Best Precincts Poems
Early morning and the gantry cranes
at Webb Dock look like long necked
dinosaurs lining up to drink from the river -
and the sky is aglow as it might have been
when tinged by the first hint of that asteroid
slamming into Yucatan on the other side
of the world 66 million years ago.
This is 2025 and no asteroid threatens
our fragile planet, yet more subtle
things do - things that reside in the dark
precincts of the human soul that pour
out pollution and in silos and undersea,
stoke embers that could at anytime
break free and incinerate us all.
In the fading gleam enveloping the twilight hour,
the frail edge of lives tended to lose mortal definition,
its meaning masked by the murk of futile existence,
the misty minds sought the glow of the rainbow aura.
A thirsty pilgrim in the relentless pursuit of mirage,
travelled tormented in the wilderness of the desert
to the parched precincts of the dried up earthly souls,
searching for the benign gift from behind the cloud.
On garden path paved by precious stones of their faith,
fragrance of blooming blessings wafted in the dusty air,
the unsatiated mortal souls yearned to comprehend
the euphoric perception configuring the bliss illumined.
Sitting outside the door of the temple a hungry man
seemed to have surrendered the rest of his time to fate,
got some food from a stranger coming from nowhere,
his eyes glinted joy in the rays of the sun that rose for him.
March 6, 2021
My place
There also is my place, where I explore my understanding
Of words that are said and thoughts revealed, interpretations made;
Intimacy shared and dissected, speculations proffered and discarded,
And wisdom is given and received, the acolyte at the master’s feet.
It is my space and, like another place, is defined
By boundaries that keep us within the precincts of confidentiality;
Although I unspokenly stretch these boundaries to my own ends,
And bring my world into the professional arena of supervision.
I look within, to my past and the life I have lived,
And Terence speaks across the centuries to remind me:
"*****sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto", restatement
That I am human, and live and feel as do those I counsel.
We live in parallel worlds, my client, my supervisor; and me,
Who counsels others yet who explores himself, whose
Understandings of others are but insights into his own
Psyche and his struggles for understanding and closure.
Nothing human is alien to me, and I forget my role, sometimes;
And move into my own spotlight, that I may illuminate
Myself with the insights gained from you, who is here,
Before me, my supervisor and unwitting therapist to me.
And you? You also watch, alert to my half spoken thoughts.
A mirror, that bends and shapes the reflection of myself
To reveal unformed understandings, to give them meaning
And substance; a shaft of sunlight penetrating murky
Waters, that both teaches, and counsels me.
I miss your beauty and splendor:
The sun that pierces through your greenest trees,
Dreams that were born within your premises;
The great books I devoured within your precincts.
Shall I ever set my foot their again?
If so, shall I find the same books I loved?
Will the friends I made within my short stay
Forever impact upon my life the same sweet way?
I miss you Moi University my alma mater,
Moi University, the place I gathered vast knowledge,
The place I discovered the meaning of great learning.
There, a piece of my soul dwells.
Few such hospitable places a mortal rarely finds,
And its breeze elsewhere you never can chance;
The beautiful geishas that roam your streets,
The bearded scholars that walk your corridors,
The spectacular scenery, the gorgeous neighborhoods;
All these and more I shall forever miss!
The big debate : “What is a city ?” –
A town created by a charter
And often with cathedral church
But sometimes with an ancient abbey.
St David's, Pembroke is the smallest,
Just twelve hundred citizens
And London is by far the largest,
Populous eight million plus.
Many sprawling conurbations
Are the backbone of our nation :
There's Leeds and London, Bath and Bristol,
Canterbury, Sheffield, Hull;
Then Cardiff, Glasgow, Edinburgh,
Norwich, Wells and Peterborough,
Oxford, Cambridge, Manchester,
Swansea, Truro, Chichester,
Worcester, Portsmouth, York and Belfast,
Carlisle, Chelmsford, Perth.
In cities there is entertainment
With cinema and theatre too,
Museum, gallery and concert hall –
A cultured way of relaxation.
A city has a green side too
With parks and gardens to explore,
Pedestrian precincts help us shop
Away from traffic noise and fumes.
