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Long Baptism Poems | Long Baptism Poetry

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Long poem by Mario DE PAZ | Details |

Dante's Hell, fourth canto translation first part,

Fourth canto (first part)

The deep slumber was broken in my head
By a strong thunder, so that I woke up
As person forced to arouse from bed;

My rested eye I moved around then deep,
Erect uprisen, and also stared straight
In order of the place a knowledge to buildup.

It’s true that I was just in the side trait
Of the deep valley in the sore abyss
Where infinite troubles one has to wait.

Obscure and foggy was certainly this
So much that, having my face deeply stuck,
Anything there my sight was bound to miss. 

“Now into the world blind straight down we chuck”,
Started to tell the poet completely pale.
“I will be first, and you second to duck”.

And I, seeing his hue and its entail,
Told him: ”How can I come if you just fear
Being the one who supports when I quail?”.

And he to me: “Of people the distress
Lying down here, imprints then on my face
The same compassion you feel due to stress.

Now go, since we have a long way to trace”.
So he moved and so pushed me to step in
The first circle which starts the chasm to lace.

Here, to extent of what you could listen,
Never was heard so much crying which ails
And made the eternal air quake and spin;

This happened without any  torment bales,
Which had the crowds, many and large indeed,
Of infants, of women and of males.

The good master to me: “Do not you need
To know which souls are these that you see?
You must be aware, before you proceed,

They did not sin; if have worth as a fee
Is in vain, baptism they did not receive,
Which is the door to faith that you agree;

And if they lived before the Christ achieve,
They did not properly adored to God:
And to these I myself pertain and cleave.

Due to this lack, and not for being sod,
We are lost, and offended in a way
That to a life with no hope we must nod”.

Great grief then kept me when I heard his say,
Because people of value very high
Who I met in limbo compelled to stay.

“Tell me, my master, you that underlie”,
I started willing briefly to be sure
On that faith with no error to rely:

“Nobody came out of here, being pure
Or with intercession, blessed became?
And he understanding my say obscure,

Answered: “Short after in this state I came,
When I saw arriving a man with sway,
Crowned with signs of victory and great fame.

The soul of the first father took away,
His son Abel and Noah could bring,
And Mose’s loyal who gave the laws array;

Abraham’s patriarch and David’s king, 
Israel with his father and his breed
And with Rachel, which took under his wing,

Many others, to be blessed agreed.
And I want to let you know that, before,
No human soul’s salvation had succeed”.

While he was speaking we were walking more ,
But the wilderness we were going through,
The wilderness, I mean, of souls hard core.

Not very long the way we had to do
Before night, when I saw a fire bright
Which dark hemisphere was able to hue. 

We were still far more than a little bite 
But not much so I could partly discern
The honorable people lying in that site.

“You that raise science and art with concern,
Who are these having honor just so great
That a different mode deserve in turn?”

And he to me: “The honored fame and trait
Which sounds up there where really you live 
Mercy in heavens grows who pass them straight”.

Meanwhile a voice I heard to me arrive:
“Do honor to the poet which is at top;
His soul comes back, next had to derive”.

When that voice was calm and allayed to stop,
I saw four big shades toward us to come:
They did not show delight or of mood drop.

The good master then started telling some:
“Look well at the one holding that big sword,
Who is by of three as a king become:

That is Homer who all other poets scored;
Horace the satirist is the other;
Ovid the third, Lucan last of the board.

Since all of them now welcomes me further
According to the voice before I heard,
They honor me, and then are good farther.

So I saw the well worthy school conferred 
Of that lord in the most distinguished song
Which over others flies as eagle bird.

After they friendly reasoned enough long,
They turned their heads to me sending a nod,
And then my master smiled for that along;

And they gave me honor even more broad,
Since they made me member of their array,
So I was sixth in all that wisdom laud.

So then we moved toward the light our way,
Speaking of things at best silent to keep,
Like it was speaking where I had to stay.

