Best Manley Poems
Jamaica is our island’s name,
A land blessed with so much fame.
And for the part that our heroes did play,
We pause to reflect and salute them today.
Nanny of the Maroons was a heroine ,true and brave ,
And fought with all her might not to be a slave.
Marcus Mosiah Garvey made us proud of our Black race,
And everywhere he went there was pride on his face.
Paul Bogle of Stony Gut fought for justice for all,
And the powers that be had no choice but to listen to his call.
Norman Washington Manley defended workers’ rights with passion,
And fought with all his might to change every unjust working condition.
Sir Alexander Bustamante was a stalwart for workers everywhere,
And was the voice of the voiceless and spoke without fear.
George William Gordon stood tall to help the poor with their plight,
And he never backed down or turned away until things were made right.
Sam Sharpe listened and he heard what the planters said,
But he stood tall and bravely said, “No more slavery,I’d rather be dead.”
We have been blessed with a great legacy and we are a proud nation,
And our unsung heroes and heroines continue to rise to the occasion.
We must unite against the common foe and guard against complacency,
We must be resilient like our heroes and safeguard our rich legacy.
A legacy of greatness , hard work and resilience in every community,
A legacy of talent, ambition, skills and self-worth in every nook and cranny.
No retreat! no surrender! we will continue to blaze a trail,
And as the blood of our ancestors runs through our veins, we will prevail!
Not by sight but by great might, we will continue the fight,
As we vow to conquer the common foe and make things right.
And just like our heroes did , we will stand tall with pride and decency,
As we salute our heroes and safeguard our rich, bountiful legacy.
I am recovering my mojo, though I have almost no hair
That damn Chemo stuff took it away, and one day it was not there
And it really did fall out in a matter of days
Almost comical your mind says HEY!
And despite being a woman, I feel I look like a man
A bit embarrassing you see, it was not in my plan
I had worn the "cold cap" that supposedly preserved it in health
But while they were nuking my body, they nuked it to hell
So I wear those funny hippy hats now,
those slouchy knitted caps that you see
And I do my best and pretend they don't see
I know it grows back, but there is embarrassment still
And it may come back curly.. good lord a new hairstyle I will
But for now it's an inch, and a little sparse on top
And for a while before it all came out it was an Albert Einstein mop!
I kinda laughed horrified when it went to that point
And well, I now smoke those pot joints
It helps with the nausea which I still have
and it relaxes me on the things that make me sad
See I just lost an ex business partner to hospital error
and that played my sleep, her wife in despair.
Losing my hair is nothing compared to that loss.
I know it down deep, I have suffered that cost.
And so now, I laugh at the vanity hit
and put makeup on when I need to look fit
And I still run around braless you see
because well I am a heathen, societies freed
And if dignity was bent by the small sacrifice
I project my personality and suffer that cost
Keep swimming, Keep swimming...
Like what Dory said
That's my motto that sings in my head
How to get out of the funk. Artimus (C) 2/3/24 Susan Manley
Inspired by Rebecca Heineman , my friend, former business partner who lost her spouse Jennell Jaquays.
Reality, wow what a concept
lifes provable facts
those incontrovertible truths
things that stick out and not fall in the cracks
Its subject to interpretation you see
describing the elephant for the blind
this part the leg,
that a tail, this part a trunk!! Divine!
For reality takes an observer
to set itself in the track
if that tree fell in the woods with no one to hear
did it make a sound of a crack?
