Best Griot Poems
I almost thought she was the one that made
Neil Diamond sings like a confetti parade
You know that sweet Carolyn thing, why not
She has the warmest soul, this sweet griot
This investigator of mysteries, and writer
Of myth and pale anthropological history
This lady, this encourager, this fresh sister
That brings a solace to each swift anxiety
This humanitarian, this dreamer, this friend
I say nothing when I read her poems again
Lest words reduce her to something defined
For words only say correctly that she is kind
And she drives the land from post to post
Bringing care and playing nurse and host
To every prayer balming pain, to each need
That plays her like winds play a reed
And make her sing her gentleness, sweet
And succulent songs, darling of gentleness
God, how your love in human form bleat
With ravishing light, and milky tenderness.
Categories:
griot, dedication, friendshipwords, sweet, prayer,
Form:
Verse
I, griot, of the Hamitic shrine
I, oracle of the orisha's ebon throne
I, child, of Melchizedek line
I, olive tree in a desert sown
Mantled in the robe of his grace
Amid cherubic beasts all four
Upon golden ground bend my face
And felt his spirit in my core
I, messenger, I, human
I, frightened, shivering thing
I, the image sculpted in his hand
I, with longing for eagle's wing
Voice of the voiceless let me speak
Faith of the discourage, here, I kneel
Ragged in sins and broken weak
And still your anvil on me I feel
Categories:
griot, faithlonging, me,
Form:
Verse
Tell us, you say, in your profound complexity
Prophet, griot, artist, word maker
Why do you litter our hearts with song?
I do not write for the crowd in Dubai
For the poetaster and rhyme maker
I write for the discriminating eye
The unweaver of magic images, breaker
Of spells, and wonderment of the child.
It will read a poem and understand
The archtecture of history is better built
And when the books are all torn up
And tradition of lies is unveiled in the night
The masses will come candleness
And light a upon a page and find light.
I write to rage
In paradigmal shifts against the loss of things
Including the plucking of my own wings.
And sometimes in my rage I sing
And sweet the tongue to sing along
Thinking of freedom as we die ... without a song.
Categories:
griot, on writing and words,
Form:
Free verse
He danced on the decks of tossing ships, danced only for dimes
He danced to the lash and sound of whips, hip moving like dream
And when he reasoned, his words sublime brought heavenly climes
Dance from plantation to Greathouse, dancing in gully and stream
And if we dance again today, he choreographs nuance and fiber
Still; this talented son, this bright native of the Martha Brae River.
He is the twin soul of that Manley, our horizons in the sun
And when at Mona, he taught me how to run with my ton.
O farewell, brother of my brother, mentor that from your distance shape
Me into a patriotic landscape where my children may build, farewell
Sweet intellect; and O may they bring our Mframadan like cloth to drape
Your rest. All your public life was nobly spent, farewell, Rex, farewell!
Your footprints are bright, not castles in sand, from high hills shine
The glory of your days. O Griot, go the bidding now of the Divine
O Blow the abeng now, beat the kumina drum, O village peel
The bells of jubilee again. Aluta Continua, Rex, go take your seal!
Mi mumma band her belly and bawl long time, yai water like rain
Hot like Clarendon springs, and the world like blue mountain mist
So cold, O emptiness, emptiness is such a dread, O such a pain
What shall we do with out hollowness now, and how shall we resist
Again the shackles of injustice, O that there were Marley
To sing this icon into the icon of memory, for all our history
Is but words on a page until we can retrieve the past to right
Today and make tomorrow bright again. He was that light.
Coda
O Kilmanjaro weep! O Timbuctu weep! O Meroe and kujo's clan
Weep for the death of man, a sterling man, a grandiose design
That met its worth in gold in deeds of him. All our life is like sand
Worn from the rock of being by tides and seasons, and no sign
To tell where wind or water carry us, we are blown away
The shadow of the sand is gone, but never cannot decay
It is too immaterial, its presence is like his fragrance here
Bill still O Niger, and you great Nile, I borrow you for a tear.
Categories:
griot, death, dedication, historywords, water,
Form:
Elegy
nnam, where's that tree
at the centre of the clan?
o, what happened to the people's iroko?
where're my people's hope?
the voice of my clan
the famous tongue that came
like the griot of my niger
and stood firm, astute, echoing
the drums of my masters
the ancestors, my ancients –
nnam, did you say
the sacred tree’s fallen?
what mysteries in our times
what miseries are coming
upon the once famed clan –
did oke nmadu, the great man
go with the drum of the clan?
aru eme-e, evil has come
mere anarchy’s let loose
upon the clan –
let the ancients
remember their clan!
