Long Swell Poems
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Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Goree Island
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: February/2014
I see the blood
of my ancestors
that swell
in the Atlantic ocean
on
Goree Island -
The unmerciful ill winds
that fell
over my people,
in Senegal,
on that
horrific night,
brought the European's,
across the Atlantic,
to our Village -
Everything
in the world
changed forever,
and
will never be forgotten,
when the "unthinkable"
cruel acts
of slavery,
cloaked my people
like
darkness in the night -
White men
dressed in British
formal attire,
brought with them,
bullwhip's, chains, machetes,
and rifles,
to capture us.....
to ENSLAVE us!
We were brutally beaten,
and
taken to
the House of Slaves,
on Goree Island -
The malice intent
of
the British,
intensified our
suffering
at the slave house,
as they
cuffed us to
the walls,
in neck, waist,
and
ankle chains -
Days would pass,
some of us died
from
diseases,
and
starvation,
while waiting
for
the slave ship
to come
from the Americas -
The hideous inhumane
acts
by the British,
sold us
as property,
as we were
auctioned off as
commodity,
to the Americas,
during
the Atlantic Slave Trade
The mournful ness
in our helpless eyes,
spoke of horrendous fear,
as a feeling of distraught,
distress,
and despair,
clothed us
like
death -
We are innocent people
that will never
see our families again
Our homeland again -
It's unfathomable,
to see black souls in chains,
taking those final usurious
steps towards the "Door Of No
Return,"
in the House Of Slaves,
which left its ugly mark,
on the whole global earth -
Once through
the Door Of No Return,
we were sold to the Americas,
and
faced a future of
severe beatings, burnings,
hangings, lynchings,
and
rape -
To this day,
ancient spirits
of
black people,
still scream in rage
on
Goree Island,
where an untold number
of us were
slaughtered,
and
branded
before walking
through the slave door,
of
an uncertain future -
The ominous clouds
of slavery,
will
forever cast
a dark shadow,
over the
House Of Slaves,
the Door Of No Return,
and the world -
Goree Island,
in the Atlantic Ocean,
will forever
cry tears of blood,
from the souls of
black people -
While sailing out on morning’s tide
A mermaid on a rock I spied
She was a lovely half-fish girl
With a necklace made of whitest pearl
She smiled and blew a kiss to me
Then disappeared into the sea
She surfaced back behind the boat
And lazily began to float
I grabbed my friend and pointed aft
He thought that I was truly daft
For mermaids don’t exist, you know
My friend quite plainly told me so
No sooner had he walked away
The mermaid came again to play
She sunned herself upon some rocks
And combed her flowing silken locks
I hailed the Captain of our ship
But she had given me the slip
The Captain answered to my call
But saw no mermaid there at all
The Captain thought me quite insane
As my wondrous tale I did explain
When he returned back to his duty
I saw again my ocean beauty
She floated there upon a wave
A subtle wink she slyly gave
And then she flipped her lovely tail
Swimming along as we did sail
I called all of my sailor friends
To show them her curvaceous fins
They asked if I was feeling well
When my story I began to tell
I pointed to the mermaid fair
But when they looked, nothing was there
They thought that I had lost my mind
No mermaid out there could they find
They left and shook their weary heads
And sleepily went to their beds
My head was in a dizzy whirl
I saw the ocean waters swirl
Then once again she came in sight
Swimming in the pale moonlight
I yelled and danced a frantic jig
As they hauled me off into the brig
“He’s lost it” I did hear them say
As they sadly went upon their way
Through the port of my little cell
I watched the sea waves rise and swell
Then suddenly next to the glass
I saw the little seaward lass
She took the pearls off of her neck
And tossed them up onto the deck
Then off she swam into the deep
As I wearily slipped off to sleep
When came the early light of dawn
I stretched my arms and gave a yawn
Then my good friend upon the ship
Ran down with pearls fast in his grip
"You won’t believe the sight I saw"
He said to me, face filled with awe
Last night while I was by the rail
I heard a voice give me a hail
Next thing I knew, here came these pearls
From underneath the ocean swirls
"Quite right you were", he said to me
"A mermaid threw these from the sea"
I winked and said “I don’t think so”
For mermaids don’t exist you know
Enea Gets the Red Hat
Finally, he's getting somewhere.