(continued next, not enough space)


Long poem by Roy Jerden | Details |

La Bejarena

La Béjareña

Oh sweet Angel of Jesus, wherefore lies your grave?
Your blood that is of Navarro, that Corsican so brave
She was a proud Tejana, such a beauty once they say
That enchanted Santa Anna, so far back in the day

On fairy feet she floated in Béjar’s promenade
Like radiating moonbeams her beauty was conveyed
Mantilla and peineta in the latest Spanish style
Caballeros peacocked near her, each hoping for a smile

But for noble Béjar maidens, any glancing was taboo
Except for caballeros that her family nodded to
A curtsey and a flourished bow were the courtly ways
Of greeting one another back in those golden days

Such a fine tradition was the Béjar promenade 
To the Veramendi Palace, perhaps a masquerade
Or to dance a light fandango by the river’s perfumed air
All seemed much more beautiful when close to one so fair

Those were the days of wonder, when Béjar was so sweet
Before the revolution, and the Alamo’s defeat
Before some Anglos came to take with gun and Negro slave
The land that brave Tejanos had bled and died to save

Béjar was filled with drunkards, and rogues of every kind
No promenade was possible in streets so unrefined
And over near the Alamo, where freedom’s price was dear
The price was now determined by the slavery auctioneer

And yet one Anglo gentleman, a major in the war
Touched with noble chivalry, and the ways of a señor
The captured despot’s life did save, upon that victory day
From those who would have hanged the knave, down San Jacinto way

The moment that she met him, in the formal Spanish style
And looked into his honest eyes without a trace of guile
And read his soul so brave and pure, it seemed that time stood still
As nature linked their hearts as one, according to its will

A thousand days of happiness, a thousand days of bliss
Were all that God would grant them both before their final kiss
She laid her hero in his grave, and took their son in hand
And thought of how to speak to him and make him understand

Her gentle eyes had lost their shine; her hair was touched with gray
They wed her to the Dunker man, who took her far away
He never knew her sorrow, he never knew her soul
Inside her lonely citadel of iron self-control

He left her for another wife, and cast them all aside
But a mother’s duty to her sons would never be denied
And at the age of fifty-six, the time at last arrived
When she could welcome willingly the deadly reaper’s scythe

Oh sweet Angel of Jesus, wherefore lies your grave?
Your blood that is of Navarro, that Corsican so brave
By the village of Las Moras, down Rio Bravo way?
No one seems to know for sure, unto this very day

Oh, sons of Navarro!  Let not that Béjar rose
Lie with the dust of strangers, where no one ever goes
Join her with her heart's true love, on acres gently blessed
With shady hills below pecans, where heroes go to rest

Notes:
This historical poem is about one of my HS classmate's Tejano (in the original 
sense) ancestors from the time of the Texas Revolution and the story is told 
from that perspective.

The main characters are not named in the poem intentionally, and place names 
are the old Spanish ones, but I will share with you the names of the 
protagonist and her true love, in case you are interested in reading about 
them. Her name was Angela de Jesus Maria Blasa Navarro. She was the niece of 
Juan Antonio Navarro, one of the signers of the Texas Declaration of 
Independence and a member of the important Navarro family of Bejar, present 
day San Antonio. She married William Gordon Cooke, one of the heroes of the 
Texas revolution, who is buried on Republic Hill at the Texas State cemetery 
along with other notables. Angela was buried near Brackettville, originally called 
Las Moras.


The Dunker man was Angela's 2nd husband, Abraham Geiger Martin. He was a 
member of the German Baptist Brethren church, nicknamed Dunkers because 
they practiced full body baptism, but required three full immersions before you 
were properly baptized. Apparently the marriage was a total failure and he 
divorced her, leaving her to raise his son and William Cooke's son alone.


