Best Port Poems
There was a fellow riding a certain train,
And he posted an unpopular refrain,
In it he said, the innocents are dead,
With politicians and voters to blame.
To choose is what many profess,
And we wouldn’t have anything less,
But our elected use quill, translate that to kill,
And babes end in a mell of a hess.
And into a health bill of lying rot,
They force objectors to kill who would not,
Adding more of their pork to so called choice,
A choice to fool many voters they sought.
Politicians and media corral voters into believing,
Bills laced with hidden agendas they’re feeding.
They make a predator fat as a sly old rat,
At the expense of a still birthed nation in grieving.
When a nation cares more for turtle or whale,
And the desire for virtue goes stale,
You’ll see a Mother’s precious womb,
By choice, become nation’s tomb,
And lawmakers growing a tail.
Don’t let the almighty dollar deceive you,
Or your sense take leave and flee you,
Take a look around before you’re ground,
Into the dust of this obvious preview.
The moral of the story is true and really quite short,
Justice has been given a hell of a thwart,
You may think it ***** but the end of freedom is near,
Our great ship is sinking in it’s port.
,
We move with wheels that whip and whir
a human hive, spinning with a purpose
cohesive and connected, in one accord.
By the sweat of the brow, legs churning
we flow with the wind, with beating hearts
racing along roadways and up steep hills.
Now we are cascading downwards
with great abandon, locked in, hooked
hooked on the ride and to each other…
…as we race towards the setting sun.
2/6/2022
"Life is like a boat tossed on the deep sea
To journey through sunshine and stormy waves." By author
A Lonely Soul
I have strolled alone in the Ganges plains
walked alone in weird wild wilderness
ascended steep hills laid with thorns
trodden alone dense forests
gulped pills of bitterness
waged uphill battles
all through my life
up till now
alone
as
I
am a
lonely soul
sailing my boat
in midst of the sea
braving the stormy waves
at mercy of the wild winds
with only the Lord as my guide
to steer my boat to the rightful port
towards end of my perilous journey.
Port Talbot
The city of steel,
Is the place where I belong,
Under its industrial cloak and working class reel,
Where talent is abundant and steelworkers are made from steel.
The city of steel,
The place where chimneys stack high out of reach,
And golden sand river from its arms,
Where identity and pride manufacture industrial charm,
The city of steel,
With its industrial predominate core nestled by the shore,
A heart pumping its flow with pride and identity,
And natures blanket covering close guarding hills smug with beauty,
The city of steel,
It's tomorrow shackled with greed and jealousy,
Tricked by fools promise sheltering black rats,
And caught by deadly bloodhounds hunting in packs,
The city of steel,
Whose children are forged not born,
Who will never repudiate but battle what you stand,
Until the safe return of their great land.
This is my city of steel,
Our city of steel.
Port of Call
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
with the breath of the ocean a caressing balm,
soothing pained memories away,
to the swaying of a solitary palm.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
feeling the brushing away of all past turmoil,
on a quest for solace, ever so hard to find,
yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,
as the tide cleanses all pain,
and leaves despair far, far behind.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,
that hushes the ache of bygone moons,
tasting the salty tang on my lips,
as the burnished sun,
over the distant horizon,
swoons,
and dips.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
searching, ever searching,
for a slice of solitude,
as memory bids a final adieu,
reaching under the sea so vast,
and seeking comfort in the depths,
while embracing,
the tomorrows to come,
wishing that they be true.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
seeing my truths drown,
as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,
feeling my heart ablaze,
with a passion that rarely falters.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
yet knowing that I am home at long last,
wishing the waves would wash away,
the defences that once stood,
like an impregnable wall.
Barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,
I have found, at long last,
my final port of call.
Wistful is the heart, silent the walls
where the gambols of youth echoed.
A return tale’s sentimental journey
inside the gates of Sweet Briar Road
Long it behoves me my thanksgiving
to you, aunties Yvonne and Jocelyn T.
For all the love you showed withal
and for all the good you saw in me
Hearken the jumbie bird in the night,
the heat of day and smell of rain.
And QRC bell tower sombre tolled
the hills and valleys of Port of Spain
The crowd’s roar filled its cricket halls
on window row to a grandstand view.
And an open door its gates would be
to weary travellers passing through
By candlelight on evensong sabbath
I saw hands petitioned in God’s raise.
And among portrait, altar and chattel
an old ne-gro woman chanted in praise
Downstairs eating pepper mango,
salt prune and sweet preserved plum.
And upstairs the ghosts of the dead
a trickery of wind and light become
With long treetop fruit picker in hand
softly chorused the sound of Greyfriars.
When joyfully as I picked to my ear
sung the weekly Church Group Choir
Up creaky staircase bedroom chamber,
pantry annex and old livery quarters.
Home to where my grandfather lived
with his wife, eight sons and daughters
In Christian soldier evangelical prayer
waited I for sleep’s silent lull perchance.
O but late by BBC midnight wireless
did growl the dogs in lunar trance
I followed the trail back to its past -
a prodigal son on long returned stay.
When time and fate and the risen sun
dawned upon a much younger day
Written: January 1993
A port in Italy
Livorno was a dark town with sparse light that appeared Russian
at an open place with many trucks and many women milling about
I paid one she bent over the bonnet of a car
did this to relieve the boredom and the onset of depression.
When the deed was done, I walked to a restaurant and bought
a bottle of wine, it was surprisingly good, probably Russian
I do not care for Italian wine.
The woman followed me, wanted wine also, said I was gentle.
After two bottles, she said she loved me.
When she went into the loo. I jumped into a taxi and drove
back to the ship feeling annoyed.
What has love got to do with this?
embark in the adventure called life...although final port is unknown
Excellence of spirit begets
Excellence of mind.