Categories:
griot, depression,
Form:
Reba, you are big now, much too big to enjoy the fog
Sitting in different shapes of everything we fear
When trust was only those we know. There is no log
Of wood, or time the stories that I did share
Was my own way of inventing happiness for me as well
I was your griot and you my princess who
Heard a poet told his pain like beads where fingers swell
What matters except that we loved, we two
And did not know after our tale the fog would still stay
And the light would break in it and bleed pale
Anemic rainbows, without promise in the ponds decay.
We have better things to laugh about today
I only wish the fog did not enthrall so, strong is the feeble sway.
Categories:
griot, childhood, nature,
Form:
Verse
He was our best, an urn in time
With all the fragments of jewelled history
But now today hear how the bells chime
The griot's pen scroll another pain on memory.
For all his knowledge of the scrolls,
the dark charon came and rowed him away.
Surprise translates not in this expectation
urning lark song and sage alike.
The griot, `til his yes were dark as the underworld
of pyramid and tomb, had sung this strange thing
that substanced splendour and dread with a long shadow from the womb.
What is death? What is it to dread?
He who dead kingdoms studied should have known.
He should have seen the ages past and Egypt's glory gone.
Dread never did enter that granite mind amidst the crumbling
of black Atlantic pillars that bore the globe's splendour;
It eroded mortal heart and urned past. Some tolled sweat
to sing what time had done outside his fortress window.
O, he knew by heart how time imperial creeps
and set itself against all a man's desires, urning them.
Death is the coming of the night, the silence of the voice,
the fall of rage like leaf from a temple of a regret.
For all his griot days of song, he was sad to rejoice
now the past is dead, and no presence urns the void
Categories:
griot, black african american, death,
Form:
Free verse
Derive pleasure from chiseled moves
Reckon the Creator grants fuel
Focus on otherworldly jewel
Live as wise Griot, calm as doves.
Wake up to life's amenities
Portion of good is as good as dew
Always hum a tune to stay amused
Do not entertain poverty.
Make love work for humanity
Respect the meaning of devotion
Observe beyond physical vision
Don't stray away from loyalty.
Unlike lime, honey heals brokenness
Find positive ways to think and be
Master the art of neatness with glee
Commence each day knowing you're blessed.
*
Categories:
griot, encouraging,
Form:
Light Verse
Manifestation of pain
inside walls of your gospel
Penned up truths that
haunted your psyche but
you made the pen a weapon
that prospered against all
that troubled you
Troubled King with skeletons
married poetry
crowning her the help mate that
helped clean out the closet
The stories you tell your notebook
are more beneficial than any
verse found in a Qu'ran
or Holy Bible
The sins you confess
the strength of your survival
are those that build bridges
leading the congregation to brotherhood
You created poetic peace and meeting place
for all to preach testimony
letting your brother know
that real mean do cry
Your honesty wrapped
in dialect is the potion
most men are afraid to ingest
but not you
you rode courage
like it were a galloping
Trojan horse ready for war
Masculine Griot you are
because of the poetry
you pour from your soul
to fill you brother's cup
serving an adrenalated
voice for the man
who may be muted tragedy
afraid to speak and to
emerge from his dark place
Mr. Magic you help create the cure
for the next man's spiritual healing
Keep working your magic
that breathes life through
your spoken word
©4-23-18
Categories:
griot, black african american, god,
Form:
Free verse
Tirelessly rising, like cerosee tea to them, and apple to me
Tell them I am the Sankofa of the morning, shall we dance again
I was the Nightingale Midas could keep in the cage, the new sea
To sail, the festival beyond the extravaganza of old pain
Trim sail and bottle torch, but never weep with dry eyes
Bring flag and Mframadan down the pole and skies
Tell them the river journeys on, it comes for me
I am its harvest, I am its fruit, I am its Gethsemane.
ii
You young ones must away from your rage to my age tree
Take this stick of light, this magic of wisdom, this bright sage
Carry him like an argument to Pharaoh’s face and so see
Deliverance from the bloody seas of dumb guns and carnage
Let us dismantle the sorrow of ignorance, the need that chains
Us to the deaf ears of our broken and eternal complaints
For this native son, this black beautiful scholar was our wage
And from this griot and dancer we take the lessons of our age.
And always may I remember I am only a branch, I belong to a tree
Bigger than my baobab of dreams, I drink from where roots draw
The sweet water of revival, and quenched my thirst for history
And boons of culture. Always I now write for us, I write our law
Yet tongueless tongue-ing in Babel’s callous kingdom
Belly grinder, I rise to dance in new sheaves of freedom
The whip crack on black backs the sun could not dim
Cannot stop the clutchie smoking memory of him
Categories:
griot, death, dedication, historydance, write,
Form:
Elegy
(In loving memory of my big brother, Reg)
Right within my den
Calligraphic letters you penned
Surfaced as reminder of the love we shared
I see picture perfect portraits
No negatives.
You do appear on wings of time
Like sun's penetrating light
In spaces, deep as the Caribbean Sea
Yes, you are reflected
In multiple hews, brilliant as you...
