Potent grief exists in the paternoster
recited by exiles each break of dawn —
and they never cease to mourn with drums.
Exiles are men
with two lives,
and they often fast,
preferring to sip gently the treacly sap
dripping from the eyes of fortitude.
Riding the thin line
of the horizon,
they seek truths underneath
receding rims of the atmosphere —
the truths
of a desolated homeland
atrophied by distance.
They do not pray
only to return home,
but to meet their mothers’ funerals —
Mothers harassed to death
by ruthless authorities
whose diaries speak of languor.
How do pirates with their eye patches
count the stars,
and how do feathers of thinning clouds
react to the invasion of rioting storms?
Exiles are native drummers
gone for a festivity yonder.
Like the dead, they live in the
hearts of those who truly love them.
Categories:
exiles, political,
Form: Free verse
Potent grief exists in the paternoster
recited by exiles each break of dawn —
and they never cease to mourn with drums.
Exiles are men
with two lives,
and they often fast,
preferring to sip gently the treacly sap
dripping from the eyes of fortitude.
Riding the thin line
of the horizon,
they seek truths underneath
receding rims of the atmosphere —
the truths
of a desolated homeland
atrophied by distance.
They do not pray
only to return home,
but to meet their mothers’ funerals —
Mothers harassed to death
by ruthless authorities
whose diaries speak of languor.
How do pirates with their eye patches
count the stars,
and how do feathers of thinning clouds
react to the invasion of rioting storms?
Exiles are native drummers
gone for a festivity yonder.
Like the dead, they live in the
hearts of those who truly love them.
Categories:
exiles, political,
Form: Free verse
Football crazy Exiles u13s 2024/25 season
They're football crazy,
they're football mad,
Ipswich Exiles U13s,
the best they’ve ever had.
With speed and grit,
determination true,
Strength in all areas,
they play to rule.
Our top goal scorer,
a year younger but bold,
His talent and drive,
a sight to behold.
Week in,
week out,
whatever the score,
These lads bring pride,
always wanting more.
On the pitch they shine,
a united band,
Making parents,
fans,
and coaches the proudest in the land.
Win, lose or draw,
their spirit's a flame,
Ipswich Exiles U13s,
forever in the game.
Categories:
exiles, childhood, class, confidence, encouraging,
Form: Rhyme
To soothe the cornered inferno
Consuming a sanctuary abandoned
Spider's silk like snow kissed ground
Walls caressed by a nurturing moss,
A mausoleum of birth
The detached ruins we carry
A firefighter's hose spouts curses
To cauterize a ghastly flame
The fire fights itself separately
So the lever pullers on the dispatch
Call into the ears of a healer
To douse themselves in gasoline
There is no pain, for in
Recognition there is warmth
The exiles of the charred asylum
Need something true to human heart
An acknowledgment of all their parts
Categories:
exiles, change, education, introspection, memory,
Form: Free verse
Come on, Exiles
To a banquet in Nigeria.
Hear now, the voice of jamboree
You deaf,
Perhaps, the blind can see the assorted service,
Look here! Men do not sleep at night,
Who dares to sleep and give up his dreams?
The youths;
Toil all day, but
Reap sorrows and heartbreak.
Upon the riches of this clime,
Men dies paupers.
Look what goes on over here,
This is a casket of shame,
Disgruntled soul
Being buried in debt.
How do we pay off our fathers’ debt?
Our inheritance of distress,
Our fate is bleak.
Of all these wealth and abundance;
I have five fingers on my right, and
Five on my left,
My foot is not flat,
I can trek to Lagos for Babu.
I will keep walking
Till I reach my stretch, and
Give up my shame.
Categories:
exiles, africa, anxiety, emotions, pain,
Form: Free verse
You fixed Mongolian stew
on a two ring Russian-made burner.
We understood
that we’d not be drinking salted milk tea
in Ulan Bator anytime soon.
Nevertheless,
we bought Kazakh embroidery
laid on goatskins, treated the room
as if it were a symbol laden yurt.
Your body was my perfect fit,
a silken deel of sensuality,
which we both knew
was the national costume
of the desolate and lost.
Categories:
exiles, poetry,
Form: Blank verse
Your eyes say there's a room for everyone
I lost my way, welcome me to your shore
Light up your torch, I'm avoiding the sun
Of fear as I sailed across with my oar.
Are there words unsaid in your silenced lips
The waves churn, the winds gather the voices
Behind those walls e'en thus of rolling ships
And thunderclaps above frightened faces.
Is there a loving embrace known to me
Is there a warm home beyond tall, old pines;
Roots of battles as old as history
Here, is my ambrosial desire that chimes.
I'd sing the songs of heroes rejoicing
Man; so shall the seabird's breadth of wanting.
© 2019 Maricris Cabrera
Categories:
exiles, immigration, independence day, july,
Form: Sonnet