Long Sojourners Poems
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I have a bet
with an old fig tree
in my backyard;
a bet as to whether
he will be out
of the ground
before I am in it;
not that we wish the other
a speedier demise, for there
is a strong fondness and
bound we share -- having fed
one another for many years—
I, on his figs and lustrous shade;
and he, on my careful pruning
and sensitive irrigation...both
of us, around harvest, receiving
song-full praising from the
many winged interlopers, and
four legged sojourners of our
opulent and thoroughly integrated
community;
as to the motive for our wager
it is more tongue-and-cheek,
or bark-and...whatever --
reflecting the inevitable folly
of both our journeys…
below or above seems to make
little difference in the final
revelation—sort of like, rich
vs. poor...we are all equal
to the Grim Reaper—Nature’s
totally, Politically Correct
Recycler….
Line of inquiry:
“We have been here a thousand times before
Memory erased, each time we begin anew
Of hands held tenderly, we’ve lost the score
Each embrace virgin like fresh morning dew
To which image, oh dear soul, should we cling
For each heart was at some point of time dear
As we flow through life with zest, zeal and zing
In all forms we see God’s presence appear”
As we pass through differing stages of life,
We encounter moments joyful, also with pain rife
We meet men who love and help us grow
Parents and friends come first who make our lives aglow.
While some wipe a tear or herald us to a new morrow,
Some cause twitching pain or endless sorrow
We are never to forget who so ever we are,
That only under others' shade, we have grown so far.
Each fresh beginning teaches something new,
Something better or a different world view.
Too much expectations on people may land us in trouble.
To friends or dear ones, we can’t always huddle.
If we crave for temporal things like power, riches or fame,
It would disappoint and won’t give us lasting claim.
The vicissitudes of fate tell us of life’s innate fragility,
Reminding us, here we are only sojourners heading for eternity.
On such moments I wonder to which image I should cling.
Nothing of this world, to us, lasting happiness shall bring.
I wage a daily battle that I often lose,
Between things that really matter and those I choose.
In the deep depths of our hearts, we seek a higher power,
A force that guides us through life’s twists and turns, every hour.
Then, our eyes fall on God the creator, the giver of life,
Who is the source of all goodness and the end of all strife.
Thus, when the question to which image I shall cling props up,
My eyes once more, to the heaven are lifted up.
Like a river, through wind or storm life may flow,
But let God guide our lives when tempests blow.
When His image sticks close to our mind, muddy waters turn clear.
It’s a heightened moment when in all forms, God’s presence appear!
Ruth’s Choice
Crossroads on a maize and dusty colored road –
Sorrowing eyes look past
Golden days into eyes of tears –
Grieving –
Words swallowed go unspoken
Choices for daughters,
Not born of the same womb,
From a daughter brought here by hunger -
Called now to return
By a well-worn path
To hills of olive trees -
Remain or leave to travel
Where barley fields
Flow with kinsmen’s voices
As the season lifts your hair of cooper fire;
A blessing on the road releases
Silken bonds and wedding vows –
Yet a pledge of faithfulness
Rejoins two hearts to walk together
While one heart, divided by tears, remains
Carrying pictures of these faces
Painted forever in this monument of memory
Pondering the unknown road
Disappearing into a shimmering morning;
This road remembers empty barns –
The way back to the hillsides –
Back to the beginning
Reunited
With faces wearing delight and compassion
To encircle sojourners
Carrying sheaves of retrospection
To plant among the seeds
Of harvest that never left
This soil;
Gather now and glean –
In humble steps behind the harvesters
Then sleep upon the threshing floor
Where love reignites sowing
Seeds in a field left fallow
So an honored name not disappear
As wind blows through the grain
And sings of sons
To change the world.
cunning whist’red the wind
through bulwarks of my youth
cloaked in kindness its sly craft
masked in plotting feign’d truth
the scent of damp stone and moss
clung to my marrow
voices in each gust
defiant i stood on the brink
slumber’ring in ire’s enlace
with sly deceit danced outcome
and beguiled dreams took stage apace
the bitter tang of shadowed air
the quell of trembling leaves
twilled with the evil of withheld grace
vain are stars that once foretold
boast not what thou’st dealt
the conqueror an umbral mist walks
in wilderness where none hath knelt
soil crumbles underfoot
cold dew bites the ankles of night
sweet—and awful—sang the muteness
after the third new moon pass’d
grim hunger prevails
hangs where sojourners draw breath
their last
the coppery taste of fear
lingers in the throat
as stillness gnaws the spectral lungs
not for bread i starve
but for meaning
in vale and entombed mountain roam
judgment echoes field and forest
sunward songs mount toward doom
rustle of leaf
bark-scratch under nails
carry the weight of unseen eyes
thorn’d breaths of abyssal wind
my failing prostrate i ascribe
to flagrant flame
incurably untam’d
a whirling squall of dissipation
drunkenness of nameless claim
the acrid smoke of wasted fire
licks the tongue of legacy
shadow’d cinders curl in the mind
indignation binds me captive
a dungeon endless dark and grim
vile guilty stricken wholly
no mortal left to shield or limb
chains clash rattle in marrow’s obscurity
iron scents the air with accusation
yet manifest soulless one
fervent fierce and torn
momentary affliction sways
in transient shape of mourn
cool sweat bitter ashen traces
mingle with tremor of fleeting heart
tired i am
weak i am
worn i am
yet still
i rise
though wretched rent
to meet the sweet and awful dawn
with every scar fetch’d and spent
light trembles on dew-beaten leaves
first air pungent and raw
fills lungs with promise
of endurance
cunning whist’red the wind
Strange sedition stealthy sets
cloaked in artificial greening phiz
some by prejudice inquiring,
“Where are you from”?
others in feigning frame avoiding,
finding paths away from you,
Though harmless your looks.
