Long Rehabilitate Poems
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(I'm
an
Indian
lassie,
was
born
in
West
Africa,
(Nigeria),
Grew
up
in
South
Africa
(Swaziland)
and
currently
live
in
East
Africa.
(Tanzania).
So
I
live
in
Daresalam,
near
the
Indian
Ocean.)
I
might
be
like
any
other
expatriate,
desirous
of
their
homeland
Upon
my
country's
soil
fervently
wishing
to
stand.
I
can't
help
feeling
profusely
foreigner
in
this
highly
foreign
land
I'd
give
anything
to
go
back,
say
even
be
a
mariner
for
there's
an
ocean
to
cross
before
familiar
sand.
An
ocean
with
dear
motherland's
name
greets
me
all
the
way
here
with
tantalizing
lure
Tiring
me
of
nostalgia's
seemingly
endless
game,
reminding
the
distance
between
the
shores
is
galore!
Everything
here
seems
just
too
alien
and
foreign
The
air
seems
foreign
punctuated
by
exotic
birds
In
this
land
I
still
feel
as
if
lost
in
some
warren
and
the
foreign
language
-
I'm
at
a
loss
for
words!
I
feel
estranged
and
disoriented,
struck
with
nostalgia
though
I
might
not
be
such
a
patriot
any
more
The
awaited
journey
to
India
from
Tanzania
to
reach
familiar
ground
of
lakhs
and
crore.
Ah,
the
welcoming
scenes
of
my
homeland
always
so
enticing
and
inviting
It
might
seem
surprising
that
for
me
she's
a
dreamland
but
a
desire
to
go
back,
since
ages
I've
been
fighting.
I'm
home-
sick,
waiting
so
long
to
be
back
home
There's
no
place
like
home-
sweet-
home
Here
I
feel
I've
lost
my
tracks
Like
a
homeless
wanderer
do
I
roam.
As
here
I
feel
no
less
like
a
Gulliver
on
his
travels
yet
to
rehabilitate
from
homesickness
might
take
a
lifetime
For now, I can merely
sing of motherland's
marvels
and wait soberly for fate
and destiny's chime.
But an underlying truth
here: I feel alienated
everywhere
as if I hailed from No-
man's-land
They think I neither
blend with the Indian
nor
the african
but hope they respect
my very individual brand.
Somewhere there is a system
If one decides to study and listen
Finding global position
To finish its mission
Here we go shooting for the moon
Showing the kids lovely cartoons
And teaching them of a big blue marble
Such a life full of marvel
Then later in the day
There are sports all over the world they say
Using a satellite link
This is great the post-Vietnam innocent does think
For into space
Visual communication technology builds its case
Now in the two thousands
Mostly climbed this planet’s mountains
It is the darkness that has us eager to explore
Trying to open a mysterious door
This is how it goes
Being a super power you know
We are the best
From all the rest
Having beauty and brains
In our arsenal of gains
And paths to peacefully complain
But there seems to be something wrong
With our patriotic song
Did we over play our moralistic hand?
Helping others take a stand?
Or was it the fantasy we love to boast
Celebrating modernization coast to coast
On this Fourth of July
When we recount separation from King George’s lies
Let’s rehabilitate the red, white and blue patient
And make it a healthy nation
First prescription is respect and trust
Second would understand others without a fuss
If we can handle that
Not acting like spoiled brats
Our goals may come alive
Returning to the energy that is giving the best try
While exhibiting the all American rally cry
What makes us?
All the differs
Make us suffer
I challenge any sucker
to tickle the ivories
And aline with me
To make a beat
So we can agree
We're in a dark place
Standing with straight face
Waiting for the grace
To take the place
Of any person
Who stands as one
Ready for the demon
To enter their sermone
We all know the truth
But some chose to refuse
That life is a ruse
Evil with no excuse
Music is the light
Excitement to reignite
Joy in the heart of life
So why choose to fight
Embrace what beat cometh
With a sound loud enough
To blow away the bad stuff
That we're to believe is rough
Hopefully opens your heart
To make a start
As to rehabilitate the heart
And hopefully appreciate art
Prison takes the body first—
hair, name, posture.
It teaches the spine
how to live bent.
A man enters with one wound
and leaves fluent in fear.
He learns keys,
the math of silence,
how not to cry out.
At night the walls inhale him.
Concrete is the mother
who never touched him.
Steel is the father
who only knew punishment.
Is this justice—
to enlarge the damage,
to make survival a scar
that never closes?
Rehabilitation would touch
the wound bare-handed.
Ask who he was
before hunger,
before the first strike,
before rage learned his pulse.
It would teach time
to repair instead of rot.
It would cost more.
It would return less violence.
Trauma is cheaper.
Trauma comes back.
So decide—
do we want men released
as sharpened instruments,
of death
or as bodies,
that remember
how not to hurt?
***********************************************************************
My first session with Kamar had gone rather well,
despite the fact that I felt as if I’d just returned from hell.
My Son had another episode and had to yet once again be hospitalized.
He lost his housing privileges also, which in turn left me somewhat traumatized.
Of course Kamar was supportive and tried to make me come to see
that I’ve been more than a true loved one could ever possibly be.
I recall Her going on and on about all of the good things that I’ve done
to try to help and rehabilitate my loving but sick Son.
I know that She means well but my attitude is, “So What.”
All that hard work and all the time spent and what have we got?
A young man who most likely will never be able to care for himself
because he’ll probably always be in the worst mental health.
I can’t live forever. What will become of him when I’m gone?
Thoughts like that haunt me daily. Sometimes I think I just can’t go on.
That’s why these sessions with Kamar are so very important to me.
She shows me strength hidden within me that sometimes I’m just too blind to see
and she constantly reminds me that Hope comes in many forms,
that there’s new research on the horizon that may someday right all these wrongs.