Innate in some it resides
Others strive to imbibe.
Climbing a mountain requires
Skills commensurate with the task.
Energy sapped, discomfort induced
Food eaten, transforms to vapour.
Friends abandoned below
For the joy of mentors above.
Looking not below still
Focus placed above ever.
To the uninformed observers
Such unpardonable self-hate.
Yet the ascension unabated
Leads to a glorious beginning.
Exhilaration marks the arrival,
The arrival goads inspiration,
Inspiration steers to fulfillment,
Welcome to the centre of excellence!
Peter Edoziem
You’ve heard the saying
Any port in a storm
With chemo – a chest port
Is usually the norm
I’ll have a nickel-sized bump
Or a quarter at best
Just over my heart
Left side of my chest
And through it all fluids will enter
And through it all blood work will leave
They say that it’s really quite painless
That’s something I want to believe
But first they have got to insert it
But first they must knock me out cold
The procedure takes less than an hour
I won’t know that it’s in there I’m told
It’s done, now the port is within me
My chest is a bit black and blue
I can’t wait till they start to use it
I can’t wait till this whole thing is through
Then again they will have to extract it
And again they will knock me out cold
That won’t be until maybe November
Till then, well this poem is on hold
Those of you that do not know me, I was diagnost with cancer in Jan. Had surgery
to remove what they could see. Had one lymph node prove positive for cancer and
started a 6 month chemo program last week. I have been keeping a poetic journal
of the trials and tribulations of a cancer patient since the start.
Apparently, they ruled with an iron fist
In the chilling jaws of Terror
Of men intoxicated for the kill
Salivating for blood of kindred
Free for the rape and extortion
In the bastion of Kismayo, Port City of Somalia
The crooked reasons of eating oneself
In a serial bloodbath of a nation
Usurping its nationhood
With straps of IEDs on their back
Women and children convinced duty-bound
To kill themselves for their innocence
And live the glory abound
But never to taste the fruits of their sacrifice
See, what has remained of the Port City
Except for the glaring ruins
Battered to a city of Charcoal Warehouses
For the shanties to scorch in the sun
In a neighbourhood of orphans and widows
And the maimed bearing the signatures!
Oh no! but wait,do you rely on your unborn for a future?
Let’s make the Greenland green again
Melt down the ice with fire
Let’s build on Greenland’s pleasant land
A city of desire
Erect the towers most gigantic
And hotels on the coast
The biggest port on the Atlantic
I dare to propose
Let’s make some money out of soil
I hope you understand
We’ll label it a Greenland oil
A number one oil brand
The Danish king must be well paid
To him we’ll do no harm
We’ll offer him a job to paint
A brand new coat of arms
I’ll be depicted in my pants
With a stone axe in hand
Parading on the golden sands
Of Greenland’s pleasand land!
'Pon Mt. Edgecumbe lies soft serve ice cream
Being surrounded by fuchsia lips
Wishfully gazed upon by a cobalt blue dream
Over the port full of harbor ships
Colors of the sky predicting snow pretty ugly
The ice cream running down the mountain awfully good
Those waters in the harbor down deep bubbly
Teeming with jumbo shrimp and on the beach driftwood
Sitka, Alaska experiences each day's end
With a sky ending with special delights
Sky and earth seem to together blend
When day seems to slip into the dark night
finis'...
Written: June 2 and 3, 2023
Maja, Noah and little Luke
all excited and looking so cute
with Mommy, Daddy and the rest of the clan
we grab the bags and pile into the van.
We leave the house just before dawn
Grandma stays back as we move on
on to the airport we’ve said our goodbyes
it’s just a vacation but I’ll miss these guys.
kids and luggage pile out at the curb
“You’ll have to move your van sir!”is all I heard
but I was in the moment missing them already
being grandpa I smile and keep myself steady
I’m just not ready to part with them yet
I need more time before they board that jet
“Sir you’ll have to move your van now!”
But I want more time with my kids some how.
Still I smile and wave and pull away.
I’ll see them again a week from Sunday
----We miss you guys---
A Simpler Time
1961 ~ 1968
_____________
As sheriff chasin’ on the run
I shot at outlaw and injun
with my colt Pony Boy cap gun
my badge pinned to my chest.
When a neighbour I’d hear and see
climbin’ up a big mango tree
bawlin’ “jack spanias bitin’ me!”
swarmin’ around the nest
He ran into my fender guard
as the wheels spun a loud spoke card
ridin’ my bike in Nanan’s yard
and soon his knee did gape.
So I pullin’ its string in flight
flew instead my prized Batman kite
and watched it fly at a great height
in my Bat mask and cape
In floodin’ storm canals we’d lay
racin’ popsicle sticks all day
then crawl under the house to play
where we’d forbidden sneak.
Or leapin’ in a mighty bound
but not makin’ a ghostly sound
hidden somewhere I can’t be found
playin’ hide and go seek
On the battlefield that I led
my toy soldiers killed Nazis dead
along with every Jap and Red
till tender age of eight.
Silks and riders I’ll not forget
when my brother and I would bet
on our hand-wound horse racin’ set
windin’ up the home straight
The girls all arms and legs pumpin’
played hopscotch and skip rope jumpin’
as the boys were crazy bumpin’
crashin’ my pedal car.
But we kids did roam and skylark
till in the far distance we’d hark
Monica callin’ in the dark
“come, wherever you are!”
I cheered as a wicket would fall
heroes over The Oval wall
like Carew, Sobers, Lloyd, and Hall
from grandad’s house upstairs.
But my greatest heroes bar none
whom I love and whom I champion
gave me dear life and called me son
all through their livin’ years
Written: May 1996