Long poem by Sergio Silveira | Details |

The Volunteer, A Poem Inspired by HRH Prince George of Cambridge

'We have a future king to make,'
Said the deep, resounding voice.
'But it is not a proper fit for everyone.
For a king must know first how to obey than to command,
And to abide rather than reign.'

'And thus, I need a volunteer.'

The eager little voices swiftly gathered ‘round.
'To have a throne and my own crown,' said a little voice with delight. 
'A great palace for my home,' cried another, 'or a castle with tall ramparts.'
'I’d be above all others,' said yet another, 'that would surely ease one’s comparing mind;'
'And best of all, to be revered by everyone and through all time!'   

'Don’t fool yourselves with thrones and crowns,' said a little voice from the side,
'Do not haste into a choice you may regret for all your life!
I’d rather risk oblivion and even want, but be free to choose my fate,
What is precious life for but to discover one’s gift and thirst?
You take that crown and throne, and you forever renounce the greatest prize you own!'

There were no volunteers at hand for that grand, distinguished life.
The once lively little voices now stood silent, with cautious glances in their eyes.
Yet they began to move a little, but not to volunteer their fates; 
Someone was slowly coming forward all the way from far behind. 
Soon, one single little voice stood ahead of all the others, and with a thoughtful stare, it spoke:

'I overheard a story once
Of a vast and balmy river 
That braves across cold, stormy seas
So it can meet a fabled shore
And become one with it.

'Wearied from its long voyage, 
It crashes beneath the sheer cliffs.
And as its froth caresses the jagged rocks,
It echoes the green, velvety meadows above
Which gently cuddle the harsh precipice. 

'The wee, babe-in-arms coming king 
Will hold that fabled shore in him.
For he, though one sole man
Will stand for an entire land.
And in choosing this destiny
Of that fabled shore I also shall be,
For it will be a part of me, 
And I, humbly, of it.

'And then, there is the brave lad who in sheer fright,
Gathered all his nerve and leaped into the dark night
Over the unknown enemy’s laird.
Oh, how I would leap into the dark along with thee!
Though he is now long gone, he will live in me,
And I, humbly, in him.

'And the family who huddled deep beneath the ground
Through the terrifying shudder of the enemy’s raging rounds. 
Then, to rise again, and not concede.
I was in that shelter along with them,
And so were a million others who were yet to be!

'Such as the young boy now walking to school on a quiet country lane,
To learn his Scott, his Shakespeare, his Milton, and his Keats.
I will follow him close behind, and my own feet shall grow within his footprints.
It takes no less than each of them to make a king, 
And not more than lacking one to lessen him.
For a king, though one sole self, stands for all, 
And all do stand for him.

'I know that in choosing this path, 
I’ll forever relinquish command of my compass, 
And may never find out what I could’ve become on my own, 
Or what my true talent may be.
I will follow, instead, a course that has long been set,
By others, and not by me.

'But I have a strong hunch 
That if I don’t put myself first,
Or what I feel I’m entitled to do and to have,
And choose, instead, to be fair, as best as I possibly can, 
To those for whom I’ll be honored to stand,
I’ll eventually know who I really am; 
And will meet, one day, the man I am meant to become.'

'Thus, I volunteer 
To be the child who’s one day to be king.'

A newborn day blazed in the distance,
And a transformation was about to take place, 
As momentous as the invasion of spring,
The rising of the harvest, or a mighty winter gale.
Nearly two thousand babies were coming to life on that land, 
From that land, to that land, for that land, 
And a single one amongst them exalted all. 

Half a world away, a vast and balmy river 
Was setting out on its long voyage to a fabled shore,
And nearby, radiant sunlight battled gray, stormy clouds,
So as to break through and paint in brilliant and broad brushstrokes
The lofty Highlands below,
And thus, be reborn as shimmering glens and moors.