***********************************************************************
We covered most of the tragedy that was the life of my Son’s Mother.
She too is also a hero of sorts and she’s one unlike no other.
She was pretty much abandoned at her very moment of birth
by her mom who disappeared off of the face of the earth.
Her mom took off with her father’s best friend.
She probably had legitimate reasons,
but she left her children behind in the hands of a fiend.
He was the ultimate in child perversion.
So at the age of eight, she was on her own.
She had no choice but to run away.
She’d rather eat from dumpsters and sleep in depots.
Living at home had a far worse price to pay.
The cold of some nights were never as cold as his cold and clammy old hands
all over her sweet innocence whenever he desired. Whenever Her Daddy Demands.
***********************************************************************
To continue click NEXT for Sessions Shared With Kamar Part 2
The decision of precision
The glam of the jam
The squeeze that produces the please
The rush that induces the hush
The eternal silence of the sleep
The response from my rule
Sweet, simple and pure
The predator’s cure
All to sad
No prejudice, all are welcome
To take their “shot”, at a “solution”
Go ahead, it’s your “right”
To be “empowered”
To make the choice between life and death
For your brethren and his family
It’s your constitutional amendment
That allows you to bear arms
And “execute” your “right” at a whim
We the people will protect “your rights”
Even though you violated someone else’s
We’ll make sure that you are treated fairly
We’ll clothe, feed and educate you
Until we decide if your guilty or not
Then when we convict you
We’ll make sure that you stay locked up and “alive”
We’ll give you early release for “good behavior”
Even though that’s not why you here in the first place
We will uphold “your rights”
Even though you denied another's right to live
We will allow you to live
Because we won’t violate your right to life
We will allow appeals, to plead your unfair judgment
We will rehabilitate you for society
A sick attitude
To allow the decision of death and then apply punishment
For the execution of that right
A sick mind running a twisted world
It’s wrong, and we all know it
Eric (and sometimes not)
My gym house was the long distanced river
My rivermate is the bush birds' sounds
My way to the river is so staggering each day
Except some lucky days I partner you by chance
Your waist is the lift of my quiet fever
Your sweet morning song gets the birds' sound bounds
You been ahead set me watching your nates' display
To such extent I believed myself in for a trance
Let us have a deal
That we shall always do this together
I hope you won't hesitate
The feelings apiece is glaring
My heart is unseal
I hope you're good a bellweather
Get my heart to rehabilitate
But your eyes have me scaring
Let not wait for the time
Let us build to its just
But I heard love isn't a crime
Of the wait, won't it rust?
No! I just can't let the stars cry
Before each can be recognized as sky's body
I just can't let the moon be alone up the sky
Before the sky will miss the stars' beautiful night's lights disembodied
I just can't let my wish be blown away
For hoping won't make it true
I just can't pray lonely to deal with some delay
Working singly won't cope with the blue
I just can't let my mind lose hope
For there is no champion forever
Fears shouldn't belittle our scope
It is awesome to never say never
Driving me crazy won't be nice
Or else, every moment will define us fire and ice
© 2020
® Olábòsóyè Wèmímó Oláolúwá
Where did life come from?
asked Winter, of gratitude.
Who and what and where do life-systems become and belong,
rehabilitate
and repurpose
and redeem?
asked Spring, of hope.
Where does live fly away from evil,
and where together,
synchronized swimmers in a coincident sea?
asked Summer, of faith.
How did Live/eviL Tao get here, again?
asks Fall, with incarnating grace,
winnowing harvest's rehabilitating outcomes,
regenerating,
equivalent redemption,
repurposing economic mindfulness.
Each life,
and all life,
all time and space,
our synergetic ReGenesis Project.
How are yours coming along.
on your Beloved
Make Live--Not evil
Community Calendar?
I keep trying to fight but everyday it gets worse,
I'm trying to carve out a path but it hurts
and I loop around to where I stood first.
I'm stuck suffering,
but won't let no fat lady sing.
Relapse,
forget the feeling,
I'll just get back to my feet and I'll stand,
because fate demands,
I'll never live it down if I don't rebound.
I honestly promise to be at my strongest,
in fact no impact or test
can crush my chest, ever,
I'm a last and never rest
not 'til I bask that no flag flew at half mast.
I'll dip and I'll rise like a rollercoaster ride
but I'll never hollow out inside or lose my pride,
I'll battle depressions wickedness with all my witty grittiness
and when I'm knocked down I'll breathe, go again and believe,
with a greed for freedom core and seed 'til I'm freed.
That's the wish beyond painful twists,
a thirst to slit wrists through self hatred,
and the positive drive is confiscated,
but don't be mistaken I'll reinstate it,
I aint breaking, this life aint there for the taking,
I'll rehabilitate me inevitably.
Early morn’s bright birdsong sings my blink to day activate,
waking my faith as feel my thoughts cannot think agitate.
Of earth’s many crisp Eden’s, my yard does participate,
for when I stepped out and into Spring, her marvelous slate
had hymn-grown it as a wholeness chapel, less man’s ornate.
Our loved, frail willow’s miracle growth rose thanks to dilate,
then soar-spun my green love thru all growth to appreciate.
The blueberry bushes set my awe on anticipate.
Our garden washed me fresh in gratitude’s glorious trait.
Bulb plants lifted me with promises that exhilarate
my sense rushes of gem blooms to come and intoxicate.
Our joy-filled, yard contentment was a sense sweep dictate.
From ground to sky, eye to soul, spring does rehabilitate
all that lags as spiritually weak in my heart’s rate.
Natural earth is wonder in beauty’s prime based state
and in our yard presence are the Spring psalms I celebrate.
... CayCay Jennings
May 26, 2018