Without perception it's all contention
if it ever existed at all
and we are all running around with vivid imaginations on ground
till incontrovertible evidence is found
See it, touch it, document away
till the item in question is in decay
or maybe even obliterated away
the observation itself causing the obliteration to stay
And so that was how faith was born
for people to believe in others known truths
we didn't have to experience it first hand
we just had to trust like a youth
And from that comes charlatans
who mangle that truth for cash
and make the world a caricature
and history rewritten despite past
With no firm understanding of what is
or firm understanding of what was
people lose their compass
and look to god above
Reality, wow what a concept. - Artimus (C) 10/11/2023 Susan Manley
Our friendship has always been my North Star
The guide to everything out there
And when we lost touch
I lost my compass
I sealed the wound with fire
And trudged on with desire
Trying to recreate what we had
The effortless close bond, over time becoming sad
People did not meet me half way
They did not grasp the world the same way
And so a small boat adrift I was
Alone bereft for me
And that became my norm
And a new me for a time was born
I did not want to be close
Relationships made me morose
Pleasure was all I sought
To dampen grief and doubt
And that way I existed
For a long time just sort of delisted
Artimus born
Few wants, no needs
Completely free and no nervous energy
It’s calm to withdraw
To view life as a brawl that you no longer engage
And then I hit tastes of want
And it became need
And I tried again
And did not succeed
So I settled and I slept
Most of me to myself I kept
And then once again you were here
And well with joy I could interact without fear
And so I started again to create
And life is not over, it’s not to late
And here we are
And here we are to my North Star - Artimus (C) Susan Manley 8/21/23 for Alan
It’s a long slow trip into misery
It starts by putting that bad feeling aside
By narrowing your expectations
And removing all of your pride
And as you make you humble
You actually cripple as well
You reach so far to have someone else
That it actually puts you in hell
It’s a long slow trip into misery
From which I must return
And in order to do this
I must internalize the lessons learned
To believe in me
To set me free
To walk into the light
And possibly disappear from sight
Ascent from Misery – 2001 (C) Susan Manley (on my divorce)
The avalanche of human souls
those who crossed over
before achieving their goals.
So their spirits linger on,
and their loved ones hear them moan
as whispers in their thoughts.
The corporeal self can flee
the physical pain of life,
but emotion and intellect continue
spirit, the soul intact.
It takes time to release regrets,
to mourn the loss of life,
to reconnect or redirect
that entity of energy.
But it goes on.
They are still out there.
They are still involved.
They still care.
Those whispered words in your sleep,
the loved one’s phrases you draw on
that is them.
If you quiet your mind
and stop your ego interfering,
you can tune into intuition
and hear them without superstition.
It is otherworldly,
outstanding.
It will change the course of your life.
Death has a new meaning
and so does life.
The meaning of life is the complex web we weave:
all the interactions, all the souls we meet,
all the objectives and accomplishments we drive.
We are the sum of our intentions and actions,
and for those we pay
working off karmic debt,
living life over in replay.
In contrast to Western religion,
we return to this spot
to figure things out;
life lessons are sought.
And with that, if we have met,
we shall likely meet again.
We shall likely meet again.
©In the Afterlife - Artimus, Susan Manley 1/17/2026 12:18AM All Rights Reserved
The mind is a womb
Copulate it
Let the semen of reason
Part the legs of its cervix
And you will see
When moth struggles before its born
The power of its dreams for flight
Words are eggs, you know
Virginal eggs,
I saw him hatch them into bricks
Of ideas that he could carve
Like an Edna exhibit
All copulation must spontaneous
A true gentleman has that gift
Not to force his feelings
On his betrothed
He was also scholar, you know
A sort of poet
That prefer metaphors to the conflict
Of chisel and wood
He had such a mastery of the rhetoric
I mean he understood them better than us
For he did not only speak like them
But spoke their strategy better than them
I sometimes wondered how he knew himself
Apart.
Its sort of seemed ironic
That he did have the anger that Fanon composed
Unless wit is a subtle part of it
May be environment is such a part of it
The cool, I mean
We say that about Manchesterians
Roxborough,
If it could produce the soldier-scholar
Could not have produced just a little fire
Even for the cremation of his brother, Roy
Perhaps it was the mix blood ...
Busta said that his mother was Taino
I do not understand is who mixed them though
There is an overt statement of force to be made
A rape scrubbed from the memory
For how could one half of hm
Become so invisible ...
The mission I mean.
I must rule
More than wood, and more
Than water
For my destiny
Is more than what men may leech
So I am not exploited
I am killed for this robbery
And here I am left
A dead man on a throne
Here I am
Shrouded with self government
And staring into the empty eyes
Of children
So why do I love him then
Was it alone because my father
Fashioned my world for me
Gave me this icon
For proximity the barbarians
Who snatched my mother
Washing her white linen one day
From the sweet river
Do not take that thought to the bank
Where my children play
This man deserves his accolade
If only for taking blindness from my mind
If only for letting me know
The chain had never rattled their
And even in their own words
I could look at the world
And ask "why not?"
He gave me a ladder to my education
That was some gift,
Quite the best of all I am given
O it so beautiful to copulate the mind
Or hold hands through the annals
And see this Manley,
This little fountain of great ambition
Flowing at my lips.