Long poem by Nina Mindova | Details |

Sea impression

                 
                 Wave a sea softened
                  and a pain and a tenderness
                   throw dreams in fascination
                   of the blue.
                   And let shave the waves of
                   Your eternity , oh, weigh
                    above me,
                    oh,weigh a  coast of years.
                    Carry far in azure, spiral
                    ships,
                    with bulging little abdomens,
                    flutter with mahagony pinions
                    and already in vain  expect you
                    to stop the scales harbours 
                    with hot flames for You are
                    open.
                    Far away, far away ,far away,
                    stretched string,
                    heart and frank await the 
                    hymn of June.
                    All sea sisters are dressed in
                    mother-of-pearl garment
                    embroidered of kiss of 
                    eternity. 
                    In the morning hunts them
                    fishermen and revive with
                    breath of their man’s hands.
                    In the evening girls wash 
                    their black tunics,
                    in their blue hearts,
                    their feet white ,who cadge
                    heavy chains.
                    The night is squeezed enigma
                    and ugly,
                    predatory like a bat pecking
                    of scarlet fig.
                    Sea sisters, sea sisters,
                    remember His steps 
                    which go through you noiselessly,
                  and ou swing like
                  bloody wine-
                 hold in His fingers Herod,
                 Pilate washes his hands,
                in Yours heirs
               and they bristled like winter
               icicles bristles of innoncent blood .
               There at Golgotha 
                hearing terrible cry,
                blood gushes like
               wounded river disappear
               like Easter roses,
              in weeds of flushed 
     preditory crowd,
     to open way of
     saving.
     Who is He?
     Do you heard 
     His name ?
     He is Messiah,
     God’s anoited
      Jesus Christ.
      Like little sheeps,
      clouds of candy floss,
      they welcome festivaly.
       Barefooted are feet 
      of lovely swarthy steps
     of the sun, came to bow,
      before You , Creator.
      The sea throws his 
       magnificent silver flesh,
      blue like heavently lace,
       to swallow all stars 
       only Bethlehem’s
      stays inextinguishable,
       pretty like uncreated
      like an apple of not 
      born girl.      


Long poem by madhavi suyog pagare | Details |

The Intensifying love story

The Intensifying love story by 
Madhavi.S.Pagare
 
I simply adore you, my Mesmerizing 
Persona.
As you are my first love.
Who lighted my heart with full of pride and 
joy.
Who ignited the ecstasy towards lovely life.
Who relieved my pains and took sorrows 
as boon.
You made me fall sick in your love when I 
see your madness.
I like the way,
The way you gazed at me and my smoky 
eyes.
The way you smiled at my mystifying and 
enigmatic appeal.
The way you every time praises me.
The way you galvanized me and proved 
the meaning of life.
You are the one,
Yes, you are the one who aroused my 
feelings, my emotions.
Yes, you are the one who explored my 
passion of love, flaming in my charismatic 
soul.
Yes, you are the lovely treasure which god 
had baptized me.
Yes, you are the one who turned the page 
of my life.
Eureka, I found my true love!!!!
Bewilderedly I did not know, where is my 
love taking me to ??
But still I like the way,
Like, the way you clutched me into your 
arms.
Like, the way you kissed my palms.
Like, the way you hugged me, caressed 
me.
Like, the way you rubbed your fingers on 
my lips.
Like, the way you tickled me on my neck.
Like, the way you squeezed my cheeks.
Like, the way you holded me up towards 
the sky.
Like, the way when you inspired me to fly 
so high.
Tears dropped from my eyes and the very 
next moment I realized that it is my 
sensational love. My true love. Then I 
decided that no one had right to do this 
except you. If you want to know the 
reason?? If yes??
Yes, because I seriously fell in love with 
you.
Yes, because you are the one to whom god 
had assigned me to.
And here comes the Swifted instance 
when??
When, the moment you wore the golden 
ring in my finger and I was happily waving 
around.
Just can’t forget the time when our long 
lasting friendship turned into lifetime 
relationship.
It was just the blooming of two lover’s 
indicating the herald of the marriage. It 
means a lot for any girl in this amazing 
world.
And yes, you will always find my heart 
topped with love showered only for you. 
For you!!
And till my last breathe, my heart beats, 
beating for you, only for you SUYOG!!
In fervour I wanted you to be mine forever, 
forever.
We both sojourned in each other soul so 
deeply that we just can’t wait for a single 
second, unless and until, we share what is 
running in our mind. It’s just because we 
are so much accustomed to each other 
now. 
I Love you, adore you, adore you forever 
my Love.


