Best 1962 Poems
Like love ones come to view a parting ship
Before the anchor lifts
And its iron lips prow the salty waves
We journeyed from our busy day and penny pay
And the indifferent utterances to our cause
We came tattlering and joking and tired
Of the conditions simulating the bitter colonial
We wiped the bread crumbs from our mouth
Stood erect with eyes upon a pole
And watch the tricolored form slithered down
Head drooping in the gusty night
And all the while Dura drums rolling softly
Could not budge my steel convictions with fire
I felt alone in the long uproar of crowd
For I think I saw it winked an opulent eye
Before the pole flagless stood silent in naked night.
Proud I am children, proud for sure, proud of day and proud of night
I can finally turn the key in my own door
No latent echoes filled with omnious warnings
Measuring out my freedom in abbreviated noons
And uncoiling mornings with elastic circuit of the sun
I can plant my own ten acres of banana more
Beach my own canoe on the shore
And will cut twenty more yards of sugarcane
If they pay me better now to buy a proper loaf
I come this midnight dividing present and past
Dividing hope from despair and brief uncertainty
About the cloud's timing of the rain.
I come to see my own black sorrows rolled back
To taste the ripe green of land and labour
And peace of sovereign gold
I come for me, and I come for Nanny on the mountain
Looking down, and for Bogle's marching done
I come for brother Sam fired dream of freedom
Do you hear their great spirit chanting us
Garvey on the podium after the black, green and gold
Have taken its place proudly amongst the nations of the world
I hear him thunder "rise ye mighty race, rise"
And feel the lightning of the heroes voice
Those all past, and those to come
This is a great moment in the building of a nation
A great berth of ship before the salt waves lick
The sturdy bow, O ye valiant seamen, no cringeing now
No shackled hopes, no tethered dreams, our coffled hearts
Shall be only what reminds of the bitter voyage past
My soul is breathing like the abeng tonight
Atop its pole the flag of Jamaica in full flight.
After the storm, my brother
(all gangly knees and elbows)
bore the brunt of its ferocious aftermath.
Every day after school
I watched his wiry biceps bulge a little
as his handsaw scritched against the tree
which had fallen diagonally across our front yard.
I witnessed the violence of metal on wood,
the violence of The King of the Mountain’s smirk
as he too watched, his greedy eyes
taking in my brother’s razor sharp collar bone,
with jaw set in furious concentration.
This imposed punishment was meant to goad my brother,
meant to tempt him to rage
so that the next time the stepdad slugged him
he would feel justified, holy even.
Kneeling on scratchy couch to watch
I scrunched my shoulders,
Folding into myself like an accordion,
gathering myself up to make of me something smaller;
I pressed my knees together
wrapping my arms around them
and lowered my head,
waiting for the sky to rain trees
with swollen trunks, and branches thrust downward
as if warding off a sickening impact with earth.
My brother, it seems,
must be punished for the crime of
his existence;
for this the stepdad’s eyes shone bright,
bright as the heavy duty flashlights
he begrudgingly loaned my brother
so he could work far into the night.
His eyes fairly burned with lust—
The lust of sadism’s glee.
I saw him lick his lips;
You’d have thought he’d conjured up this
Columbus Day Storm all by himself
for the sole purpose
of proving to my brother
that he had no right
to co-exist with him in the same universe.
I watched until my eyes burned
and my head ached dully
and my brother, sweating and chilled,
laid down his saw
swiped his arm across his forehead,
and straightening up, met my wary gaze
with the scoured look
of shame whittled down into hatred,
sawn away into stumpy pieces like an old tree trunk.
After the storm my brother cleaned up nature’s wrath.
He stood a little taller and his eyes, when they met his abuser’s,
burned unflinching.
After the storm we feigned memory loss
Pretended that nothing had shifted in our family dynamic.
We sat down to meals silent and repressed and picked up our forks
as if the stepdad hadn’t just won a major battle,
as if my brother’s days in that household were not numbered.
Penny Candy Paradise, 1962
My little fingers
tightly clench
six saved pennies,
as I hurry to the drugstore
aisle filled with
penny candy treasures,
….as far as my
eyes can see.
07/21/10
11:03pm
MIDNIGHT DATE AT HARRY'S -- June 1962
I know you're laughing.
Sittin there on that strait back chair
laughing laughing laughing.
Hey! Psssstttt....Maria....
you wanta see some dirty postcards?
Maria Mia when did you move to Italy?
What's it gonna be, he or me?