Fifty years of age and almost crippled,
prematurely aged, but at last,
sweet recognition rains down
on the poet. Kneeling before Calixtus,
he accepts the Cardinal's hat.
Fancy that.
With every triumph, we're swept nearer Hell.
Each anthem that we sing's a kind of knell.
No matter what we get, or grab, or gain,
we're human, and our lot is death and pain.
Both Frederick and Ladislas
had to do a lot of lobbying
(Calixtus was a Borgia, after all:
and family is family.) Por fin,
esta elevado. Behold the scene.
Frederick with his back to us
and Ladislas holding on to him
(shouldn't that be the other way round?)
deserve their pride of place.
The seething swell of humans
swirls around the little altar,
but can't budge it.
The clear-cut marble doesn't give.
What is the painter telling us?
Men move, and flow, and live, and go,
but soon or later, their
energy is spent?
The Church is permanent?
Regard the four main players,
the upper crust of Mankind's many layers,
yet each one a loser clone.
Calixtus took the throne
already old, and singing one stale tune
(and that, corrupt!)
He didn't use a long spoon
when he supped.
There's Frederick, the Emperor,
a joke. Bullied by his minions,
unhappy, hapless, broke.
And Ladislas, a king without a kingdom,
a cock without a crest,
he's Frederick's long-term guest
(another kind of jest).
A prisoner -- or let's say, at home,
he and Frederick make a palindrome:
august additions to this Pleasure Dome.
Enea: worn out, homesick, ill.
Surviving now on sheer will.
Is that Nature's tonsure, or Man's?
He's kept alive by feverish plans
to mount a Great Crusade --
but we all know it won't be made.
Two rigid windows and an altarpiece.
The Trinity? (The painting is the Holy Ghost.)
Or are those plain, framed panes
the Empire and the Papacy?
You think we're reading too much in?
We point you to one subtle artist's touch.
The youth, right-centre, in the azure cloak,
who's smirking at some "only-I-know" joke:
head cocked, as if he's watching all, askance:
he finds the dainty, double-dealing dance
amusing. Isn't he Rafael?
Hatted like some crimson Cardinal,
he's watching how they rise up, how they fall.
He's waiting, calmly, to inherit all.
“since thoughts speak in past tenses,
drop mind, rely on senses,
embracing and releasing,
pain pangs and pleasure pleasing” ~ Unseeking Seeker
The sun
w a n e s into the saline swell,
and the ether
undresses corseted ruminations,
while heart follows formless flames
illuminated with flares of
frankincense forgiveness
as mind replays recurring regrets
like vinyls~
spinning forlorn runes
laced with fallacious fragments,
clouding the intricate cycle of lunar~
intuitions with illusive riddles,
drifting into the eventide of agony…
So I drink and I dine
from the hyacinth hands of
the golden chalices
brimming with turmeric tranquility,
listening ~ in sync ~
with the soul of sanguine stillness
ricocheting with rustling repose,
erasing cracked crevices
heavy with ache
from soft smears of monarch-bliss strokes,
spilling picturesque pigments of peace
from Mona Lisa musings
to veil visions of vanity,
to mask mirrors of melancholy,
to soften scarlet streaks of sorrow…
Tonight I close the portals
of perplexed perceptions,
unlocking the crown chakra
like forgotten forests
glowing with faith and fireflies,
allowing stars to glaze
my inner psyche
with dusts of glistening gratitude,
fine-tuning the symphony of Kundalini
to musical mists of mindfulness,
cloaked in
crystalline clovers of clarity~
like an awakened fairy
flipping leaves of lotus love,
pausing the pulse of pain
beneath an empyrean embellished
with spiritual elixirs,
detached from darkness,
clinging neither to
the seraphic scriptures
nor the egoistic galaxies,
sprinkling superficial sparkles
of material mantras.
As enlightened ink r e m a i n s
reliving ~ sewn into the
seams of sacredness
like endless rivers rippling with
opalescent quiescence…
O divine almighty,
I vow to sow herbs of harmony,
engrossed in the timeless phase
of rose-wine twilight~
untangling twisted tulips
intertwined with
weathered willows.
