Best Liberian Poems
By Elton Camp
She was weak from vomiting and diarrhea
Blood ran from her gums onto her teeth
Her husband and sons had died horribly
Only she and daughter Anne remained
The whimpering child clutched her mother
Soon, there was no longer any response
Anne ran to the neighboring metal shack
“Help me! I think mother is dead too.”
“Get away!” the family fearfully ordered
“You can’t come here. Go to your auntie.”
Her mother’s sister lived a half-mile away
The ten-year-old fled, stumbling, crying
“I can do nothing, child,” the aunt said
“You must never come here again!”
Small and frail, Anne collapsed in the street
Passers-by diverting gazes, walked on
Not lack of care, but fear ruled the day
Anne was an outcast by no fault of hers
Hours passed as Anne grew ever weaker
A doctor in a yellow bio-suit appeared
A mask and goggle completed her protection
Anne could see only a pair of brown eyes
Desperately ill, she could only give her name
The Ebola treatment unit was her only hope
Anne was bathed, clothes burned, new ones given
But without direct contact--only a faceless nurse
Enshrouded in the manner of the doctor
No vaccine or cure could be offered
The health care workers must be kept safe
Spread of the infectious virus must stop
It was a lonely, terrifying time for Anne
Parents dead, rejected by friends and family
To save young Anne proved impossible
She began to bleed freely from her mouth
Her final hours were a terror of desperation
Anne died miserably, alone and frightened
The burial team sprayed her with disinfectant
The same done for the inside of the body bag
They slipped her inside and closed the zipper
Then added a second and third body bag
Open pits in the forest awaited
Red Liberian clay filled the grave
A crude, wooden marker erected
“In Memory, Anne Rathborne”
Categories:
liberian, africa,
Form:
Free verse
By Elton Camp
Of Ebola, sensible persons are scared
There was time in the US to be prepared
For decades the virus has been known
How to control has clearly been shown
Working in a crude Liberian tent
Doctors are found reasonably content
When, to safety, strict attention is paid
Ebola virus disease is rarely conveyed
Growing numbers in Africa dead
Showed Ebola continued to spread
Nobody could sensibly think anymore
The virus wouldn’t reach the US shore
The threat the CDC should understand
See that needed supplies were on hand
Issue guidelines unmistakably clear
Make certain that all hospitals hear
Then, before it was too late
Training sessions mandate
Be certain nurses knew what to do
A virus, to them, deadly and new
Rather, in the manner of stooges three
Their ineptitude all could plainly see
An apology is far from enough
For failing in such basic stuff
Categories:
liberian, angst,
Form:
Rhyme
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.
Categories:
liberian, art, high school,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Australian by paper
Liberian by blood
Liberia is my motherland
Liberia in my round hips
that they criticis of not being
worthy of "beauty".
Liberia in my big lips
that will forever speak the truth .
Liberia in my ways
Liberia is my ways
They will tell you my country is
bad, it's dangerous, they even
make the mistake of saying
"Africa" is a poor and disgusting
country, forgetting to know its a
damn continent with beautiful
and extraordinary countries.
You can't fool me with your
"white ways", I'm a native
daughter of the most beautiful
land, I value my culture, it runs
through my vines...
lah a there oo
by: Mafata Dunbar
Categories:
liberian, absence
Form:
ABC
Don cross dah line young man
For you caan see dae other side
Yu plate alreadae full
With rep fruits fit fo dae king
I say, hol on. Don yu cross dah line
Even dae dog know how big a bone to chew
Yea time rushing by like dae wind
But today nat for you
Take yur time enjoh dae flavor
Sofly, sofly you gon reach
To dae place where yu s’pose to be
Now eat wha before yu savor each rep fruit
‘Cause once yu cross dah line
yu ain know wha dae be servin
African American/Liberian(pidgin English)
Categories:
liberian, black-african amertime,
Form:
Free verse
On quiet days in mid autumn
When sun and clouds play ‘peek-a-boo’
Somber thoughts linger in crisp air
Of some other time and place where
Harmattan winds in December create
A hazy fog of dust and sand
Draping the sun from dawn to dusk
I hear sounds of children’s laughter
Singing ‘Ring around the Roses’
Playing ‘Na fo’ and ‘jumping rope’
No one took note the birds were silent
No one had seen them fly away
No one recognized the warning
Soon horror and mayhem would ensue
Little brown feet tender, yet fast
Pound the earth skipping, jumping
Lean and strong; weaving in and out
Through serpentine reeds of brown and green
Dust clouds rise, burst with each tap
Happy voices chanting a local jingle
‘Who bucks it takes it... free rope”
On quiet days in mid autumn
When leaves of Oaks and Elms
Brown, red, yellow, gold and rust
Carpet concrete sidewalks
Rustle loudly beneath my feet
I still hear eerie sounds of wailing
Of children’s terrifying screams
In some other time and place where
Harmattan winds creep south
Like an iniquitous invading force
Bringing in chill and fog of powdery sand
Then sudden sounds of terror assault the ears
Trembling in shock powerless to move
Little brown feet melt with nowhere to run
They huddle behind walls of mud bricks
Others dash towards the woods
Leaving broken flip flops and tennis shoes
Scattered on fields of dust
Through thickets, shrubs and razor grass
Little brown feet bare running scared
Now bruised and bleeding unaware
Hades’ orchestra plays its symphony
Emitting a cacophony of sounds
Mortars falling! Red-tail rockets sailing!
