Long Guevara Poems
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Joshua Nkomo fought the white man
Who had come to Africa, taken the land
The whites ruled Rhodesia, though we should note
Toward the end they had one man one vote
Which meant that blacks and whites
in that respect had equal rights.
Nkomo saw his fight as one of racial liberation
Mugabe, his rival, also fought for a black nation.
Mugabe was a Shona, Nkomo a Ndebele
Neither of them were what you'd call a nice fella,
Russia supported the Ndebele, the Shona had China there
North Korea trained Shona too, a reason to beware
Mugabe became leader but not by winning the fight
He got elected, Shona voters had more might
White rule ended, and all lived happily ever after
Actually, not true, what happened next was a disaster
Mugabe unleashed the Five Brigade
They had trained in North Korea, time for Ndebele to be afraid
So what can we learn, I don't have a dog in this fight
I don't think colonial rule was right
The Ndebele tribe were now killed en masse
Vast numbers of corpses under the African grass.
The lesson as I see it is that the violent liberator
May resonate with you, but he can be a hater
When he gets into power, to keep power he kills
While the sympathizers close their eyes to the blood that spills.
Let’s apply this lesson to leftists in the Hamas tent
A few brave Gazans point out Hamas doesn't like dissent
One dissident's first day in jail haunts his dreams
He can't forget listening to his colleagues’ screams.
Hamas members won an election, made logical moves
They consolidated power, threw rivals off roofs.
Again, both rivals weren’t all that nice
Even if you like their cause, there is a moral price.
You can find justice in many a cause, but that doesn't mean
Those who take up arms are worthy of your esteem.
In the 90’s radicals might wear a Che Guevara t-shirt
But beware, when with communists you flirt.
Che liked witnessing executions by firing squad
He’d shoot the bullet too, so admiring him is odd.
Some Cubans learned the hard way, Joshua Nkomo did as well
You can leave Purgatory and still end up in hell.
Know this, my friend, and don’t look back,
Be you white or brown or black.
Freedom’s more than a rebel’s name,
It’s how you treat folks once you’ve won the game.
I’m the heartbeat of salsa, the rhythm of the conga,
Where Tito Puente’s spirit still dances on Third Avenue.
My murals speak louder than words—
Che Guevara, Celia Cruz, and the Spirit of East Harlem
Painted on every wall, telling stories of pride.
El Museo del Barrio stands tall,
A testament to our Latinx heritage,
While La Marqueta bustles with flavors of the island.
Oh, you think you’ve got the soul?
I birthed the Harlem Renaissance,
Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston walked my streets.
The Apollo Theater echoes with the voices of legends,
And Rucker Park? It’s where streetball met the NBA.
My brownstones whisper tales of Strivers’ Row,
And Marcus Garvey Park stands as a monument to our history.
But have you seen my festivals?
The Puerto Rican Day Parade lights up 116th,
A sea of flags and music filling the air.
My bodegas hum with reggaeton beats,
And the scent of arroz con gandules wafts through the streets.
We honor our roots with pride and passion,
A community united by rhythm and tradition.
I’ve got my own rhythm, my own flair,
From the sounds of jazz to the gospel in the air.
Sylvia’s serves up soul food with a side of history,
And the Studio Museum showcases Black artistry.
My streets are lined with stories of resilience and grace,
A tapestry woven with every face.
True, our paths have crossed and intertwined,
But our spirits remain distinct, uniquely defined.
El Barrio pulses with a Latin beat,
While Harlem’s heart echoes with African roots beneath.