As I seek nothing but lucid light,
soaked in petrichor musings,
resting in zealous zenith,
for I am a rhymeless disciple
accepting the reality
that kissed the silk of silhouette
amidst rain and warmth~
the celestial peaks of change.
I taste flavors of kismet,
swallowing spices of lament,
comfortably composed
in the mystical essence
of soundless rhythm…
Rubrikain!
My chest tightens as I find myself without an umbrella. The wind in my face is refreshing.
My hands are cold and I'm holding them on my chest as if I'm desperately trying to draw more air into them.
I feel the rain on my cheek, and I keep my head up, but it's only sprinkling. My backpack is gone; I was too distracted by my friend's thick voice to pay attention. With each downpour I walk more closely
with the trees and the rain keeps falling. There's an unearthly glow around me, much like the gash I made in the sky. The air is thick, and my body seems to move in slow motion. I keep getting closer to the storm.
As I approach the beach I realize I don't have an umbrella, which is okay since I don't have any friends.
I see the rows of umbrellas attached to random people who are in such a hurry to get where they're going that they don't realize that a hurricane has hit. As I stand next to them I realize how utterly alone I am in my life. I am nothing without you. I feel helpless, like I am in this storm alone. I stand next to you until you finally notice me and look over at me. The rain is falling harder, and I see the ground is beginning to swell. You ask me what I'm doing, but before I can answer you step back and turn your back to me.
After a few seconds, you turn to me again, but this time your face is tear-stained. You open your arms for a hug, and I walk into them. The world around us, while still extremely wet, stops moving. I'm in your arms as the water floods through our t-shirts and seeps into our skin. It's cold, but we stay in the puddle, arms wrapped around each other, until the storm ends. We break away from the hug and look at each other in the ocean of tears
that were once covering your face. You smile and lean in to kiss my my forehead. You smile and tell me I should have asked if I could come with you. Your embrace was everything I could ever hope for. There are no other words to describe it.
Oh Rubrikain!
I kiss your forehead. It's a goodbye kiss. You open your eyes and smile. You make a big gulping noise, and throw yourself into the ocean. The water covers me and I begin to sink with you into the abyss. I hope that you'll find your way back to me. Follow You open your arms for a hug, and I walk into them.
The world around us, while still extremely wet, I knew .
:: 03.05.2022 ::\
She needs to feel in love to drive aside the night,
I love to feel in love, ONE source of joy and light,
When love is not at home, she’s sad to be alone,
When love is not in sight, the world is mine to roam.
Beginnings bring disquiet, thoughts that might implode,
Anticipation puts my heart in singing mode,
A friend’s departure makes her shadows fall,
But I hear stranger’s voices lighting up the hall.
Experience has made her doubt her heart it seems,
While all my failures just enrich unending dreams,
Her mounting fear makes her the slave of every rule,
My foolish faith makes me a 'dead' God’s guileless fool.
She stands alone in following the crowd du jour,
While I’m more fascinated by a life impure,
Imputes blame to the victim’s of life’s latest farce,
While laughingly I stoop to kiss God’s ****.
Responsibility can’t live behind her door,
It must be me, (I know I’ve heard this line before.)
One lesson learned (defining sensibility),
Seems all that happen’s my responsibility.
So childlike in her need to feel that all is well,
It fills my soul to tell her, ‘Things are going swell,’
And though it’s true her doubts at times can cause me pain,
I hunger for the chance to tell her so again.
Oct. 12, 2014
Poet's Notes:
Man's redeeming strength, woman's affirming weakness! What makes the world go round! I find it works for me! Even when it's reversed! Viva la difference, viva la diversity! May we ever aspire to the giftings of those we love without jealousy, men learning that bending is not always a sign of weakness, and women learning to trust the strength that comes from God.
The lines...
1. My foolish faith makes me a 'dead' God’s guileless fool
is meant to be tongue in cheek, i.e., even if you thought you could prove that 'God is dead' I would continue to believe in God, your proof of no consequence. I am a questioning but mindless devotee I am afraid. No God is worse than death!
and
2. While I’m more fascinated by a life impure
simply means I take to heart Christ's teaching that no one has ever reconciled himself to God through his own effort, i.e.. justification by obedience (except Christ). If God/Christ can love the sinful you and I, shouldn't I? So yes Merov Tac (PH's resident Troll), that means I feel called by God to love even you, even though I personally hate your behavior.