RPGs rip and the AKs unrelenting rat-ta-ta-ta….
While Harmattan winds like a steam engine blows
Long hard fierce and cold
Little brown feet will skip no more
A tribute to the Children of Liberia (Liberian Civil War - December 1989-2004)
Categories:
liberian, childhood, loss, warautumn, december,
Form:
Free verse
Leymah Gbowee O’ Nobel Laureate 2011
Is a pride to her world
A gift to her country Liberia
And an eagle that is never tire soaring for peace
In the midst of storms
She trek on advocacy’s avenue
Risking her life
To ensure that peace prevail
In her country Liberia
She believes that every woman
Has the right to freedom
Has the right to live without fear
Has the right to speak out
Has the right to work
And the right to contribute to her country’s development
She opens the umbrella of education
Giving every woman the opportunity to learn
Empowering women to become self-reliance
And developing Liberian women to become great future leaders
O’ Nobel Laureate O’ Nobel Laureate
As peace and justice sings in your soul
As you give hope to the hopeless
Heaven hails you- for the women of Liberia is your priority
Categories:
liberian, dedication,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Harsh is the wind of Sahara,
Serrated by grains of dusty sands,
Stripping flesh from the bones of the dead,
Kalishnikovs gripped in their skeleton hands.
Child-soldiers trained as assassins,
Magazines slotted in like building blocks,
Smooth as silk, this gun never jams,
It musically clicks as the catch unlocks.
Itchy were the trigger fingers,
Calloused from teasing the guarded steel,
The psychopathy of poverty teaches
Kill what you can, kid, that’s the deal.
Dead lie the innocent children,
Dead as the sprawl of the desert terrains,
Conflict diamonds as payment
Fired Washington bullets into their brains.
Harsh is the land of corruption,
And black the nocturnal Liberian sky,
The blood in the moonlight drying
Seems equally black in the white of the eye.
Categories:
liberian, history, people, places, sad,
Form:
Verse
It was a time of great and exalting excitement,
Until the country was again up in arms and agitation.
The war was on,
Indeed tough and elusive,
Era has made it way;
The melody of birds singing in the trees,
Had been converted to the rhymes of guns and violence.
Faces begun wet,
Flooded with river of pains and sorrows,
Sleep departed the eyes.
The state of peace became an alien,
Hunger and thirst inherited the land of milk and honey.
Liberia had lost herself.
The early morning of December 24, 1989;
She felt the weight of the flight of foe,
The toy pistols popping,
The bunched firecrackers hissing and,
Sputtering her air, dislocating her peaceful citizens.
After many weeks of persecution and starvation,
Thousands of her citizens were found dead,
Thousands flee in to exile,
Thousands made rebels of which,
Hundreds were child soldiers.
Their ways were watered with tears.
The land was stained with the blood,
Of the wounded feet and dead body,
Of family and love ones.
Creeks and rivers were colored,
In the blood of the innocent,
And pregnant women.
On and on it continued;
Until a large group of citizens of growing eyes,
And bleeding heart,
Tired of tumor,
Gathered at the American Embassy,
Headed by great and devoted men women of God.
Together made request and supplications,
To God above.
Spoken and unspoken.
Together they said:
Oh! Lord our father, the protector of our land,
And flag.
We have witnessed our love ones lost lives,
Raped and fleet to exile.
Our hopes blasted, our lives blighted.
Help us survive,
Help our land find peace,
Let our blood not be waisted.
Let hunger and thirst disconnect us.
Pains and sorrows flooded with the remedy of peace,
For our sake, who adore thee O Lord,
Blast the hopes of our enemies,
Make heavy and slippery their steps,
Water their path with self tears.
Bless the arms of those fighting on our behalf,
Bless every foreign aid,
Long live mama Liberia.
We asked it,
In the spirit of love,
Of Him, who's the source of love.
So dearly we pray seeking your aid with humble and
Contrite hearts.
Together they said:
Amen!!!
Oh! Lord,
Our God, we thank you for mama Liberia.
Categories:
liberian, abuse, anger, care, child,
Form:
Ballad
Dear Mike,
I just wanted to touch base with you and write how I feel at this moment. While you were here, you taught us so much. I still play your songs because I like THE WAY YOU MAKE ME FEEL through your music. It brings me closer to you. My favorites are MAN IN THE MIRROR and BLACK AND WHITE.
