Long Griot Poems
Long Griot Poems. Below are the most popular long Griot by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Griot poems by poem length and keyword.
The Gede's Almanac (DHR)
on Fèt Gede, when Haiti welcomes the dead
I.
Elsewhere, autumn is a slow undressing —
maples letting go of themselves in red,
a season measured in what falls.
Here, on the first of November,
we do not measure autumn in falling.
We measure it in return.
The gate between the living and the dead
is a crossroads swept clean with rum,
and the dead do not drift down like leaves —
they arrive like family, loud, thirsty,
wearing purple and black,
one lens missing from their sunglasses,
because Baron Samedi never cared
which eye saw the living world clearly.
II.
My grandmother used to say: the dead get hungry too.
So we feed them what we would eat ourselves —
pikliz sharp enough to wake a corpse,
griot dark as the soil they came up through,
and clairin poured straight onto the ground,
a small, deliberate offering
to those still owed a place at the table.
We do not whisper to our dead.
We shout. We laugh with them in the cemetery
the way you'd laugh with an uncle
who tells the same joke every year
and somehow it is funnier each time
because he is the one telling it,
and, for a moment, he is here.
III.
In this almanac, autumn has no orange,
no pumpkin, no cider, no children in flannel.
Autumn is violet on white crosses.
Autumn is a marching band at a graveside,
trombones arguing cheerfully with grief.
Autumn is Gede Nibo, powdering his face
the color of bone made beautiful
before it is buried.
I have read that in colder countries
they call this season a dying —
the trees performing their long undressing,
the light going thin and apologetic.
We do not disagree, exactly.
We only add what they left out:
that death can be a coat
you put back on once a year,
then wear to your own grave
where the living are waiting,
still unafraid enough to dance.
IV.
So if you ask what autumn looks like
where my family comes from —
it looks like a crossroads at dusk,
a bottle passed hand to hand,
a name spoken loud enough
for the one who owned it
to lean in from wherever the dead lean in from.
And when we call,
the answer is not silence.
It is ayibobo —
the old word crossing the distance
between the grave and the living mouth,
between the ones who left
and the ones still learning
how to stay.
Chromatic
Voglio chetu sia mio
Ibi locutus sum
J 'espere que je ne le
regretterai pas
Na ia jeg takkle meg
selv
Daar is geen skeuring
tussen jou en my nie
Es un honored haberna
sentido asi
Jeg vil gifte meg med
deg: Ja sir re'
....................................
Composed by
Griot Apala
Ritmo Escale
Cancion Sonido
Armonia Letra
Benga Gnawa
and
Forro Frevo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
From The Movie
"Simon Pure, The long way Around"
a story told by motion picture soundtracks
featuring Sincerus Fakta and
Fatto Frevo
Themed from 1999
"Brazilian Desert Beach bum's
find a treasure map, and one
of the guy's inherits a fortune
but in order to collect they have to
raise catt Brazil for one
year, as a cohesive crew
who show the caretaker
that they are
responsible people and the
inheritor makes compited decisions.
Above the Line
the film is said
to be targeted
to people who'll come back to movie
theators Twenty years from now
to see it agin.
The music alone is enough
to see this film. This one
has the magic number.
It's one to inspire artsy films for decades.
Lyric written by
Scherzo " Samba" Pizzicato
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"Having a Nemesis and creating another one sound's like something a Madman inspires to do"
" Bullsh4t, man! Bull! you stray from her one more time and I will exstarct the closest thing to hell your dumbass could ever want to see. Punks like you alway get the pretty ones, treat them like whores and don't think people care about you or what you're going through, truth is it aint even worth it! A woman is smart enough to love and mean enough to understaan, but if you cross her one more time, she'll be demonifed enough to mortar, remeber I'm ah loving fool waiting to for you to get in my face!"
" It's as strange as you make it: and as familair as you allow it to be, just remember you aint right in this fight Honey! Woman been doing this for years and you think you done scoreed the big one, He might be gaming ya!"
" True love conqueres all it seeps into the soul and intoxicates the spirt: : I aint seen nothing here that does that for me, even though I am in love with him. It's fun tricking him: his former freind wanted me to be pregant with his child, and look him in his eyes and tell him he was the daddy, all along while he and I would only know the differance: I thought about it!"
Chinese Sonnet
Guns of repression thundered for your every word,
The Big Five bowed,river Congo murmured your name.
gold roofs glittered in a sun that had no shame-
Even the moon rehearsed your praises,absurd.
You dreamed that you are the Kilimanjaro of Zaire,
Attired in extravagance and thunder, Buddha in a hat,
Your sycophants and kleptocrats like you,sleazy and fat-
The nation starved,entire generations to learned to fear-
Now termite winds erase your repressive marble halls,
The jungle, uncorrupted, reclaims the golden stair of pride.
No griot weeps,no widow laments your corruption and fall-
Only dogs and crocodiles feast where you lied.
###
Mobutu Sese Seko: He was not kind Uncle Joe From Next Door.
You can describe his rule or more accurately misrule of the country you know
today as The Democratic Republic Of Congo in five words as corrupt,authotarian,
extravagant,repressive and kleptocratic.
His full name was Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu Wa Za Banga.
I know just trying to make sense pronouncing his name hurts your eyes. So just call him,
''The All-powerful warrior who,because of his endurance and inflexible will to win,goes fro conquest to conquest,leaving fire in his wake.''
I hope you give that name to your worst enemy.They will love you.
Night fell softly
on the sand that carried our footprints.
The sea was singing low,
as if it knew our secret.
Let’s, Minichou…
let the night remember us.
You sat beside me,
and even with the wind moving through your hair,
I felt a warmth
that did not belong to the sun.
The griot was hot in our hands,
its spices rising like a promise in the air.