I see it now
flying low
over silver-spumed waves.
I am a watcher
I can enlarge the picture
zoom in
look into bright midnight eyes
as if it were I
that propelled it.
Spreading bright foils
catching the billowing blows,
a clean swell-rigged clipper
sky-sailing sailor
tacking to gypsy winds.
Within its avian breast a magnetic compass
on a pivoting gimbal,
soon to make a terrible landfall.
For a ship came upon it
a craft arrayed in the guise of a cruel crocodile,
snagged from the air it snared the voyager.
A ship blighted by its own wake,
a very flowering of evil.
A wandering navigator brutishly used,
deckhands bundling broken wings
bound it as if a flopping fish,
gaffed its body open
to a hollow of hope.
I also recall a monstrous time
inside a crocodiles smile,
a time when poetry
was cut from my lips.
Yet here I am flying
in an airplane looking down
upon England,
following an albatross
only I can see.
Few crocodilians in London
yet more perilous reptiles there,
I shall have to take more care,
plot a fairy-tale revenge
with Peter Pan’s time-frozen statue.
At last to Paris
a windborne glide tracking a dream
of slow rowing wings,
there to dine with a restless ghost
who knows well enough
how dangerous monsters
can be
on land and sea.
There to restore myself
with Baudelaire.
to remake over
an imagined albatross of a life,
return it to humanity,
should it ever want to be
that flightless.
~~~~~
“Often to pass the time on board, the crew
will catch an albatross, one of those big birds
which nonchalantly chaperone a ship
across the bitter fathoms of the sea.
Tied to the deck, this sovereign of space,
as if embarrassed by its clumsiness,
pitiably lets its great white wings
drag at its sides like a pair of unshipped oars.
How weak and awkward, even comical
this traveler but lately so adroit -
one deckhand sticks a pipestem in its beak,
another mocks the cripple that once flew!
The Poet is like this monarch of the clouds
riding the storm above the marksman's range;
exiled on the ground, hooted and jeered,
he cannot walk because of his great wings.”
- Charles Baudelaire
Will you burn the earth`s skin to glass?.
Yet, right there , in Harmony of `69
I bent in adoration
before the dusky pearl of your forehead
the soft slopes of your never-ending body
shifting under a sea of blankets
Oh! treasure of treasures !
sparkling
to life
love
in the inner-sanctum of the
tent-temple of my emerald heart,
filling it with that attar fragrance ,
that compassionate smile,
that yearning voice,
quieting my storm
urging me
to swim your sultry sea.
How could the world ever be the same again ?
Outside,
rooted like stark brood of the Black stone ,
rocks parried thuddingly the capricious charge of waves
and subdued the swell and swirl of a dark ,disturbed sea.
The summer night was short
and I
cleaved to you like a calf to its mother.
Your dark-eyed nipples breasted the blanket ,
occulting the coarseness of Harmony .
We rocked to cradle the peace in the galaxy,
with love milking the way
to the morning star .
Winking over the mount,
Venus caught us intertwined ,
drooling like babes,
sated
I, summer cloud paramour of
you Landie ,
altar of my sensuous sacrifice
sweet naos forever
Yolande
briefly
undraping your
compassionate cosmic essence
for a gallant stripling
starving for affirmation.
Awed,
i nested in mouths
harmonizing
now enchanting,
now strident symphonies,
keen enough to split
chaos
into mutual opposites
that grappled , grinded and finally clashed ,
giving birth to a higher union.
I tattoo your name , Landie, on the stretched skin of the earth.
I pullulate the waves in your name
sackbutting the syllables
till tremolo breaks it breathlessly to foam
on the glistening beach of your belly
Wrinkles I didgeridoo into the dark blanket of our night,
stringing out your diadem of stars
I spiral you stately across my deep.
Breaking away
reluctantly
from the tug of your knees
i trolled our anchor through love`s flow
girding it close to my wound-up heart.
"Go now love….spare me a thought "
Your voice and a gentle seabreeze wafted me out.