I recommend a city visit,
So many secrets are in store.
Leave your car outside the ring-road,
Hop on a bus to start your tour.
Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy!
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?
They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere!
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman.
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see!
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!
Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again!
Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!
My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
As owls to oaks I know you,
in ancient springs,ravines and sunlit scenes,
persistently pushing passions and hushing lovings,
my immoratal instinct allowed to blossom in terrestrial precincts,
combined with you vulnerability is a prospect I render to the wicked,
salt is for sins, as sand is for sundown reparations,
with undefiled freedom wonders fly on winds
and no beast can deny my wins with you over fears by the years,
phobias of mean faces, painful places and shadows of my core crooked,
You are my star and I am your shine,
the mountains we climb, how strongly we do -
J.A.B.
An adventure
Down those subconscious, mysterious corridors,
into one’s memories hoard , behind closed doors.
Into a surrealistic world of undecipherable dreams,
were one’s life is portrayed in reflections, it seems.
We move within this world of moments, to recall
moments, we pray, with pride, we did stand tall.
Moments, I have to say, where we also, did fall
Moments, I must say, we also lived behind a pall.
One looks from within the precincts of the cranium
to see, to find where one’s spirit, one’s soul did come.
The subconscious ?, a puppeteer ?, pulling the strings.
Creating a dance, to glide us across the floors of our past.
A voice that whispers in our ears, a voice that fervently sings
of all the adventures, all the experiences, with shadows doth cast
moments of uncertainty, moments filled with ghosts that haunt
one with memories that linger on and on, memories that taunt
one with passions lost, much like that of a fading, beautiful sun set.
At what cost doth one face impotence ? For how long must one fret ?,
over memories transported from our past, incorporated into our living days.
Memories of times which will never again see the light of day, only in dreams.
B. J. “A ” 2
October 21st, 2017
The New Griots—Pouring Down Raining Words
From the wombs
of our pregnant minds
may our charged words
drop like God’s tears
reaching the depths
of the precincts
of your souls
seeping like His raindrops
to swollen roots
anchoring life anew
birthing thunderstorms
of revelations
missed in oral tradition—now
staining sheets of thin pulp
with silent echoes—silent echoes
once etched in dry sand—time
unsheathing truth’s truth—unlocking
opening doors and windows
into new souls—new souls
seeking those creative leaps of mind
of the new Griots—rain dancers
inking rhythmic words
flowing like a speaking river
meandering
trials
tribulations
traditions
peace
love
meandering Minerv-like
between double clef river banks:
Come walk in the mist
of our rain—pitter pattering words
singing salient songs of life
showering selves in truth and glory.
I miss your beauty and splendor:
The sun that pierces through your greenest trees,
Dreams that were born within your premises;
The great books I devoured within your precincts.
Shall I ever set my foot their again?
If so, shall I find the same books I loved?
Will the friends I made within my short stay
Forever impact upon my life the same sweet way?
I miss you Moi University my alma mater,
Moi University, the place I gathered vast knowledge,
The place I discovered the meaning of great learning.
There, a piece of my soul dwells.
Few such hospitable places a mortal rarely finds,
And its breeze elsewhere you never can chance;
The beautiful geishas that roam your streets,
The bearded scholars that walk your corridors,
The spectacular scenery, the gorgeous neighborhoods;
All these and more I shall forever miss!
By noon, I am contemplating
In the evening, I will do.
Doing what must be done.
By days end I am through.
In night, I will surrender my mind.
I will fall into the precincts of death.
By morning, I am enlightened once more.
Once again, I am granted breath.
In spring, I will grow as a man.
Gathering fuel for what is to be
In summer, I burn with truth
Too bright for fools to see.
In fall, I gather once again.
Biding time for the winter storm.
Freezing the ignorant in the place
Then I sleep, waiting for new life to form.
When I am new, I disappear.
Sometimes this is the role to play.
I look slightly to see if I am needed.
No today is not the day.
I emerge more to show I care.
My hope is needed once more
I am there to pull you up.
On my life I swore.
Looking up to grab my hand.
Looking me full in the face.