I seen you down to the market square
lookin like a five hundred lire lady shopping for
sweet potato(e)s.
Merci!
No, I mean Grazie!
I remember when we did Florence
Your mama was so hot they almost shut down Harrys.
Remember that big Madamoiselle
with herself spread all over the table?
Remember, huh? Remember?
She said she was French
but you sure pulled her cord quick didn't you?
She didn't even finish her gambretti cocktail!
And then that night
that night
it was the Pensione Piave
I know it was
dear me where does the time go.
your loving and devoted servant
Luigi.
ps:
are you still laughing? Ciao.
Old ways have a way to replay
Scenes from forgotten melodies;
Those stray feelings that recall stay
Upon the whim of plain fancy.
See how my years have flown away,
Clinging to my journey story;
I barely recall yesterday,
How strange these fading memories?
Dangling strands of cacophony,
Old Mattar Road that paved my stay;
Stray echoes now pestering me,
Those faded faces gone away.
By that old path an empty plot,
Where once hovered our rented slabs;
A sudden melancholic thought,
Flashed fading moments in mind map.
That old neighbourhood now obscured,
I think upon old companions;
Missing moments that once postured,
Nothing remains of old fractions.
How distant is this odd feeling,
Coming back to nothing to add;
That draining, uneasy thinking,
A glimpsing of the past now sad.
So much has lapsed in the distance,
A fifty-year march from just where;
I jog my thoughts to that instance,
Rest in old pains that gather there.
My feeble knees tell on me here,
The familiar laughter still stays;
The fun and games and atmosphere,
Where frolic and cheer made our day.
There was a route and roundabout,
Where a big grass field hosted play;
The crafty seasons thrilled our shouts,
After school hours to arouse stray.
The vacant verge of grass now tells,
Of nothing more than greenery;
Nothing directs that old-time spell,
Nothing remains of our stories.
I write these lines of verse to fling,
Moments that inform memory;
That come to mind and simply bring
A brief rapture to my story.
Leon Enriquez
14 November 2014
Singapore
Pete and I were gob smacked by these saviors in October of sixty-two.
Women in our apartment swiftly efficiently measured our heads too.
We both wanted to know why, but back in the sixties, kids did not ask.
The women were gluing and shaping with vigor, an arduous task
Kids were sent to our kitchen to get their heads measured and noted.
Any idea? We whispered. All of us were afraid to be quoted.
This was back in the day when adults were the only ones in charge.
To ask them anything was daunting, not done, considered a barge.
When women were finished, we each had a helmet on our little head.
Pete and his argyle sweater made me grin, a bow-tied alien instead.
What is happening? He frowned at me and shook his head ‘no’.
During my childhood, kids did not dare ask, argue, or blow.
Spied this photograph in Grandma Kay's album and I had to laugh.
Helmets was supposed to save us from nuclear fallout and the riff raff.
These women engineers were intense, and eager to save us though.
Endearing memory to this day. Their love for us a nostalgic glow.
Courage is a quality that describes well this star who fought an uphill battle since childhood when abandoned by a mother suffering from mental issues, and later having to overcome sexual abuse in several foster homes - then trying to build a career for herself while trapped in an era where sexy women weren't taken seriously.
from pin-up girl to leading lady
sultry goddess
cultural icon and phenomenon
movie star
sex symbol
her public mesmerized
a beauty mark
red sumptuous lips
trademark blonde hair
photographed at every angle
product of an unstable childhood
early scars that never healed
deep down just a girl shy and insecure
hooked and determined
to defy odds and make it big
Norma Jeane
in over her head
in a conniving
vicious shark tank
fame but at what risk
just wanting to be loved
but never enough to fill the void
the little girl
in the skin of a strong woman
issues of trust and abandonment
not so easily conquered
addiction depression and anxiety
lurking in the dark
Norma Jeane
Marilyn Munroe
larger than life
her name still conjuring a dreamy aura
enigmatic her candle in the wind
Read on air by invitation ~ September 19, 2020 'MYTHS & LEGENDS'
AP: 1st place 2025, 2nd place 2025, 3rd place 2020
Submitted on September 5, 2020 for contest COURAGE sponsored by CHANTELLE ANNE COOKE - RANKED 3RD
School was out for annual Christmas break
Ice and snow hung around many a week
A friend and I did what one should not do
Went onto a frozen canal to skate
Some lads we knew were giving us some cheek
Boohoo
One lad pinched my friends hat from off her head
Chased him I did, what came next haunts me so
Iced cracked and yes I was in for the swim
The boys were brilliant, I could've been dead
Bravo!