Together, we form a mosaic so grand,
A testament to the cultures that built this land.
soak up the side streets of Montmartre,
Paris, Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
class less art combusts then drips
- street beggars & tourists cant
writer Rubbish pastes lace traceries
ala mode decoupaging decay
his cut-paper layers grace anoint
no longer anonymous walls
stencilist C215’s “simply a cat”
defies sourpusses not to smile—see
heaven art yes art with style
the banality of poverty held at bay
pureed souffléd life wolfed-down
colors synced
spray-cannoned Lothario’s like David Walker
entrance Picasso’s on the brink,
Romani-hearted paint peddlers
of the Republique
- street beggars & tourists cant
Thom Thom’s décollage rip-cuts
the billboard scene titillates the unseen
—culture-lovers—can-canned Lautrec’s
bedded with Che Guevara politics
come tilt with the masse
come play your part
in Montmartre
near Pigalle on Boulevard de Clichy
where wicked pissers defy
cliché
First Published in Clockwise Cat January 2015
Revving the Ante
She ploughs down the sidewalk on steeled chrome
A free spirit victorious of sorts over senile dementia
Got a quad-bike for her birthday and defeats her age
Che Guevara bandana nestles her orange purple hair
Bells and whistles attached to a gargantuan lip ring
A modern crusader in cruise control defying the odds
The sweet smell of illicit indulgence drifts on the path
To heavenly peace with painful joints doped into joy
That she never surrendered when age has crept in
She sports the number tattoo on her kind forearm
Of times she surpassed from evil camps to survive
Her sunken cheek bears an inked motto ‘sod botox’
The world is too poisonous without cheeky remarks
And turmoil has given way to mindfulness’s peace
In which she flows past barriers and speed checks
One day she was not there any longer on the road
Of infinite wisdom screeching through memory lane
But I shall take a tender leaf from her journey and pray
13th March 2020
Life is a diary waiting to be written
Observe
what is obvious
what is hidden
what is experienced
what is felt
A record of life
by day
by week
by year
by any moment
Twelve diary disciples did just that
Procession 1492 Columbus - America first
Progression 1660 Pepys - Restoration England
Obsession 1836 Darwin - origins of man
Expression 1863 Davis - free black woman
Impression 1906 Holden - Edwardian countryside
Confession 1910 Scott - frozen to death
Expression 1915 Woolf - inner self
Depression 1924 Wolfson - teenager in New York
Aggression 1941 Mukhina - siege of Leningrad
Suppression 1942 Frank - Jewish plight
Impression 1957 Guevara - viva Cuba
Repression 1976 Mandela - African apartheid
Procession, progression, obsession, expression, impression, confession, depression, aggression, suppression, repression
Life is simply a diary
Two vagabonds
With a dozen of dogs
Around the half eaten bread
A boy and a girl
With the school bag and pink smile
The beggar boy and the pigeons look blank
Her boyfriend Collin
Has sent a letter that she
Cannot read with her darkness of illiteracy
Along with the letters
Send some light too in the envelope
Shabnam says
The hunger for the alphabet
The thirst for the sounds of music
All in the sparkling snow beyond their closed window
Through the window
In the thatch roof of the shanty
the moon laughs at and the rains soak the bed
The life remains a tattered shirt
The hungry stomach and empty mind keep filling
The multiple holes
We seek the buds of democracy
We stoke the fires of the wars alongside
The persona at the core of the personality
With the two hands you
Loot our flowers and the carrots
The hunger of the fists never satiates
Still we wait for the morning
Some Che Guevara will come and say
Come with me for the pigeons in the blue sky
We will recognise the wall
We will demolish the deliberate divide
A black boy will hold the hands of a white girl
The blue pigeons in every courtyard
The yellow roses without discrimination
The dreams of reading together the poetry book
__________________________________________________
April 2, 2018
For Societal Discontent - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brendan J. Simons
‘One has to grow hard but without ever losing tenderness.’
I did not know that my hero was a sex god as well
But he wrote The Motorcycle Diary without any Zen
‘Every day People straighten up the hair, why not the heart?’
Never contemplate a revolution on a bad hair day
So he sported an iconic bandana to dress for a war
‘Don't Shoot I'm Che I'm worth more to you alive than dead!’
