great day, our anniversary,
“Birth day” is the actual day one exits from the womb, (thereafter, “birthday”, is but a colloquialism for the anniversary of that birth). Well … today is mine. I’m finally old enough to drive … (times 4.56!). Now, I’m old enough to vote … (times 3.476!). One of my sons, too, this month, will become a half-century old … which makes me realize: I’m older’n dirt!
It is truly amazing: Once you reach this age, it really, truly is incomprehensible that so many years have passed since taking that first breath – because our minds don’t allow us to think we’re “aged”! Our thoughts tell us we can still lift that couch … or a 100 lb. sack of seed … or a box of twenty books. But … the actual attempt proves our minds still have their roots in the concrete of yesteryear, while our bodies are entrenched in the reality of … today, (that’s easily confirmed by a quick glance in a mirror!) Contrary to popular belief … we are NOT as “young as we feel” … and to defy reality by allowing our minds to trump our body’s limitations, when it comes to physical exertion, is courting a hospital stay – or worse.
For those of us whose physical attributes have waned, we have great difficulty in accepting the fact that we now are relegated to the task of “watching”, not “doing”. That’s the final hurdle we, of necessity, must overcome before we can truly accept … aging. Our children, whom we used to tell and guide in what they could/should do, and when … have now matured. We’ve taught them as best we could, and it is now their turn to drive the carriage – and, if we’re lucky, and don’t try to “boss” them, we may be asked to become passengers.
There comes a time when our day in the sun becomes a rocking chair in the twilight. We need to prepare ourselves to recognize that change of circumstance and situation.
It’ll be difficult for some of us … because WE’VE always been the one “in charge”. If we are to survive with our dignity intact and retain relationships with those we love … we have to find a way to hand over the reins – and MEAN it – to the next generation which we ourselves have spawned.
Our remaining decisions will be: Whether or not to re-bait that fishing hook … or what channel to watch … any decision more meaningful will need to be made by … our kids.
“Full house,” she said “Every seat’s taken
There’s an excitement out there!” she said
All he saw was the empty stage
a Steinway Grand its bench
His accompanist stood off
cigarette in hand just exhaling a puff
He was nervous very nervous
He was always nervous and for hours before
He’d thrown up in the rest room a few minutes ago
He often threw up before a recital
Wild thoughts went through his head
(those tall thick billowing curtains
looked strangely threatening
so dark blue grotesque)
His mouth felt dry
(what if he should choke during the opening work?)
He felt a bit dizzy
(what if he should pass out?
the fall shattering his priceless Stradivarius)
Was it too late to cancel the concert?
(he was still slightly nauseous)
What would people think?
What would people say?
His accompanist was so calm
(his accompanist must hate him –
hope that he might play poorly
look how he raised his chin as he inhaled
what was he looking at?
What was he thinking?)
There was that one passage in the concerto
(he’d played it hundreds of times
never quite perfect
what if he fumbled that passage
even just one note?)
His tails felt tight
(he should have had them altered
What if the underarms split out?)
Everything at once!
He felt like running!
(don’t be ridiculous!)
His manager was all smiles
“I tell you, Robert, there’s excitement out there!” she said
Robert’s knees were knocking
“You all ready?” she asked
Robert nodded, yes
The house lights dimmed
Boris, his accompanist, stomped his cigarette
“Out you go!” she smiled
(please don’t tell me to ‘break a leg’) he thought
When we start to think about high school
We think about way way back then
Where all of us knew each other
But only a handful of us were friends
I remember your faces way back then when we use to pass in the hall
Who’d ever thought the time would come again where I would see you all
Now that the jerri curl has been replaced by the balding and the grey
We cant help but remenisis about the fun we had back in the day
The funny way we looked and the funny way we dressed
And all the great things we did together back at old C.H.S.
The old teachers that we hated ,the old friends that we dated
The lunch that was so bad those exams that mad us so mad
That old school tiger pride which was lead by mike and clyde
And even all the mess that we stirred up at recess……
Now those are the days that I remember best
As I look out today at all of you where all my joys has been entrusted
And still I cant help but to remember the one that are no longer with us
Just to think how we were we had such a communion
And a lot of us would not have seen one another again if not for this reunion
We were the elite we were supreme we were rebels without a pause
We were the young and the extreme that use to run these halls
but look like time crept in and took a toll of us all
It’s been thirty years believe it only heaven knows if we’d see thirty more
So as we reunite today to once again I raise my glass to the class of 84
GOODBYE MORNING PERSON
Head quite empty
No remembered dreams
Before anything else COFFEE!
It’s the cats and me
Sponge bath or shower
Just plain naked
On the avenue (back of my mind) wheels haven’t started
their daily spin
The weather channel (with its mindless music)
A neighborhood feel – what goes on next door in the
Yes! now it begins
It’s a neighborhood thing
Cannot be helped – it starts
An up-and-down-the-block thing
Mentally I’m out the door
There are streets avenues stores a mall
Something is alive out there
The conviction strangely eases
With the first taste I start to function
And function is what it’s all about
ask any newscaster
Realizing this “function” it eases
There is some ridiculous wholeness some sanity
The night? the dream? unreal!
By noon all is GO!
Another drag-ass day
I am this other person this programmed stiff
The morning person is distant
I do not even want to recall that jelly
Some formula has taken hold
has been in the veins all along
Yes! the VEINS!
There are numbers flowing
Problems with no answers
Problems kicked aside
The “ME” has taken over
Going down the same uniform avenues
Feeling the same guilt same lust
Same unstoppable drive
Goodbye morning person