Ha Ha Ha - Cartoon- funny
Giggle - Valley Girl- Preppy
LOL - Texting- Hilarious
Snicker- Your worst enemy- Flippant
Snort- Pig- Belly laugh
Chuckle- Manley Man- Sportive
Howl- To much alcohol- Cracked up
Hew Haw- Country Girl- Tickled
Teehee- Sophisticated Women- Amusing
Ho Ho Ho- Santa Clause- Jolly
Horselaugh- Mr. Ed- Smirk
Hoot- Best Buddy- Grin
Died Laughing- Bills are due- Breathlessness
Guffaw- Mother-in-law died- Just kidding
No matter how we laugh or what we laugh at
it's good for the soul.
4/19/2015 Contest sponsored by: Thomas Martin 'Humorous Poetry'
T Reams 1st Place
Seductively symetrical in form and presence
She calls it Eve, I call it sepia political
Aroused motherhood of nation, a glamorous sense
Of identity, modern and yet mystical
Naked as a morning, smooth as silk dreams
She looks back, not histantly, nor curiously
Profiled the hidden breast, in streams
Of provocativeness, the right hand assertively
Shouldered on the fallen curtain of hair
Lefting hand coming down where the stare
Of vulgar eyes would fall, stripped of history
But not of dignity, the umbilical memory
Cradlles a lascivious eye against the dark skin
Woman bounteous with beginnings, sister, kin.
Edna Manley
Eve (Ceremonial Dance)
Edna Manley (1900 – 1987) studied art at Central St. Martins School of Art in London
alongside fellow sculptors Henry Moore and Barbara Hepworth. Her artistic career began by
sculpting clay models of animals but she made her reputation as a wood carver. During her
life she became known as the Mother of Jamaican Art, and claimed that it was in Jamaica
where she found both her subjects and materials. The sculpture 'Eve' (1929) was presented
to the Graves Art Gallery in Sheffield by the artist herself in 1937. .
My days in the streets of despair took me from scanty shanties
Intermittent through dreams drinking the syllables of books
Cast before my eyes, I was at the bottom of nooks and crannies
Hiding in barren valleys of bushes, and sometimes cast hooks
Angling the sea for food that did not feed brain alone. T’was then
Eagled in the sky I saw you like a speck of dew swelling up
Latent opportunities kept before my race as pittance in a cup.
Nobody knows the darkness behind the iron gate of hopelessness
Omitting light except to the paler color and privileged ten percent
Registered in the status quo as rich, despair was a sweet callousness
Meandering the streets at the edge of destructive explosion, pent
Anger muted by the false theories of our worthlessness. We let it
Nurture rebellion in rock steady songs, and battled on playfields over it.
Michael Manley meant more than a man, or regular politician
Anthem in my thoughts, a new hawk against the glitter of crown
Nurturing the trodden down with wand of words, a magician
Letting us believe in the self like an abeng picked from the ground
Entering the new day I campaigned alone to bring it to pass
Yielding nothing in the struggle to the old power of caste and class.
Intelligent, gifted orator, compassionate servant moved by solemn creed
None is left like you since death fragrant you with our native weed.
Men do not write their history alone without lead from God’s intention
Ending the culture of disbelief democracy had its breathless chance
Ministering to the hovels of colonial cast offs, I saw the raw fission
Orchestrating the destiny of the past, your tongue was a glinting lance
Reneging laws of understanding where some were too comfortable
Interestingly filling the place of the great house lord, and regrettable
Another excess of the left, disbanding Africa for blind white theories
Meaningless to our negritude, still you linger in fireside love and sweet stories.
It's rare that most would call me a hot head
I am usually the coolest cucumber instead
I have no tells, so their heads don't swell
and I don't get entangled to soon
But there is this tall lanky guy you see
who plays a mean bluegrass guitar so sweet!
and he's turned me on my head
my tongue lolling out the side, I feel a big oh wet appetite
Its going to be corn dogs yeah baby and ice cream cones
I have to whip up these muscles and work on my tone
He gonna have expectations of meee
and I intend to make him sing oh yeah oh how deee
I do drive like a race car driver I confess
and mr ex officer may have to give me a new test
until he gets over that
I will have a bit of time to press
But never before would anyone claim I swear
that I was a hot headed daredevil minx
its this tall lanky boy and his talk of being my toy
and I don't ever want it to jinx
It's going to be corn dogs yeah baby and ice cream cones
I have to whip up these muscles and work on my tone
He gonna have expectations of meee
and I intend to make him sing hot diggity!
