A packed lunch of sandwiches
meant to take away the weariness
that comes with going back to a set prison
meant to change our lives.
Friends are scarce.
A definition lost to those I found hardest to trust,
whilst burying myself in books,
for diaries comfort this soul of mine.
Lend me an ear when you want to hear,
though most times I bared the heart of a therapist;
always there to give notice to the weary.
I'd motivate the self in ink,
whilst delivering speeches to those around to hear me.
Lessons I'd give. Lessons they'd consider,
despite their uncertainty that I could teach.
Some I'd met in minutes a time,
as they would go back to their own group of friends,
left to analyze the notion of friendship.
A lonely mind, befriends overthinking.
'Til today, all seems to still cloud the mind of I,
sometimes I think back to thank the days
and sometimes, I give thanks to have finally left.
28 August 2022
'Back to School' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Francine Roberts
Have we forgotten
How beautiful a heart
Who is soft – kind – gentle
Soaked in sensitivity
Truly is?
Have we neglected
To give attention to the soul
Who is supple, easy, forgiving
Drenched in thoughtfulness
Humility
Have we ignored
The one who brings warmth
To the spirit’s core
A light so bright and tender
Its sincerity relieves us
Of all pain and grief
It is consolation so sweet
Have we forgotten
To give notice to the purity
Grace to the gentle
Consideration to the affectionate
Hope to the appreciative
Favor to the benevolent
Thanks to the humane
Praise to those who pray
For His way to saturate with praise!
Of one thousand stars I see
there are many more unseen
I’m amazed how they sparkle
they do not sleep or dream.
when I hear the stars are out tonight
I sleep before to stay awake
the moon will rise and give notice
to the coming of awe before the break
the sky will lighten heavens palace
sending down rays of illuminating light
covering the first frost late autumn
reminding me of winter’s nearing sight
If I could take just a few stars
I’d put them on a tall tree
I’d walk the ground beneath the glow
blessed with all that is given free.
They crunch under foot
Before i give notice
Shells and corals
These skeletons of the sea
Reds and purples
Most bleached white
upon this beach
Whole or in part
Vacant
thou some with
Inhabitants
Strewn across the
High water marks
Once alive and vibrant
With fish and bigger
Swimming about
Down in the depths
Of an apt name sea
Now broken
And divorced
From their watery home
To land on foreign
Dry shore
To be crunched under foot
These skeletons of the sea
Have you heard
the pretty bird
in the gilded cage
sing
Its melody
is like a rhapsody
oh what joy
it can bring
But, if you knew
like I do
of a once broken
wing
You'd understand
that its lyrics
say a quite
different thing
Its song, is full
of rage and sorrow
About forgotten yesterdays
and lost tomorrows
About the freedom
it will never have again
So, take another listen
my friend
Give notice, take heed
lend an ear
Is it really just
a melody you hear
I have come again, your highness,
Yes, I have come. Falling at your feet at your feet like a discarded gown whose beauty has found no place in a maiden's eyes.
Here, with this aging desire, I pledge my commitment to you-- even as these colored moon befriends my innocence,
Let me dance with your feet before these stars become jealous and the wind begin to cry; let me hold hands with your thoughts and walk you through my secrets as though you can't see the light.
Oh, I wish I was the beauty in your mind that will give notice of my presence, and how I have longed for your godly hands to rest on my brown skull
Down by the spring's watery edge
I soak my feet to cool them from
the long, day's heavy dread.
The shade of the pine tree's tops
give notice to the cooler, filled with bright
colored pops. I soak up the warm Summer
breeze, as I watch the yellow daisy's
busy with the bumble bees.
Friends are laughing and children
at play with family and friends.
This has become a place of comfort for me,
when the day has come, almost it's end.
Who you calling nigga?
when I done making you rich from my sweat
bearing the children you calling bastard
when i done cleaning up your mess
and as soon as i sit to rest
you calling me names
Who you calling nigga?
The same person who heals you
when you sitting you lazy **** in bed
the same one who keeps your tears in a bottle
but you never give notice to them all
Well this nigga proud
this nigga done
and dis nigga running things now
dis nigga sitting in your office chair
marrying your only daughter
this nigga climbing this ladder
an' I damn proud to be A NIGGA.
So who you think you calling nigga now?
Like oil on troubled water, dawn pours upon the sea,
cajoling worried waters from their midnight reverie.
Her fresh North-West accomplice adds his whisper to the light
and shoo’s the fleeing night clouds to persuade them in their flight.
A raucous flock of seabirds add hello’s to break of day,
as port and starboard signal lights extinguish in the bay
The crackling sounds of men at work, prove fireworks equal match,
as fishing smacks, with teeming loads, unload each squirming catch.
Chain freed gates and crashing crates give notice to the day,
another dawn as harbour town makes ready for the fray.
Yellow lights that painted night, now dim and fade from view,
as morning’s pearly glory brushes over canvas new.
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