Long Politicalold Poems
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I rather watch a kestrel to see
Her swoop and swirl
The skies invisible maze
To feed the inhabitants of her nest
Her milk of gratitude
Morning begins with a bright darkness
And the beckoning beaks for food
There is a wind ruffled mood
Yawing the feathers of the breast
Dawn is a ransom for the truth
Her flight negotiates
The billowing whirlwind
Of dust
Settled in the bowl of expectation
It is the African way.
Courage cannot wear shackles
When the protest comes
This transition
Have shaken superstructures
Not roots, but leaves
Any grafted branch can bear
We did not invent this way
This democracy
Churning chaos out of selfishness
This way of bridging men's hope
This inclusion that is exclusive
This decomposition of old bargaining
Of parables under ancient trees
Strange shifts happen
When we disrobe our cloth
Baring ourselves of familiar primitives
Was not the old ways good enough
Why did we not transform it
While the time was transforming us
Into spectacles
Since we did not want to be invisible still
Will we transform what we
Have borrowed
Into a resemblance of our sense
Of equality, belonging and value?
The base fumbles into sectors
Carved by streets intersecting villages
Divided by self interests
More than any division of our origin
We who came from Jamaica
Barbadoes, Trinidad
And Guyana
Leaving Elmina, Shama, and Sekondi behind
Cattled in the coral that was not pearl
Permitted by a sympathy of the Unites states
Came here forming a new state
Out of forgotten memories
Of lost addresses and broken grief
Of kinship disillusionment
Called this Liberia
Clothing the construction of autonomy
With the identity of freedom.
Is it surprising then this tension
This fractious existence
In a dark forest of genocide
That each sit not well with self as stranger
For this group have no social memory
Beyond the coming of the ships
Until a common bond is forged
From the sorrow of years of fire
To form a new collective identity
Nothing speaks to the deep insecurity
Where there is a need for belonging
Like the suckle of the milking breast
Soft on the flesh of the tongue
With kindness
Telling us our faults
Teaching us to be brothers again
Telling us how to feel the humanity
In our forgotten hearts
Straining to build out of the pain.
Picture decibels of granite landslide wailing
Rocks of flocking tears tumbling savagely down
Upon the dry valley, and the heart's raining
Wide torrents of griefs in shoutings unknown
And then strangely the recognition
Each one knowing the time and condition.
I know you do not understand what I tell
About the old village in communication
Wireless, and no technology as that bell
Of sighs clanging in valleys of trees, attrition
For the belated love one gone, the cry
Of sorrow uprooting rocks and roofing sky.
I want you to see the old Maroon ways dead
And the legacy left in a crocus bag there
One machete, an abeng, and Bible at his head
The lone Rastaman taking it up with his tear
And left the callous crowd that cry and lie for rum
To study the script that brought him freedom.
He looked at it, but could not fit the words, so
He wrote with his tongue a new approach
At words, with more proximity to life and ego
And fence that allowed none to encroach
Who were strangers to his tribulation and need
To survive this existence on a puff of weed.
He spoke "I and I" for we, a sense that said
The collective was on flesh in different skins
And we were only branches of the Mighty Dread
Separated by customs, flawed beliefs and sins.
He said "I overstand" for the understanding we
Claim through muddled mire of mangy history.
Thus the Maroons bled a physical revolution, fend
And left his legacy to the Rastaman to complete
The cultural revolution, bringing us to honeyed end
Changing language, music, and lifestyle, a feat
That Mao dreamed but could not do, overturning
The oppressors' world by a smoky drumming.
The Maroon never dies while his children live:
Pocomania, Rastaman, Reggae music burning
The Kiya hut of Taliban, Mandela prison pensive
Tremble at the stones tumbling and piling
On the blackheart man's grave. No more bush
Brigades hiding the British guns. Love comes with a hush.
