Long Historywords Poems
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There were several women nearby who were crying and wailing over this condemned
man. The convicted man turned slowly towards them and that was the first time Simon heard
him speak.
Breathlessly, the convict stopped and quietly spoke to these lamenting women. Simon
stopped with him under the weight of the beam. Simon never understood these words at that
time, .. but he never forgot them. This blood soaked, ravaged dirty half dead man turned to
the women and rasped ,…
“Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for Me …but weep for yourselves and your
children.“ He caught his breath, wiped the dust and blood from his eyes with the ragged
sleeve of his torn robe and continued…“For indeed the days are coming in which
they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and breasts which never
nursed!”
The crowd had already become silent to hear what the accused was saying, because this
kind of talk was unheard of in a time when bearing children and mother hood was considered
extremely holy and a gift directly from God Himself. It was proof that he must have been
possessed!
He continued , blood dripping from swollen lips, “Then they will begin to say to the
mountains, “Fall on us!!” and to the hills, “Cover us!!” …“For if they do these things While I
am with you,…what will they do when I am gone?” …… The sound of a lash slapped across his
torn bloody back and he shuffled forward but not before looking directly into Simon’s eyes..
The crowd again took up their noisy, morbid mission.
Simon grunted under the weight of the beam and thought they all sounded like a pack of
hungry jackals. He was certainly confused and inexplicably terrified.
After that gruesome unholy nightmare ended and for the rest of his life while walking the
hills, he kept hearing and was haunted by this man’s words over and over and wondered
what on earth they could mean.
“ Do not weep for Me…but weep for yourselves and your children…for indeed the days
are coming in which they will say, “Blessed are the barren, wombs that never bore, and
breasts which never nursed!!”......
This, to the people of his time was impossible! Children were a holy gift from God himself.
Blessed are the wombs that never bore...and breasts that never nursed?! What could he
have meant?
He danced on the decks of tossing ships, danced only for dimes
He danced to the lash and sound of whips, hip moving like dream
And when he reasoned, his words sublime brought heavenly climes
Dance from plantation to Greathouse, dancing in gully and stream
And if we dance again today, he choreographs nuance and fiber
Still; this talented son, this bright native of the Martha Brae River.
He is the twin soul of that Manley, our horizons in the sun
And when at Mona, he taught me how to run with my ton.
O farewell, brother of my brother, mentor that from your distance shape
Me into a patriotic landscape where my children may build, farewell
Sweet intellect; and O may they bring our Mframadan like cloth to drape
Your rest. All your public life was nobly spent, farewell, Rex, farewell!
Your footprints are bright, not castles in sand, from high hills shine
The glory of your days. O Griot, go the bidding now of the Divine
O Blow the abeng now, beat the kumina drum, O village peel
The bells of jubilee again. Aluta Continua, Rex, go take your seal!
Mi mumma band her belly and bawl long time, yai water like rain
Hot like Clarendon springs, and the world like blue mountain mist
So cold, O emptiness, emptiness is such a dread, O such a pain
What shall we do with out hollowness now, and how shall we resist
Again the shackles of injustice, O that there were Marley
To sing this icon into the icon of memory, for all our history
Is but words on a page until we can retrieve the past to right
Today and make tomorrow bright again. He was that light.
Coda
O Kilmanjaro weep! O Timbuctu weep! O Meroe and kujo's clan
Weep for the death of man, a sterling man, a grandiose design
That met its worth in gold in deeds of him. All our life is like sand
Worn from the rock of being by tides and seasons, and no sign
To tell where wind or water carry us, we are blown away
The shadow of the sand is gone, but never cannot decay
It is too immaterial, its presence is like his fragrance here
Bill still O Niger, and you great Nile, I borrow you for a tear.
It is fad these for people to assuage my rage
As if words can bring back innocence and faith
As if words alone is enough for this angry age
Where his mother died with her eye on the gate
Hoping the prison would dissolve itself and free
Her child doing life for three times using crack.
As if prisons and wars were not fail solutions she
Remembered, the minotaur in its maze of rock
Fed on black children, the garbage not removed
Until every other week, and the stench from it
That pandered to the prejudice ones and proved
She and her lot was not worth the gift of it.
And what of little Charlie, they all said he was bright
He did not die in an angry drive by, he only fell
In love once, too bad the other one was white
I saw him hanging from a tree ... his was all hell
Frozen and wrapped in fear. Listen me, dear child
She tells this griot, do you know why am not wild
Over one of us in the White House, Lord do knows
I am glad for it, but expect nothing from it, let
I be known he is just a tenant, which way it goes
The House is still white and we own nothing yet.
I listened to her in disbelief, that despair could be so deep
And lost for words, when she finished, I bowed and weep.
Wherein do I cast my lot in your ground fallow
To what God do I condemn myself, a follower
Is it in your past, now resurrected
That I plant my emblem, however afflicted
My words flow forth as an exhortation
To your rapture now emblazened in an emblem
An emblem of eagle, of glorious flight
Now soaring high in unbreakable night
Do I cling to the past, glory misbegotten
Or is it the truth, resurrected, in my words begotten
The eagles which stood erect and solid, fixed and firm
Are now so fluttering, by winds of change thus churned
When I study your past, so glorious, now lapsed
Am I imagining a glory once alive, now passed
Is there a future, a golden gleam
To the past portrayed, of Roman beams
When I see the outline of honor once teeming
Am I but seeing in present but pointless meaning
I long for the possibility the future
Yet is it but that, a child never yet to ma-ture
America my living, guiding light
Are ye but the glimmer of hope 'fore dark age, 'fore night
so tell me then illustrious men
who've wandered far beyond the ken
Of we who strive with words and pen
to tell the world of cock and hen
who roosted in the way back when
in lofts of thatch and wicker den
resting in the soggy fen
Or tending hind in mountain glen
Beside the hearths so plastered then
with ashes mixed in salted mud
to hold the heat of hand split wood
beyond the time of burning
well past the times of yearning
like cockled eggs and oaten whey
to hold us through another day
Until the long ships make their way
Into this mountain sheltered bay
to give us news of how they fared
so we may write and spread the word
far into times ahead of all our men so dead
who sailed the seas and conquered dread
while we who shiver in the night
and stubbornly record our plight
weaving rhyme and beating time
with words to be remembered
The yin and yang
My side by side
Allowing me to freely glide
Through my days and
nights so dark.
Sincere words yet
with a bark.
Bravado like no one else
but sensitive when addressed.
For words to him must be clear
so they may float and adhere.
To those he loves
and keeps locked tight
inside his heart where
its out of sight.
For fear you might
pull away or maybe
silence comes out to play.
Its black and white
no grey you see
Your decisions
make you free.
I'm built the same
from mirrored molds
Happiness is what
makes you whole.
Stay in the zone
that makes you safe
But take a chance
forget defeat.
Curiousity keeps
us alive
by propelling us
to love and thrive.