Long poem by liam mcdaid | Details |

Princess Philomena 1

She who is the light and hope in love complete
I kneel in your grace
A story that really gripped me deeply
as my mother told me with such pride in her voice

Protectress of the most Holy living rosary 
she has preformed countless miracles
A young virgin who was martyred at the age of 13
She willingly gave her life to the heavenly sacrifice
daughter of light you shine heroic
Blessed with the virtues of purity,obedience and humility
the anchor of hope in deep dark despair
I promised someone really dear to me
precious in my heart with love
to write this story

She was the daughter of a prince stunning beautiful
coming from a small state in Greece
who her family became Christians 
in baptism she became the daughter off, light
One day while in the city the family went for an audience
with the great emperor, when he saw her 
he appeared possessed in his mannerism
during the whole time within conversations 
Now her father was dazzled with his honor
he willingly accepted his proposal of marriage
her father and mother tried everything to induce her to yield
to their demands she turned to them and said
I never break a promise once made
in the one she had made to Jesus
saying her virginity belongs to him
No longer can I dispose of it
They tried everything in their power
her father began attacking her in his own shame
in violent rage and anger and her mother tried to induce her to yield
they tried everything with her that was possibly know to them
Until both her parents fell on their knees begging
with tears that were overwhelming their eyes
pleading with her to please take pity on them
No was her answer final on the subject
she had vowed herself to God and her kingdom is in Heaven
She was brought before the emperor at the time
he flew into a mad violent fit of anger mixed with rage
influenced by the devil himself
He flung her into the palace prison
thinking to himself with pain and suffering
and with great shame in her courage he constantly attacked her
some which were almost fatal to her purity of blessing
had it not been for the hand and grace of God
Her prayers supported her 
those she made to the love of Jesus
and to her most holy mother with her only son
now being held in captivity 37 days in total
always in a heavenly mist of light 
Our Blessed most Holy Mother supreme through the eyes of all women
bride of our Lord the Father God the creator
our Blessed Mother appeared in a vision

this story continues on next write 3 chapters this all held me captive 




Long poem by Nancy Jones | Details |

PI - Inspired by the movie

THREE year olds know about circles. They play
ring around the rosy and here we go round
the mulberry bush. And if one should say 
that in reality nowhere is found
a perfect circle, they either don’t hear
or won’t buy it.  Yet.  Another year
or so they’ll eat the awful truth and then
conventional wisdom will slip right in
to its proper place and babyish why
will give way to unexamined lives. Sin
preached from pulpits at preschool shrouds PI.

POINT to the red stop circle. Here’s the way
to walk safely: keep one foot on the ground
at all times.  Slowly and steadily. Stay
between the lines and never let the sound
of  critical thinking distract your ear
from the sound of my voice. I love you, dear.
Trust me to tell you what you need know when
you need to know it.  I tell you, I’ve been
granted credentials. Listen to me, I
pledge allegiances, comfort and even
wealth.  Conformity’s requirements stifle PI.

ONE damp March morn, buzzards circled the gray
expanse of four-laned wasteland where a hound
dog had foolishly chased a dove away
from any sign of obedience. Mound
after mound of petrified organs.  Clear
chords rang out. But the harsh grind of the gear
of  market driven semis hauling men
and their pimp wares of lies told by vermin
with disposable fantasies rolled by 
and outscreamed the prelude of peace. The end
justifies. Wall Street domesticates PI.