George is in his eighties and he’s seen it all before
He was born in the depression and was wounded in the war
He hadn’t been a hero, but George had done his bit
His legs had both been broken when a piece of shrapnel hit
George with his new ungainly gait really didn’t care
He had served his King and Country and was proud that he’d been there
Once the war was over and he got a steady job
George worked hard and did overtime to earn an extra bob
He was careful with his money but you couldn’t call him mean
He had known the pangs of hunger as a child when times were lean
He never wasted money in the bookies or on ale
He wanted some security in case his health should fail
Came the National Insurance Scheme in 1948
George gave the scheme his full support thinking it was great
If we all join in together and we pay our weekly dues
We should all get good pensions that can only be good news
What with all our contributions and the taxes that we pay
Well never in the future should we see a rainy day
No humiliating means tests, no more workhouse for the poor
The old can hold their heads up like they never could before
Now George is getting frail and weak and needs a little care
The pension that George thought he’d get simply isn’t there
The savings that old George accrued long ago had dwindled
The Council now want George’s house, no wonder George feels swindled
Every evening in the news on all the TV stations
The Government hand out our cash to lots of foreign nations
What’s more it is a well known fact that cannot be disputed
Folk come here and claim benefits who’ve never contributed
Our leaders throw our cash around with philanthropic zeal
Massaging their ego’s, Not caring how we feel
To men like George an honest man the real reward is owed
We should be taking care of him, not stealing his abode
Form:
Bring them a cup of sea for lighted candles
Tell them taste and tell, and tell, and tell
The ancient salt, the bitterness it kindles
While creation groans at the brink of hell.
Anyone can condemn the sea you know
I have seen it gutting the land, have seen
Rocks becoming sand, and sand is no screen
For water. The land melts like meals of snow
O let us criticize the stars, moon and wind
Let us analyze and build nothing new again
We cannot replace what we have lost to sin
Let us excite our minds in seasons so vain.
Each fault should come with a fixer's plan
Each crowd should go home with wings
For joy, but the sea in their eyes stings
Children hope, the salt is in the vein of man.
Only a prayer can promote the peace sought
Diligently among the sad broken of the able
Wisdom as a dream in butterfly net is caught
The cup of sea sits still, a picture on the table
Of old Daedalus and our patience in dust
The mall is a symposium of the noise remaining
The tirade of the tyrant sea in tidal groaning
Tell and tell and tell splintering sprays of trust.
And this cup ties itself like leaf to old stumps
Of history, evoking things not properly told
Before. The serpent unswaddles all the slumps
That avarice us chasing pictures of fools' gold
O that I could banquet your hearts on faith
Better than promises, or Icarus wax dripping
Like sweat. The seas sore salt has no diluting
O let it go, the millennium is late, late, late.
They will promise you the Moon and try to block the Sun
Will promise to put a bridge over troubled water, but the river is dry
Anything that you could ever want, but nothing ever comes of it
Maybe not all, but just about everyone
They just get re elected, never seem to die
Or maybe they have got it so good, they don"t want to quit
when the rich get richer, "Oh, it is because of those old Republicans"
When the economy is down who is at fault, "The Democrats"
After all the mud slinging, they go out and wine and dine each other
And who foots the bull, the poor old hard working Americans
Seems like the donkeys and elephants all wear the same hats
If one did not know better, kind of like a brother
Most are lawyers at first, then keep going from there
Making more laws that we do not really need, taking freedoms away
Demanding that we eat, what they won't even taste
Trying to keep God hidden in a dark place, so we will not have a prayer
But someday they will pay
Look around and think, who is responsible for all the waste
They need to remember, the voters that out them in office, can vote them out as well
We need to make it so it is not so profitable to be a politician
Of The Flag and of God, become a defender
Or we will all go through nine kinds of Hell
And above all, be proud if being an American
Take away all the temptations, so that they will not become a :Repeat Offender
Form:
In our old testament we were not odd
We had a glorious genesis, we had no cord
Then came the pest from the western world