Never forgotten, never worrying
Never losing your place.
I miss your beauty and splendor:
The sun that pierces through your greenest trees,
Dreams that were born within your premises;
The great books I devoured within your precincts.
Shall I ever set my foot their again?
If so, shall I find the same books I loved?
Will the friends I made within my short stay
Forever impact upon my life the same sweet way?
I miss you Moi University my alma mater,
Moi University, the place I gathered vast knowledge,
The place I discovered the meaning of great learning.
There, a piece of my soul dwells.
Few such hospitable places a mortal rarely finds,
And its breeze elsewhere you never can chance;
The beautiful geishas that roam your streets,
The bearded scholars that walk your corridors,
The spectacular scenery, the gorgeous neighborhoods;
All these and more I shall forever miss!
The Minster's quiet grace speaks from a time
when life was simple, kinsfolk came to pray
for hope within this haven so sublime
that famine and disease be kept at bay.
The temple thrives to prove the power of God,
it bests the test, as celebrants have trod
her cloistered precincts dressed in robe and cowl
to swell His praise through seasons fair and foul.
Today we slay and maim all in His name
people whose God displays a different face;
we trample on chaste values and defame
this land we hold so dear, to our disgrace.
His church endures, the crumbling building stands,
a shrine of truth on time's all-weathered hill;
shall we learn life's lesson, hold in our hands
the answer, or will it elude us still?
Oh! The poetry of "The power and Glory"!
I recall chant and call of that Gospel Story,
In storefront churches, all across the land.
Where heat was stirred, but not dispelled
by the waving of little cardboard fans.
As towering be-robed preachers shouted
exposition in magnificent thunderous oratory!
Sweat-slick glistening black faces; stalking,prowling
the precincts of the pulpit, moaning and growling;
"I don't think you heard me! Can I get a amen?"
Teaching grace and mercy, greater than all sin.
Stories of how our dear Lord, set the captives free-
Daniel in the den, Jonah in the fish, Shadrach-
Meshach, Abednego;" Lord, why not deliver po' me?"!
How deaf did speak; sight restored to the blind
And ,the sisters shout, and the deacons holler
And a few get happy and almost lose their mind.
And, those words washed, like waves, over us
Accounts of firey chariot and wheels in wheels,
presented in rhythm and rhyme, simile and alliteration.
Oh the mighty poetry, that called the lost to salvation!
Those sunday morning poet-prophets who orated
recounting judgement seats and high lifted-up thrones
They left me with a lingering, linguistic legacy
that just like Jeremiah's God-sent prophecy
Creates a need for expressing, "like fire shut up in my bones."
If I should try to refrain from speaking, the very rocks would sing.
The words are in me, moving and, I just can't hold my peace!
Give me your poor and downtrodden,
‘Cause they don’t ever vote.
Cast your ballots in late fall or winter.
For those without a coat,
Set up precincts to far to walk,
For those without a car,
And ask for ID at the door,
For those without a card,
Make healthcare an issue,
For those who are too sick,
And fool the elderly,
Into making the wrong pick,
And should the race for power,
Ever become too short,
They reset the districts,
Or settle it in a court,
Voting in America,
Is now a big joke,
As poor and middle class,
Fall for the hoax,
Now wouldn’t it be great,
If all of us counted,
If we all had a voice,
Which wasn’t discounted,
Torn is the American dream,
In our land of liberty,
We need a new vision,
And we need a new dream,
One where we all count,
Where we all are heard,
Why can’t we wise up,
And why can’t we learn,
Too long have we been idle,
Its time we spoke up,
The rich are our rivals,
Its time we woke up,
So when they cast ballots,
And you’re nowhere to be found,
Watch as the powers trample,
Your rights into the ground,
If the lives of your children,
Can’t make you react,
Then you can watch them die,
And come home in a sack,
If the lives of your parents,
Can’t bring you to action,
Then watch them eat dogfood,
Or other poor rations,
If the lives of the poor,
Don’t interest you,
Then watch the crime lords,
Grow in power too,
If the lives of your family,
Can’t make you vote,
Then watch them get poorer,
In next Tuesday’s hoax.