There be those secluding,
choosing space dodging.
deliberate speed the drama,
of Conceited Bias unspoken,
The loss of childhood innocence,
Deprivation infinite,
miscarriages of Justice,
preferential treatments innumerable,
spites and Obvious denigration,
strange glare on nature's kiln,
The sun made me shine little mind,
I don't envy You in this cold.
The spite, multitudinous,
The Jeers, unprovoked contumely,
At work,
The Bus,
the Malls,
The elevator,
the peevish looks,
uncertain repudiations,
Even in Church secluded,
The brief suspense at the “sacred” ground
Exclusivity,
We see it, watching in silence.
Some time too Obvious,
Unspoken Nepotism,
“We first”, You Last or voided.
The denigrating use of “Minority or Others”
As though the described are less human,
I am African, NOT "minority" or "others"
we know these sieving schemes.
In civility we ignore,
A better knowledge Leads
This dying carcass a mere container,
We are not inferior,
we are not a threat,
We are beautiful ,
We observe,
We lough at these ,
And when the manacles of Justice is snapped by the creator of colors
then shall you know,
We are all sojourners here.
FIVE
She carries the repentant over the floss…
As little children, wrapped in swaddling clothes,
She comforts them and helps them bear their loss
As gently as a shadow, so she goes…
Forgives the one who stole her golden coin,
Forbears to hurt the bullies who hurt her,
Forswears revenge, invites them all to join
Her in a jolly round-dance, ‘neath a fir…
For Heaven is a happy place where all
Our slips, and stabs, and slurs, and stares lie down,
Forgotten, while we deck the merry hall,
And everyone forgets to wear a frown!
And so, arrive the sojourners at last
To join the angels in joyful repast!
AN ALLEGORICAL COCOON LESSON
(APROPOS OF POLLING)
In preparation, ants are moulding
And stacking their mounds; in hives,
Bees reflect collective oneness
In the sweetness of their unity;
And in high distant places, black
Widows meticulously spin their webs,
While honing hornets harden their nests:-
Cocooned in political and economic darkness,
Let us not be dismayed, apathetic sojourners;
Remember, while caterpillars are entombed
To be no more, their cocoon eventually opens
And out soars a liberated beautiful butterfly:-
Let us be as the butterfly, as we powerfully soar
With flapping vote-casting wings gliding us
Towards full liberation in our political sojourn.
In preparation, ants are moulding and stacking
Their mounds, while in hives, bees are reflecting
The collective oneness in the sweetness of unity;
With voting power, let us likewise reflect such
Sweetness of unity in power-based rendering:-
In time shadows in an old windy shed
are names of sojourners who've passed this way;
now my wandering boot does older tread
where I passed on a long forgotten day.
I see their faces on wall and jetty
drinking beer, watching the wind and tide turn,
where on horizon across a dark sea
aerodrome Air Squadron lights brightly burn.
Time and tide fade in this hidden cove
where beneath the waves the taniwha rove.
By the salt marshes of this cold gulf sea
I carved my name for a posterity.
On its seawall and rocky jutting shore
the white breasted gulls and shags flit the sky –
yes, there was a time but not anymore
I gazed the stars over Whenuapai.
Crazed by lunar tide and hearts asunder
fumbling some Anglo lass or native girl,
or some legless dumb fool fallen under
feeding the fishes with a mighty hurl!
Into its riptides we dived bombed its depths
on a leap of faith into the drop zone,
and from its pull clung to those ocean steps
where over the Skyhawk war birds had flown.
Time and tide fade in this hidden cove
where beneath the waves the taniwha rove.
By the salt marshes of this cold gulf sea
I carved my name for a posterity.
Those dark undercurrents still rip below
when its flood of memories ebb away,
and now all I am is a time shadow
where I passed on a long forgotten day.
Written: December 1991
Rain with blue sky commingles daylight into sun
Signals to the weather which way the wind climbs high
North is a birds favorite direction when singing with intent
Tiny brains are smart enough to find the south when seasons end
Flying past mountains held up on distant nights reflection
Sojourners hold it all together rightly so
Watch your step when climbing upper altitudes alone
Don't slip or fall or go below zero
Folded snow remembers mounds of colder frost
That grows, that stops by Winter rivers path
Going outside is ridiculous when late
In disguise, in blinding white, conditions dangerous
To count the stars, to shiver, to cover all contingencies of madness
Carry a flash light filled with batteries
You can never have enough to see where it all started
Where it began when calculations came about
Down in the valley stars stand out
Are easier to touch if you stretch into the farthest reaches
My choice is of the queerest cadre:
A taste for appetites odd and no blot of ado,
And as you watch my eyes get sadder
And my face wince to painful melancholy,
Beaten by the mighty storms of fate,
You may dismiss it totally unholy!
My choice is of an unpopular path
Not loved by sojourners of this earth;
It’s the hidden highway that many miss,
Though it leads to true respite and blessed bliss.
Let me find relief from the weight of woe,
And your commands and bidding do;
This is the only part I ask of you
Because short is my life and my days fleeting few!
What informed my choice my Heavenly Father knows;
Whether I go to perdition or move to glories high;
Whether I shall soon prosper or my doom be nigh,
‘Tis all His omnipotent bidding and not my recalcitrant vows!