A bullet reaches as far as the range of a shell
Revolution rises from residue to the living
‘Democracy represents the dictatorship of the exploiting classes’
No opium for the masses and the jungle for a home
Pistol in belt tongue in cheek and always controversial
‘Better to die standing than to live on your knees’
He lived by the sword for the benefit of ploughshares
A doctor turned renegade marxist Central American style
‘We have no right to believe that freedom can be won without struggle’
Justice does not appear without shadows from Nowhere
He killed fewer people in battle than Trump or Obama
10th February 2020
All sentences in quotation marks by Ernesto Che Guevara
I
(A lone voice whispers)
Do you still miss me before we were slowly destroyed and betrayed
Would you tell anyone the truth of how we were played
By the demon associated with jealousy called Leviathan.
Even if God forced you to confess under duress
Although I know I've caused you so much distress
And your inner circle still revolts and screams like Mary Harris Jones
The grandmother of all agitators
Casting wild spells
Whenever they hear my name
When you visit family or friends who respond with wide alligator smiles
Before commenting and laughing about my tragic previous lifestyle
Like one of its many unwarranted administrators
I may now dance amongst the silvery stars
Now just a faded memory
No longer a member of your life's smiling parade
No more to sing
Smile or kiss
No more to hold hands with someone they really miss and watch the sunset
Lost in each other's eyes in total bliss
But if only I could see you one last time
I would move heaven and earth like Che Guevara
For you are still my silver glittering candelabra in the darkness
My second heartbeat
My magical Abracadabra
Which always wakes me like my own version of Desiderata
At 4 am
In the middle of each lonely heartbroken night
In here
Amongst the ever-moving shadows of The Great In-Between
The dark rift the broken enter
In dreams
When their life totally falls apart at the seams
I miss you
Alanna
I just hope and pray you're happy
Still living pill free
In a new era
So just remember me
Your forever one and only
Daraya
The silent watcher, whose now a citizen on the other side
Lost
But happy tonight
Just listening to Prince Rogers Nelson perform a show and sing
Sometimes it snows in April
In The Hotel California
As the Pharisee's Golden Bells
Hidden all around us
Rings
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
"Husk"
3 decades sucked out the marrow
Swallowed yesterdays
Spits out a Queen from the crumbling Tower
Ten of swords
High Priestess
Tarot
Husk arisen
Papillon Lefevre will be killed and bitten
Princess supersedes Queen to conquer Life
Through 'true' Love this is written
So mote it be
To Queen G, Che Guevara freedom given
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
gvlm/llb
““Hard things are put in our way, not to stop us, but to call out our courage and strength.”
“Aerodynamically the bumblebee shouldn’t be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn’t know that so it goes on flying anyway.”
Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of; the heck with sugar and spice.”
"I need you to remember this: There are days, maybe even weeks and months, when it feels like you are never going to move forward. When you doubt yourself because you can't see any progress. But the truth is, if you are waking up every day and doing the hard, beautiful, necessary work of living and learning you are growing. It's impossible not to. So keep going."
https://youtu.be/jA8inmHhx8c
Viktoria Modesta - Prototype
1.Disability/Health
2.Independence
3.Papillon Lefevre Syndrome
High Priestess
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/high-priestess/
The Chariot
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/chariot/
Strength
https://www.biddytarot.com/tarot-card-meanings/major-arcana/strength/
The taxi speeds down the highway
zig zagging to miss the potholes.
It slows as a horse and cart crosses,
followed by the owner's dog.
On the other carriageway people wait
hoping someone will give them a lift.
An old Cadillac smokes its way down the road.
In the town, buildings are like well-worn pairs of shoes –
they fit, still function but have seen better days.
But the people are well nourished, clothed and clean.
Smiles of genuine happiness are all around.
This is a country which lives to a different pulse -
Ché its heartbeat,
Fidel its lifeblood.
People are living the revolution where others have failed –
common wellbeing before personal gain,
society’s hallmark is equality and colour-blindness.
Educated and cultured, enjoyment is beyond the material.
Musical rhythms set the daily pace.
There is a determination to live and succeed despite hardship.
But is it only hardship when seen through Western eyes?
The freedom of spirit is to be admired.
But what does the future hold?
The greatest challenge is yet to come –
influx of other peoples from not so far away.
¡Cubana!