With their chalk and talk technique… a fiery fraud
In our old testament we had rings not rod
the western parasites came to suck our brawns and blood
they gave us amalgamation… a cruel, crooked cord
they never asked for our consent, we gave them no nod
In our old testament, we had a pleasant pod
the white weeds came to win our wealthy world,
they sold us as slaves… raided us with a rugged rod;
the wheel of our will got stuck in their modern mud
In our new testament, we had no balance board
our legends fought, with their brains, brawns and blood
their effort got stuck in the military’s mess and mud
soon, we started losing our sages to fiery flood
In our new testament… we breed a scary sword
to secure the oil well that killed our pleasant pod
our ruler rules like titans, terrors and a lousy lord;
Gaining grounds through fraud, neglecting our nod
In our new testament… we’ve got the bitter blood
Each clans that made Nigeria, tired of this cruel cord,
the western woes, and their laws… full of flaws and fraud,
We now want to live our dreams in a world void of bitter blood
Ignorance is definitely a description of bliss
Look at Washington if you don’t believe this
They are never on target, they always miss
Their biggest decision is whose butt to kiss
We were told we were getting change
It looks the same, now ain’t that strange
The positions of the rich just rearrange
Take care of their own, they prearrange
Maybe I was hoping for something new
But what I see is the same old doodoo
Filling their pockets, screwing me and you
Spitting on the Red White and Blue
Society brainwashed, a robotic crowd
Entitlement minded, crying out loud
Sorry boys, no thinking allowed
Socialism will make you proud
They say they will make the country strong
But I’m watching now and see the wrong
Change has been coming for oh so long
But you are still singing the same old song
Bliss isn’t living off a government check
Being a dependent, a financial wreck
Ready to sail but no one on deck
Living with a noose tied around your neck
Bliss is different for you and me
A pursuit of happiness and being free
Earning a living, the right to be
Productive members of a society.
Maybe things just had more meaning in my childhood days
We knew the law and we could see the error in our ways
We didn’t need an interpreter for telling wrong from right
The laws were clearly written, like our old TV, in black and white
The lawyers took our rights and moved justice too far left
To be a C E O, you need a P H D in theft
Promises from politicians, we never get a fair shake
Talking to a lawyer is like talking to a snake
To be elected a congressman, it’s really no surprise
You need a B S in bribery and a Masters degree in lies
Diogenes searched for an honest man in Athens, until his feet were swollen
If he had moved his search to Washington, his lantern would have been stolen
If Washington were a ski resort then Bush would fit the bill
He seemed to be an expert at taking things down hill
Reagan lied about the Iran Contra deal. He was a movie star
Clinton said under oath. It wasn’t sex. It was just an old cigar.
Lawyers and liars and political desires are too far from the right
We should have our say and change the gray back to black and white.
I watch our liberal congress with little admiration
As they show their family values to our entire nation
They say if you don’t have time for children
Because you’re in a hurry
Just murder them before they’re born
Then you won’t have to worry
It would be nice just for once
To believe in some of the things they said
But they have to call a proctologist
When they can’t find their head
So I dreamed I went to Washington
To ask them to change course
But I found that I was talking to
The north end of a south bound horse
Before congress goes into session
They pass around large receptacles
I thought they were collecting documents
But they were collecting testicles
In order to clean out Washington
The Pied Piper would be nice
Although we voted for human beings
We seem to have elected mice
It’s time to elect people
Who aren’t afraid to say what they think
Than have the same old congress
With the same old stink.
You have apologized to the world
Now apologize to me
For I did not give a swine my pearl
Nor put sugar in the sea
What this house on old foundations
The thinking group domain
What is a beginning without inventions
Where is the new path of pain?
We hear and hear again the old trifle
Our labor's profit squandered
Before our eyes, the stare of the rifle
There some sage has blundered
Only God can fall rain from the top,
Or sun's milk breasting leaves
We must grow things bottom up
The seedless sod the world bereaves.
I did not cry in shackle or in chain
Nor for the strangers whip
But O Cain, how bitterly I weep again
From every speech there falls another drip.