Diving at dawn with a whale of love
between waking dunes
capped by sourfigs , bleary-eyed revellers,
the blue-blue sky warbled
“one and one and one is three
One thing you got know ,is you got to be free
Come together, right now , over me.”
.
Painful Perspectives
Bullying in America
"About 77% of students have admitted to being the victim of of one type of bullying or another."
--www.bullyingstatistics.org
My stomach tightens once again
By now I know the drill
It doesn't matter what I do
Move on, scream out, stand still
My heartbeat throbbing louder now
As heavy footsteps near
My mouth, dry as a cotton ball
My shoulders hunch in fear
Suddenly, I feel the sting
My cheek turns cherry red
The smack has almost knocked me down
The pain shoots through my head
Now words so cruel they pierce my heart
I try to block the sound
My efforts useless yet again
Scars stain my soul deep down
I touch my flesh to feel it swell
My light begins to die
My head held low, I walk away
Too numb by now to cry...
"Approximately 30% of young people admit to bullying others."
---www.americanspcc.org
For me, each morning starts the same
No feelings, just routine
Commands and orders barked my way
"Get up! Get dressed! Get clean!"
I step into the blinding sun
Yet pause before I go
Just once to hear, "I love you dear."
The door slams; I should know
The sadness that I used to feel
Has slowly turned to rage
So off to school I stomp ahead
My heart locked in a cage
Not long after I arrive
I choose my timid deer
My heavy footsteps lead the way
Toward the scent of fear
My hand hits flesh; I feel relieved
To share my hidden pain
I utter words so cruel and vile
Too numb to feel ashamed...
"It is reported that 70.6% of young people say they have seen bullying in schools."
---www.americanspcc.org
Standing near my closest friend
I feel the tension rise
By now, I know what to expect
Not once am I surprised
My fingers tremble slightly still
As I await the scene
I fight the stinging in my eyes
Why is this world so mean?
I watch my best friend cower now
The same thing every day
I cringe for what's about to come
As predator seeks prey
My inner struggle swallows me
I long to take a stand
I fear the wrath if I intrude
Escape, I haven't planned
So helplessly I witness pain
Inflicted on my friend
I wish I had the courage to
Make the bullying end...
Random chain of events
preceded occurrence re:
guarding existence of me
interminable fits and starts
concerning self destruction
inherent within one measly
self important species.
Yours truly synonymous
with any chance reader
(of course inclusive those
untold past multitudes,
who trod upon this oblate
spheroid preceding one
anonymous groveling,
middling sniveling modest
*****sapien) pursuant
upon unknown destination
giving contemplative,
introspective, speculative...
pause every now and again,
asper bajillion prior
bipedal hominids, whose
individual deliberate or
random natural biological
impulses wrought sons
and/or daughters, whose
subsequent call, sans their
wild procreative proclivities
unwittingly begat the
unique chromosomal
combinations inscribed genes
imbuing each of us with
transient occupancy to revel,
relish, reckon very finite
number of orbitz around
nearest star, how longevity
(till mortality – leisurely
and/or vocationally)
expended, yet anatomically,
biochemically, physiologically...
linkedin with avast
gamut incorporating
unknowable determinants sole
fully cobbling wide, whirled
webbing, (albeit skein
microscopic) comprising
resultant Deoxyribonucleic
amalgamations, combinations,
emulations...throughout
untold generations eventually
giving (swell pregnant)
rise to healthy progeny
predicated on an uneventful
tragic mishap in utero
preceding parturition, which
miraculous seminal fertilization
regarding series of
fortunate events delineating
quintessentially strapping
robust tot destined (years later)
to continue human
species, thus I ponder
tremendous steep odds (analogous
to drawing winning lottery
ticket), when reproductive
processes diploid propagating
one after another ongoing
generation, yet in retrospect
every cellular T-Mobile
chance coupling attendant on
haphazard spontaneous
buzzfeeding circumstances
promulgating prolific primal
precedents begetting each
individual necessitating tenuous
fluke (worm hungers) engaging,
engendering, engineering...
(similar to science experiment)
endowing penultimate on the fly
fusion between two haploid cells
impossible to explain convincingly,
(asper in my mind) the notion
predestination intervenes
likened to invisible hand.