I wonder how he likes his ice cubes. jagged or smooth
and how stiff he likes his drinks
on the rocks or straight shot no lube
And I just await tying him down so we can just work out the kinks
It's going to be corn dogs yeah baby and ice cream cones
I have to whip up these muscles and work on my tone
He gonna have expectations of meee
and a month of head bobbin review with a view
- Corn Dogs and Ice Cream Cones for Brian - Artimus (C) Susan Manley 4/22/24 1:51AM
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.
Pray for Margaret you Jesuit priest,
who wept for falling leaves but cast no blame.
Her soul, as leaf-meal lies, is now the same
in Heaven she can now confront her beast.
Oh! Grief, not sweet-or-sour, but only grief,
as man was born for blight - same as our shame,
you twist your words like in a parlor game.
In flown fine-flowers you found your relief.
My poor pocket of pence, poor pence of mine
pray! Pray for us, pray you Jesuit priest ---
for motion of your heart, your heart is fine,
with all your want you could not make pine, pine.
Yet, light you gave; you gave the light at least
to cast before us a poetic feast.
Gerard Manley Hopkins -1844-1889:
Jesuit priest and poet.
Father of sprung rhythm, he is a hard read but few poets have as much to teach
in rhythm, language, style and many other aspects of poetry.
Hopkins' health, both mental and physical, had always been delicate; he was
prone to digestive problems and severe depression.
Even though agnostic, I am always uplifted by Hopkins' inter-weaving of sound,
the sweep and swing of words. His is poetry which attempts to break from the
plodding regularity of french-influenced metrical verse. Hopkins brought back
beat to English poetry, structuring his verse around stresses in a breath rather
than metrical feet.
His work:
http://oldpoetry.com/oauthor/show/Gerard_Manley_Hopkins
How is the dew that came
Before rain and sun's flame
Gone so fast
Is it because its wet
Was only enough for shrubs
And shrubs are easy to forget
Or is that no glory last
Where the sun scrubs
White the sinews of trees?
You who once policed the law
Did also make the law
In City chambers where
Streets alone
Carry the exotic flower
Of your name
When they ask me,
What shall I answer for your shadowed fame
Between the cousins who broke your heart?
What was the legacy to the nation
Now that the Jamaican Workers
Trade Union was only root
For the almighty scion
That became the tree?
Busta gave you no rain
Manley pruned you excessively
And there was no seed after that
Except the truth
That the new Jamaica was your vision first.
I saw you once
Singing Sankey before the village shop
Canvassing the primitives
I saw a stone hit your lantern
And many more stones drop
Like bombs around us exploding your dream
The night was silent after that
Father Coombs
Had neither face nor trace again
How can a great man fall like that
The political ladder is a slippery slope
And those who climb
Must more than hope
To lead dissidents of the slime pit
Along with virtue must have grit
Buttered on the bread of wit.
And soon its May again
But now the time of workers memory is past
Until the rains fall again
Against the drought shall the dew hold fast
Will Father Coombs in white again
Raise his hands and turn and smile
To hear the fickle people call
The fickle father's name?
And shall I not tell them
Cobwebs are also significant
In the mystery of the world?
He Tightly Wrapped, His Armed
Blanket Of Moonlight
Silhouette, Around Her
Gorgeous Body, Pressing And
Rubbing, Their Skin Against
Each Other, Deepened Its Soft
Breasted Pillowed River, That
Runs Loves Journey, To Never
End, Where They Entwine As
One Being, One Soul, One
Heart, And One Pulsation, And
While Merging Together, She
Envelopes Him With Her
Magma-Filled Volcano, As His
Staff Explores, By Plunging In
And Out, Of Her Inner Valley,
Sending Her Into, Electrifying
Epileptic Convulsions, Off
Orgasmic Pleasures, Grinding,
Deeper And Deeper, As She
Jumps, Higher And Higher,
Until He Reaches The Spot,
That Triggers Her Ignition, Her
Magma Covers His Staff, As His
Milk Spews, Inside Her Volcano,
Sleep Possesses Them, As They
Become Moonlight
Silhouettes...
Written By: Carma Reed and
Collaborated with Eric Nelson
Manley Shelman
Dedicated to Richard Palmer