You know yo boy BEN broke up with DIRTY DIANA and told her to BEAT IT. She began to SCREAM and yell I WANT YOU BACK. Drama, drama, drama. She always WANNA BE STARTIN' SOMETHIN' acting like she's all BAD. It must be her HUMAN NATURE and that could be DANGEROUS.
Anyway, he started dating this PRETTY YOUNG THING name BILLIE JEAN. She is a LIBERIAN GIRL. She told him he reminds her JUST A LITTLE BIT OF YOU.
Well, we all miss you. We feel you were GONE TOO SOON. By the way, there is suppose to be a concert in your honor and you know one thing Mike, I've GOT TO BE THERE. I will ROCK WITH YOU forever, for I NEVER CAN SAY GOODBYE to you and you will never be OUT OF MY LIFE.
You, your dancing and your music will live on and on forever and ever.
Love Always,
Colette Dright
Categories:
liberian, for him, i miss
Form:
Lyric
Liberians hear my cry
We are black yet dresses like whites
We mock God by not been satisfy
With what we are been given
Liberians hear my cry
We cry for justice from the whites
We accuse them everyday of racism
Yet we torture them
Liberians hear my cry
Whites come to our land to free us from sufferings
But we are number one
On the racism list
Liberians hear my cry
We are christian nation
We all are equal in God's eyes
O!Liberians hear my cry; a proud liberian.
Categories:
liberian, change, christian, color, conflict,
Form:
Alliteration
If you don't build your dreams
someone else will hire you to
build theirs.
I want to change the world, if
not, a part of it. I need to make a
difference in someone elses life.
It's fact that every girl dreams of
her wedding day, walking down
in a beautiful white dress to her
husband whilst surrounded with
laughters of joy, friends and
family all in a dreamable
destination, followed by married
life and children with a "Happily
ever after"
That's not for me. It sound odd
and you're wondering what's
wrong with her and why
wouldn't she want this as it's
the norma for a woman to get
married and be a mother. See
I'd much rather be; a CEO, a
healer to many, providers for
the hungries, shelter to the
homeless, warmed to the cold
and medicine to the sick, a hand
to the needed. I was put on this
earth for more then just to be a
loud, talkative liberian girl.
By: Mafata.D
Categories:
liberian, absence
Form:
ABC
Make the scales balance
Venus in Libra
The realm of crashing waves of cardinal qualities
Rising elements of Vim and Vigor
A zest of love and life filling individuals
The magnetism of a blossoming choirs
Widening the lungs of liberation and freedom
The aura of innocence in faith
Meandering through the tray of Cosmos
Simultaneously drawn to euphoric heart
Ravenous for harmonious pleasure
The realm of Venus see's all
To purify begins with agony
The majestic Fantasia washing away the burden
As seekers create something to love
Under the Liberian Sun
Utopian harmony singing
White doves chasing the dragon through a voyage of serenity
The scales balance every grief with joy
Creating an impenetrable mantle
The realms of Venus
Weaving the webs of the divine veil
Overseen by Aphrodite
Charming those who believe in the fulfilment
Guiding calmness through a mental lake
Free from the consumer of greed and delusion
Now in the relief of a comforting consciousness
A haven expanding, lighting immortal sparks of love
Categories:
liberian, fantasy,
Form:
Free verse
If beauty was a person, it would certainly be a Liberian girl
Behind those dark clouds, she is an angel yet to be seen
Her smooth natural skin resembles the red earth
Her lip is a place where sleeping dogs lie to appease themselves
Her eyes are made of rays of colorful lights that restore hope
Her beautiful earrings take a triangular shape indicating A=1/2bh
Her ears are sensitive to uphold to the ups and downs of life
Her short and pretty nose is admired by every suitor
Hair nicely positioned at all edges serving different looks
Hands are tempting to touch just for a moment
She wears a smile of imperfections striving towards perfection
For if beauty was a person, it would certainly be a Liberian girl
Categories:
liberian, 12th grade, 9th grade,
Form:
Free verse
i am making love in this poem.
my hands worshiping her feet like a god.
her smile is where i want to sit & grow old in her belly.
maybe, i should tell her a story.
of how the ocean tides rise & fall for
our sake.
that her kisses are enzymes that continue to speed up reactions in our bodies.
i love this girl like the holy spirit.
whenever she descends into my body,
i become a witness/telling people about her everywhere.
she hails from the foundation of africa.
i have seen the grain coast on her skin.
that means: i am in love with a liberian girl.
i love this girl according to the words coming out of my tongue,
& the meditation that crawls in my heart.
for this girl,
i have found africa.
Categories:
liberian, 12th grade, adventure, africa,
Form:
Free verse