FOUR the fourth time, circle in ink to play
lucky numbers. Fortune cookies abound
with their scratch off oracles of big pay
and tight buns and white cuspids.  Wrap-around
leather skirts lust for more time and sincere
pleas for help get downsized. Year after year,
oblivious to the tipping of win
or lose scales to the right and left to grin
and bear it. Occasional urge to cry
‘til imbalance seems natural. If your skin
crawls take medicine. Addictions cloud PI.

ONE nation under God circles to sway
one lord one faith one baptism?   Joshua downed
Jericho and Truman blessed Enola Gay
to drop her horrid load  Does it astound
anyone anymore?  Or has the fear
of death obscured sacred tidings of cheer 
and replaced them with slick prayers to low men
in high places?   Hallelujahs in thin
screechy voices.  Who will dare to ask why?
Blind patriotism and religion
unsupported by spirit torture PI.

AND SO ON TO INFINITY. Again
and again and again.  There’s never been
an end or even a pattern.  We fly
around in circles, unaware. But when
we wake, we will come face to face with PI.

~~~~~~~~~~

the capitalized first words in each stanza when taken together are pi


Long poem by Ernesto P. Santiago | Details |

An Offspring Of Love

                               
                              You are,                                                   And I am,
                   The Body of Christ,                                       Of an earthly man,
            Purchased by His sacred blood!                       A sinner, living in iniquity!

       Pure and precious in nature                                  A presumptuous transgressor,
  True riches and infinite wisdom                                                    Of divine teachings,
Can only be found in You!                                            Of the Father--the Greatest King!

You are the light of life                                                               And I walk in darkness
To those who believe in righteousness                         For I'm led to falsity and deception
As they reside in Your blessed peace!                       By the sweet-talking parsons of lies!

You preached the gospel,                                                          I ignored your presence
To the GEM many came to listen,                               For my fixation was on seen things
But few are chosen!                                                         From which I gained nothing! 

 You saw the emptiness in my heart                        I was touched by Your noble deeds
   And that You gave me invitation                              That I accepted Your call, gladly! 
     To be apart of You!                                         And later, I found the truth in You!

            You are in me and I'm in You! And thru the Holy Baptism, I am redeemed!
            And I became a true Christian. In one spirit, we share our firm conviction
                To those who seek the long and treacherous road towards salvation!

                     Sharing our gifts from Heaven could change one's life, forever!
                        For great fortune is ours, as we make life better for others
                            And for them to be called into the Supreme Church!

                                    For truly, I will abide in the Holy Scriptures,
                                       To constantly praise and worship God,
                                           For I am, sure and without doubt,
                                                An offspring of His unselfish
                                                       And everlasting
                                                              Love!


Long poem by Keith Trestrail | Details |

Weekend at Tapora: Part 2

The weekend continues...


But not so my spirit and not so my mojo risin,
 And in my addlemania I dry wet clothes
From my baptism of sand and sea:
 The mudflats beckon yonder: Bugger!
Kaipara Harbour at its low ebb -
 A remote ancestral place of myth and legend.
Those windswept badlands
 Scar a bleak landscape -
To me it feels like the dark side of the moon:
 A dead man walkin - fallen in the dunes!
Under cover of darkness...
 Regiment covert Black Ops:
Left Base Camp HQ at 2100 hours -
 Stormin Norman Skeet Company!
Cursed by the howlin wind,
 More eye-rollin drunk than before
Dug in on the cold shiftin sands of Iwo Jima:
 Bivouacked on the beachheads