We laughed between bites,
grease shining on our fingers
like stardust on warm skin.
You lifted the coconut to my lips,
cool water spilling slow and sweet—
but it wasn’t the freshness that made me shiver,
it was your gaze lingering on me.
Let’s, Minichou…
stay close enough to hear my heartbeat.
The sand grew warmer
though the moon ruled the sky.
Your arm brushed mine,
soft… almost innocent—
yet nothing about the silence was innocent.
The ocean kept kissing the shore,
wave after wave,
like it was teaching us
how closeness becomes fire.
Let’s, Minichou…
don’t pull away now.
The night leaned in,
our breaths slowly matching,
the space between us disappearing
like a secret finally confessed.
And beneath the patient stars
we learned
that sometimes
two bodies,
two hungers,
two hearts—
only need a whisper:
Let’s, Minichou…
They kept a record of time,
They were history’s shelves,
They were memory pages,
An honour that ran through the family.
They sang songs of the land,
To them, the sand was more than the traveller’s pathway,
It spoke volumes of the human’s quest and final rest,
They understood how to commune with the spirits of benevolence and goodwill.
They said history is a canvas of dark and bright hues,
The dew of the search for the veiled,
They said that it’s a house whose doors lead to the tides of the heart,
They adore nature,
A nomenclature of wonders untold.
A beautiful old past,
Eroded by a change in clime,
Everyone is occupied by the new way,
The day speaks to saddled minds,
Held by the reins of life’s turbulence.
January 6, 2025.
They consume the hot dogs
Too
Like you
But they don’t eat the dogs
Never, never
They do not eat the cats
They do not eat the pets
Never, never.
Immigrants eat the wild hogs
That’s hot Griot
They don’t eat the rabbits
But they eat the spicy Tassot
And of course, they eat hot dogs.
Haitians eat and drink Soup Joumou
Which contains vegetables and of course carrots
Haitian food
Is very, very good
Immigrants consume good meats
Like you.
Stop being racist
Stop being supremacist
Your ancestors used to eat the dogs
Not immigrants, Not West Indians
Not Haitians
Immigrants eat fried wild hogs
Like zillion of Americans
Who love apple pies
Stop the lies, stop all lies.
Copyright © October 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
(In loving memory of my big brother, Reg)
Right within my den
Calligraphic letters you penned
Surfaced as reminder of the love we shared
I see picture perfect portraits
No negatives.
You do appear on wings of time
Like sun's penetrating light
In spaces, deep as the Caribbean Sea
Yes, you are reflected
In multiple hews, brilliant as you...
Blood of my blood;
Imagine fortified versions of you
I see courteous crews...
Beyond seven saintly specimens
Now your name is set abroad
As though Griot who ruled.
I remembered, you tamed my fears
And rose to pave smooth
One perilous path I walked to work
Yes, weary women in need of warmth, were
Cloaked in hand woven peace, given by you
Now, you're laminated photo...
Graphed upon walls of grateful minds.
I have seen you prodding time
Through lens of your mind
Tall as mahogany trees
That cools, and shelters multitudes
Now; who but time, will seal
This empty space
I feel within my soul?
You'll never be you I once knew.
*
They are eating the dogs
They are eating the cats
They are eating the pets
They are eating the wild hogs.
In the early 20th “c”, Germans used to eat blockade mutton
That’s absolute truth. It’s a shame that this felon
Is desperate and going wild. The dude is a pathological liar
Who will do anything. He’s a tremendous cheater.
Immigrants do not eat the pets
Especially Haitians who love chickens
Tassot or griot meats, black rice and beans.
Haitians love Soup Joumou with lots of carrots
Haitians enjoy one of the best cuisines on the planet
Liar, liar, nobody is perfect. That’s correct.
Copyright © October 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;griot
Griot, jali, jeli
You’re a storyteller;
Singing, telling your tales;
Words songs in harmony wails;
Poet or musician;
Oral repository tradition;
Seen often as leader;
Advisor to royal personages;
Kings and Queens
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
Sometimes called a bard;
Lyrics and words taking charge;
Peoples of West Africa;
Captured into bondage;
People of the kingdom;
Chained placed in boats to be shipped to a new far land;
I am a Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
Griot, jali, jeli
Composer, Diplomat;
Historian, Interpreter, musician;
Peace maker, praise singer;
I am
Poet, spokesperson, Teacher, translator;
Witness, warrior
Griot, jali, jeli
I am, I am
Jali, jeli
African historian
You’re a storyteller;
Praise singer;
10/17/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2018
SHURI
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
A
SHURI african princess
genis
Wakanda forever
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
Genius beautiful darken
Woman
Wakanda forever
Powerful woman
Brother T”Challa
The Black Panther
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
The princess of Wakanda,
Shuri is T'Chaka's youngest child and only daughter
Shuri coveted the Black Panther mantle
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
During an attack on Wakanda by Klaw
Groups of his mercenaries parade
She uses the Ebony Blade to defeat Russian Radioactive Man
Killing him in the process Shuri is a warrior and
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
Shuri is a warrior
A brilliant scienitious
Smartest woman on this earth
T'Challa promises to train her in hand-to-hand combat
enabling her to fight on her own terms
should she ever need to take his place as leader of Wakanda
Shuri is a warrior
SHURI African princess
The princess of Wakanda
Shuri is a warrior
Griot
Abilities Animorphism
Genius-level intellect
Expert martial artist
Necromancy
Super speed
Stone skin
Use of high-tech equipment and weapons including vibranium uniform
Enhanced agility, durability, endurance, reflexes, senses, speed, stamina and strength
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
Shuri is a warrior
A brilliant scienitious
Smartest woman on this earth
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
Ba Ru Raa a bomb buray
SHURI African princess
Shuri is a warrior
Wakanda forever
10/18/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2018