Of course on this night we are supposed to be asleep so Santa
could come, but we hadn't been home from Midnight Mass very long, and the
invigorating cold was not conducive to sleep. Even the hot chocolate did not do
much to help sedate the excitement.
We were hoping for sleds that year. The snow was perfect for
sledding especially like we did it. We tied out sleds on behind the car or pick up
and were pulled through the hills. We got our sleds. My dad and my uncle made
them for us.
No television and only in the late years were we allowed to use the
radio. Batteries were to expensive for frivolous use. We spent many hours
playing cards or games.
I took time out and went to high school and college and got my
My aunt taught there only one year after the Federal Government
turned the schools over to the local government.
The last time I was back there the out buildings had been moved and
Indian families were living in them. The school was dirty and unkept.
Now the school is gone. The ancestors who once walked these
dusty plains are gone. The Indians who were there when I was a child are gone.
They are Ghosts. Ghosts whose faces can be seen in the clouds.
Ghosts who still chop wood on those sub zero nights. And the drums we heard
in the middle of the nights are still beating. They beat as strongly as the heart
beats in a healthy body. The laughter of the children still echoes under the
The life blood of a culture, of a nation grows thin. The Battle of
Wounded Knee was the last battle to be fought between the white man and the
Indian on the northern plains. It's cries still echo across the land.
My foot prints in the creek did not last any longer than those they left
in the dust. But in my memories, this mile and a half by three quarter mile haven
still lives. And will live forever as a piece of unrecorded history.
this poem is dedicated to my Mr mellors i hope he reads this
The Cop, The Math Teacher, The Guide
you've been there for me
when i was confused
and could not see
the forest or the path
you were there
when school was hell
and life was black as midnight
you were there
when i screwed up
and found myself trapped
by my own mistakes
even though i disappointed you at times
and made you want to tear your hair out
you were there
you've always been there
and cannot thank you enough
Thank You Mr. Mellors
You will not
For it is hate
and love that made us.
It is the great and the small
that reverberate within our bones.
It is every syn and antonym,
every opposite every known,
the many, the alone.
We are a poem.
You will never
for it is truth
and art that made us.
We are a poem.
change my name
fairly often, I suppose
change my clothes
and Imma' damn gypsy, ya' see
keep it fresh ta' death
speck of blood
ketchup on my attire
got more rhymes
than I got grey hairs
that's an effing lot
because i got my share
hot-fire piece of passionate verse
rare to find
if only poets would
unleash the fury
on their mind...
I must say...
the etc. etc...
would be a less stinky place...
I'd keep my name, and sever ties with
and just go
Murphy wished for a Prince who rode a White horse...
So she went back to college and took a new course...
She met a man who drove a green pinto...
Although he had no idea where his life would go...
His wants and needs he wanted for free...
As he had no intentions of working you see...
So they moved in together...and she paid the bills...
He played online games and took many pills...
While she worked two jobs, and going to school...
Her friends told her often she was a fool...
This wasn’t a relationship...this was just bizarre...
And to make matters worse, he drove her sports car...
But she explained, he needs me and I don’t want to be alone...
Besides I have created a most beautiful home...
The years flew by and no changes were made..
She graduated with honors, and now had a trade..
At the firm of Morgan White Esquire at Law...
This was just the beginning and the last straw...
She finally came to her senses you see...
Of her dreams and wishes that were meant to be...
She now had her “ Morgan “ and her “Prince” you see...
A Morgan is a breed of horse...and the rest is history
If there is a child in Kolahun, Lofa County who can’t read- that matters to me.
If there is a senior citizen somewhere who can’t get a pension after many years of dedicated service- that makes my life poorer.
If a decent brother is accused of rape and is being rounded up without a benefit of an Attorney or due process- that threatens my civil liberty.
If a native Liberian is down sided for an elite- that overshadows my equal right clause in the constitution.
If a high school graduate cannot be honor with a job, but the only option left is to hawk on the streets to earn a hard living- I wonder what society is being created for the young generation.
Perseverance: a poem
Long ago or should I say sometime in the past?
I had dreams and now at the age of 31 I have realized most of them.
It’s funny how good luck; joy, pain, rejection, effort and ‘Perseverance’ with a capitol ‘P’ have played a part in my life and sealed my Fate.
I now choose to think more positive thoughts even though this is still hard for me when I hear a negative voice in my head or when I hear people say negative things about me.
Those things hurt me and stay with me until I let it go.
I am self-motivated and I was a star pupil in my memories of my childhood.
My main goal is to be able to take care of myself, be responsible for myself and for the choices I make in life.
I am finishing school next January ’14 with my Bachelor’s degree and I want to find a good Internship.
Then after that I want to have a part-time job working 20 to 25 hours per week and continue doing volunteer work.
Oh and poems, I will keep writing my poems and reading other people’s poetry. Right now I am reading LIT a memoir by Mary Karr. I also want to write children’s books.
A walk to school out of the backdoor, through the homemade back gate, through a narrow alley,
Cars parked on the curb, guarded by paraffin lamps, no garages, no parking area,
Walking down my road, past the bully's house, all is very, very quiet, careful
Then the front door opens, a big kid comes running and chases me down the road.
Near the end of my street was a large piece of wasteland, called "the logs"
Huge logs cut down hundreds of years ago, grey, split, tall trees chopped down,
Stinging nettles in large clumps, cars abandoned, a play ground for children,
Into a road full of bungalows, the posh side, people looking through curtains.
About a mile down this road, there was more wasteland, with a muddy shortcut,
Shoes covered in mud, trying to clean them with an old bit of paper, no good,
Out of the wooded shortcut, past the entrance of a railway, through a tunnel,
On the other side, up steps was a sweet shop, looked through window, no money.
Past the bank on to a main road, told many times to look left and right, careful,
Walking up another street, then a short cut through, an old mansion falling apart,
Down the coke covered road, into a road where huge flats were being built, ugly flats.
The into my school play ground, seeing class mates, queuing up to go into the school.
Let me have a cup of tea
Much before I get Free
Let me have it while busy
Wait! Let me finish first
I will feel then relaxed
Then get me a cup of tea
(Dedicated to Dana Rugina)
On that very cool and refulgent evening
Flying from Europe to Africa
Luck placed me beside you
How beautiful it was to look at your pretty face
How wonderful to know you are from Romania
How pleasant it was to have a seat beside you
How glad I was to know you are a mathematician
Though accented, paid kin attention to listen to me
I had a smooth and sweet flight
Not because it was an Egypt Airline nor that I sat in business class
But because you keep my company
“Is your final destination Egypt?” ignited our conversation
“A man that keeps quite will die” will I always remember
Because they are words of wisdom
I believe I’ll see you again
Friend on the flight
Where and when, that I cannot say.