And coves of Guadalcanal!
 To seek out bow-legged women: make contact
With the local frontier girls
 And summon them in the tall grass:
But the blokes under my command had heads
 Like gargoyles, so we had to Bug Out -
Bid a retreat lest toothless villagers
 Wavin pitchforks appear!
 Hark...is that Deulin Banjos I hear!
Returned to HQ and debriefed in our madness
 As the grunts frenzied on cockles.
They nursed their wounds - I nursed a beer!
 Then out of nowhere
Enemy positions rained incomin shellfire
 Upon the tin roof - stoned us
With their hit and run cluster bombs
 And vanished like the voices in my head!
Kiddin! No voices! Not psycho!
 But worse was to come at Camp Crystal Lake
When my "Blood on the Tracks" tape
 Self-destructed: the ghost of Dylan died!
O but there was an Idiot Wind blowin
 Through our Shelter from the Storm!
And in my cabin fever I did
 Become yep, Tangled up in Blue!
Sunday: gravely low on hooch -
 More precious than Saddam's stolen gold!
'Twas then the plotters plotted 
On the windy Kaipara shore!
 The first casualty of war is the truth,
But not this version of it - so shall it be written:
 With jellyfish in my jacket
And deceit in my heart
 We were on a Mission from God...
And as I rolled back the bedcovers
 I felt good and just cause!
As I laid my slimy tentacled friend down
 The universe was in alignment!
And with my Blues Brother and wheelman
 In sunglasses, like Jake and Elwood,
We smoked that Monaro out of the "Deliverance" 
 Backwoods before insurrection in the ranks,
And before them pig squealin
 Mountain men showed up to take a bride!
 

               ----------------------

TRUE STORY!  
Dedicated to all who were there.

Tapora is a small sleepy village on the Kaipara
Harbour in the North Island of New Zealand.

...until we showed up!


August 1994


Long poem by Keith Trestrail | Details |

Oh, to be in Trinidad

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
Where the hot scented currents flow;
  From Caroni wetland to Nariva
Chaconia and silk cotton tree grow:
  Where reaching palms whisper
Across island reef and coconut lagoon,
  And the forests of Papa Bois
Echo the wild water lilies in bloom

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
When equatorial rains have passed:
  And gaze Big Wet to big sky 
The burning canefield and wildgrass.
  Lowland's baptism of blossom
Resurrect from Toco to Mayaro Bay,
  And in reacquainted seasons
Waves of consciousness slip away

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
Where tales of bacchanal abound;
  How old chimes with new
Yet uprising does a trumpet sound!
  And ghosts of the revolution
Fan the flames in the hot raging sun -
  Where dat voodoo spirit rise
The Obeah Man when day is done

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
For Crab and Callaloo on Sunday...
  Let the Boca gulf gates lull
And stars over Tobago my fears allay.
  Dream and moonstruck gaze
Till Monos windsong wakes no more;
  Listen and you too shall hear
Rapping upon her hideaway shore

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
For the Scarlet Ibis returning flown;
  Hummingbird's backward dance,
Beauty I'm richer for having known!
  And in days of future past
Tread again these island strands:
  First trod on Maracas Beach
Or Rancho Caballero grasslands

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
When the Oval is at its raucous best,
  And the lions of Port of Spain
Bay for the Christians in noble contest:
  Where the air is sweet with rum,
The chickpea Doubles and Pepperpot;
  And the drums and soca play
Till everyone feelin' Hot! Hot! Hot!

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
Playin' Mas' with cart and barrow;
  When masquerade and fete
Jump loudest to Kitch and Sparrow!
  Calypsonian tents jammin',
Limbo flame sparks the night flare,
  And Carnival streets jumpin'
From old St Augustine to St Clair

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
Among the blood of African slave,
  And not be destined, alas,
To lifeless fill a cold foreign grave!
  Lo, where indentured cargo
In waves landed upon South Quay...
  I pray the bells of Greyfriars
Will gently toll in absence for me

  Oh, to be in Trinidad
When the great Savannah dawns;
  Hot Roti and Roasted Corn
In early light over its tracks and lawns.
  Land of my nativity begun
From hills to blue Caribbean Sea:
  I miss that golden age ended
And lament why so it had to be

         -----------------


August 1995


Long Poems