The Speaker Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick
When my twin sister and I were ten, we built snow forts.
It took us most of the day, and we were excited about it.
We came in for a break and ate grilled cheese and tomato soup.
Our cheeks were all pink, and we were laughing.
Our mother suggested we should stay inside the rest of the day.
No way! We were on a roll! And our forts were not finished.
After our hearty warm meal, we put our wet clothes back on.
Headed out there and worked until supper time.
By the time Daddy got home, our yard was covered with snow again.
This was “snowball snow” which means it was wet enough to ball up.
We made a cache of snowballs to throw at each other, and began our fight.
My sister’s fort was low and long; big mistake. Mine was tall, but tidy.
She was yelling uncle as I clobbered her with snowball after snowball.
We had freezing rain that night, which was a blessing.
School was cancelled for a week, and our forts were frost-fortified.
The best wintery mix we could have asked for. I continued to win.
As we sit in the car
my sister, mother, father, and me
steam rises off our rain-sodden clothes
and the air fills with the smell
of damp coats and wet sheep.
I 'spect;
I'll never smell sheep
wet or dry.
Or see one; other than as we pass by;
from the window of our shiny red car.
"They look just like clouds," I say
"Silly boy, clouds on the ground?" Dad replies
They could have dropped there, I think to myself.
As we sit in the car
my sister, mother, father, and me
I make tracks on wet glass
and watch as small dewdrops race
down steamy damp windows.
I 'spect;
I'll never, ever, ever
play in the sand I can see
from the window, so close.
"The rain looks just fine to me;
I can build us a moat," I say
"you'll catch your death," mum replies.
Whatever that means, I think to myself.
As we sit in the car
my sister, mother, father, and me
I've run out of animals beginning with D
vegetables beginning with Q
and minerals that start with U.
I 'spect;
I'll never reflect at my funny self
in the hall of weird mirrors again;
just in this stupid old window.
"I'm ever so hungry;
can I have something to eat?" I say.
"What do you say?" My sister replies.
I do not say, but please, I think to myself.
As we sit in the car
my sister, mother, father, and me
wind-driven rain against the windscreen,
the car filling with smoke
from my mother's cigarettes.
I 'spect;
I'll never see my friends ever again
just be in this car for always and ever
staring out of this window.
"Who'll feed our dog
when they find us all dead?" I say.
"What?" My sister, mum, and dad reply.
You'll be sorry; when they find us, I think to myself.
Berlin, City of Espionage;
split by a wall, divided into four
only approached from the west
by road, rail, and air corridor.
Still carrying traces of the Berlin
of Isherwood’s thirties days
so very cosmopolitan still
with its big Capital City ways.
A certain grand style and
a sort of debauched air
contrasts of the strip clubs with
the Eternal Flame burning there,
not to be extinguished
until that someday when
the wall would be breached
and the Country be one again.
The delights there on offer
so very tempting and nice
but, like so many offerings
each to be had for a price.
And those days with maybe
a sort of panic in the air,
a questioning of how long
the Powers would be there.
That growing spat over Cuba
affecting the Cold War
with a very real threat it
couldn’t be cold anymore.
And Berlin the fabled city,
a city somewhat of the night,
metaphorically girded its loins
prepared for any coming fight.
City of splendour and history,
with its seven hundred year past,
confident whatever the result
it would be there at the last.
And the pleasures of the city
whatever any coming strife
helped ease our tensions
and added spice to my young life.
Quincy, Illinois: 1962
long before Barack Obama
Those days my father toiled in Quincy,
two weeks, no more,
he said he saw no blacks, except for
two young ladies busing dishes.
Daisy badges on their uniforms
announced their names,
their years of service.
He still remembers how
through all his meals
he wanted to stand
and shout:
Where do you live?
What do you do
for recreation?
Donal Mahoney
New Orleans’ 1962 ostentatious hotel lobby
extravagant crystal fluted chandeliers
highly polished walnut counter tops
opulent Italian marble floors
plush scarlet velvet cushioned couches
swankly brass and glass décor
luxury never seen after nineteen sixty-two
best Halloween was in 1962
I was a fairy with silver tinseled wings
felt angelic in virginal white shiny gown
aluminum foil wand looked fancy
I felt pretty maybe for the first time
be a lady my mother said
but two boys tried to take my candy basket
I clunked them both over the head with it
mothers called my mother
I dreaded hearing the phone ring
thought I was in trouble
proud you stood up for yourself Mom said