Blood of my blood;
Imagine fortified versions of you
I see courteous crews...
Beyond seven saintly specimens
Now your name is set abroad
As though Griot who ruled.
I remembered, you tamed my fears
And rose to pave smooth
One perilous path I walked to work
Yes, weary women in need of warmth, were
Cloaked in hand woven peace, given by you
Now, you're laminated photo...
Graphed upon walls of grateful minds.
I have seen you prodding time
Through lens of your mind
Tall as mahogany trees
That cools, and shelters multitudes
Now; who but time, will seal
This empty space
I feel within my soul?
You'll never be you I once knew.
*
Categories:
griot,
Form:
Bio
yon full-throat’d weaver –
she comes home, thither!
again & again
oh, by the shores of my niger
& she comes, singing
like the griot of my old clan –
again & again
she vibrates her clan-famous tunes
with her eden’s golden voice
softly high & loudly calm
by these niger chambers –
& the weaver sings, again!
with her retinue of songs
& her voice awaken the moon.
Categories:
griot, allegory,
Form:
Sonnet
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;griot
Griot, jali, jeli
You’re a storyteller;
Singing, telling your tales;
Words songs in harmony wails;
Poet or musician;
Oral repository tradition;
Seen often as leader;
Advisor to royal personages;
Kings and Queens
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
Sometimes called a bard;
Lyrics and words taking charge;
Peoples of West Africa;
Captured into bondage;
People of the kingdom;
Chained placed in boats to be shipped to a new far land;
I am a Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
Griot, jali, jeli
Composer, Diplomat;
Historian, Interpreter, musician;
Peace maker, praise singer;
I am
Poet, spokesperson, Teacher, translator;
Witness, warrior
Griot, jali, jeli
I am, I am
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
10/17/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2018
Categories:
griot, allegory, analogy, appreciation, assonance,
Form:
Lyric
SHURI
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
A
SHURI african princess
genis
Wakanda forever
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
Genius beautiful darken
Woman
Wakanda forever
Powerful woman
Brother T”Challa
The Black Panther
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
The princess of Wakanda,
Shuri is T'Chaka's youngest child and only daughter
Shuri coveted the Black Panther mantle
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
During an attack on Wakanda by Klaw
Groups of his mercenaries parade
She uses the Ebony Blade to defeat Russian Radioactive Man
Killing him in the process Shuri is a warrior and
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
Shuri is a warrior
A brilliant scienitious
Smartest woman on this earth
T'Challa promises to train her in hand-to-hand combat
enabling her to fight on her own terms
should she ever need to take his place as leader of Wakanda
Shuri is a warrior
SHURI African princess
The princess of Wakanda
Shuri is a warrior
Griot
Abilities Animorphism
Genius-level intellect
Expert martial artist
Necromancy
Super speed
Stone skin
Use of high-tech equipment and weapons including vibranium uniform
Enhanced agility, durability, endurance, reflexes, senses, speed, stamina and strength
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
Shuri is a warrior
A brilliant scienitious
Smartest woman on this earth
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
Shuri is a warrior
Wakanda forever
10/18/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2018
Categories:
griot, analogy, appreciation, caregiving, celebrity,
Form:
Heroic Couplet
A bird’s eye view
conversation overheard in a park
somewhere near you
Hey, Ori ... what’s up?
Nothing much, Marque.
Just flying low, bro.
Big Ollie, the Ruby Cleaners rooftop dove,
shared some bad popcorn news.
Oh, yeah. What’s the latest bird flu blues.
He said that fake plague sho’ feels real.
I crowed: Amen, Big Ollie! Ain’t too many humans
in the park giving us our morning meal.
Funny you should mention that ill subject matter downwind trash.
Marque, the sparrow twins: Ida and Edie,
spoke the same truth at the Old Gael Pub St. Paddy cancelled bash.
It’s a shame, Ori ... it surely is.
Some skyscraper bipedal giving us po’ avians
the hard asphalt gleaning biz.
Mr. Sherwood, griot-rapping Robin in the hood,
chirped the same sad, Friar Tuck uncharitable tale as well.
Those oxy-carrier humans ain’t leaving many peanut shells.
COVID-19 weather report sho’ don’t look good.
It seems the community spread folded the picnic table attitude.
Nowadays, them parrot-talking owl eyes seem frightfully rude.
Yeah, Marque ... bro’ it sho’ seems that way to me.
The pecks are snow geese light,
guess it’s goose-stepping, premature departure time
to take an early migration flight
Ori, I cede wish those humans an E. Poe, “Raven,” fare well goodbye:
Nevermore
comes the crumb elation when the Laugher high-roller cormorant cry.
I am not trying to make light the pain and suffering going on globally.
I just wanted to put a smile on any sad hearts.
— Romantic Warrior
Categories:
griot, allegory, funny, humor, perspective,
Form:
Light Verse