they ache from bending hot day picking....
union of voices spanish tongue
in produce fields dusty sweating farmworkers....
wanting needing more bread
Quote: “Refugees didn’t just escape a place. They had to escape a thousand memories until they’d put enough time and distance between them and their misery to wake to a better day.” - Nadia Hashimi
Make-Shift tents for lives shifted
existence, I never dreamt
belittled with no future
I stare at rustling
blank white shelter
I I I I I I I I I I I I I
coming in search of
quiet sky, hurried from
noisy land, I can hear
even distant blowing winds of sea
Shooed away, I forgot dignity.Yet
I smile when cared by some,
I make urns that fill ashes,
art perfected by much
work, daily orders . I
think while working
how to tell my kids?
should I try to teach
alphabets, numbers,
rhymes? What for?
or should I make
them learn maps
to locate where
we are, or should
I tell that we are
news to all?
unknowingly,
I make sure, they learn to make urns
If they survive they need some skills
To live by, and never to meet one’s eyes
dear migrant
where you came from
what did you leave behind
memories moments
dear migrant
who did you leave behind
family friends
dear migrant
what dreams did you not find
there
here
dear migrant
neighbor
liked
disliked
wanted
unwanted
I will never understand you
you or your reality
fully
partially
but I will try
try my best
to accept you
somehow
even love you
somehow
it casts off from the quay
to cross short stretch of sea
heading for foreign shore
with migrants from afar
they leave place of despair
to start new life but where
the boat is sitting low
the swell begins to grow
and then the sea spills in
passengers panicking
beneath the cold moonlight
the boat rolls left and right
all now are on the brink
as boat begins to sink
soon all are in the sea
but crew quickly swim free
life jackets they have on
but passengers have none
and never reach the shore
then gone for evermore
With return to summer tree of berries red -
he flashes ‘tween the green scene like a trinket;
celebrant in citrus hues of sunset bled
it matters not if twilight is delinquent
for he wears the molten shades of end-of-day
evening’s pout, in skies of gray, reflects dismay;
a zesty orange-envy oriole brings
for he torches air aflame... a flame with wings.
Susan Ashley
October 5, 2020
(June 7, 2020)
Rispetto lyric rhyme scheme: abab ccdd
Poet’s note: I am lucky enough to have these beautiful summer migrants, Baltimore orioles, return to my mulberry tree and hummingbird feeders each Spring. Such a sweet joy through the summer season! When they depart at the end of August, a piece of my heart goes with them.
I was a lost boy I wasn't talkin'
And I was so small I wasn't eatin'
So I went on my own, my demons I'm beatin'
Three years of silence, no walkin' no fightin'
Up to LA, that's where I'm goin'
Will I return, I can't say without knowin'
I'll go on a boat, and then by a plane,
and I'll get to the place where you live out your pain
And you who tried t'shoot me down
Where are you now?
I have removed my gloves
Nows the last time you scoff
In the dark depths of winter, I wasn't cryin'
But now we're in summer, I would be lyin'
And I stole to eat, and eat I will
And I shared it around, so we all had our fill
Keep heading north, that's where I'm goin'
I hope I return but there's no way of knowin'
I'll go by a truck, down a long lane
And I'll get to the place where you live out your pain
And you who tried to push me back, Where are you now?
I have made it down this long track
So now you never can scoff
I have been trying to write this for a very long time. If you are struggling it is from the perspective of a South American trying to reach the United States.
Who are those wretched people
That toil out in the countryside?
I see them stooping near the earth
Where do they all reside?
There are also little girls and boys
That stroll behind the women.
They clasp dirty broken toys
Why are they not in school?
Who are these common people
That work from dawn to dusk?
I wonder where they sleep at night
And where they put their trust.
They eat their meals under a tree
Where a mother holds her child.
See that infant on her knee?
That child my friend was me.
Birds
Fly
Migrating
On open sky
A chartered course found
Resting on lofty winter boughs
Swooping like magical kites, a swirling dance of flight
With miles still to go, fearless in their mission, cackling caws singing in
synchronized rhythm.
March 20, 2017
I sit in a tent, rain pouring down
My children are crying, no food to eat.
My spirit is failing, starting to drown,
Hands clasped in prayer, my God to entreat.
My homeland has perished, corruption and war.
Our houses destroyed, our lives ripped apart.
Inhuman brutality to even the score
The only choice left was to make a new start.
I am not a migrant, nor scum of the Earth
But driven by force at the point of a lance.
Educated, hard working, a person of worth,
Am I not worthy to be given a chance?
Described with derision, insulted and harmed,
Demoted to numbers contained in a speech.
Our boat was a lucky one, only becalmed
The others all drowned, bodies found on a beach.
I am not subhuman, good Lord above
I must give my children a chance to succeed
To live life in freedom, respect and love,
If you prick us do we not bleed?
The Female Migrant
A customs official found a suitcase with a forgotten
Syrian refugee lady in it, he took her home blew life
into her and he was no longer alone.
Bought her sexy underwear skirt and blouse and
a bicycle pump and no longer did he bother going out
drinking beer with his fellow officers.
A perfect little refugee she was so undemanding
and silent not for her to turn her back complaining
of a headache and other female ailments.
After wild night they had done it five times, she had
she had shrunk a morning there was a tear somewhere
in her vulva, that could not be repaired or glued.
With manly logic, he blamed the refugees swamping his
country living off the fat of the land doing nothing and
thus, a love story ended on the scrap heap of humanity.
Migrants Tears
They tried to shoot me
Then rape me
Then enslave me
I am empty inside
Where shall be my refuge?
Is there any humanity left in this world?
You, with your earthy comforts and peace
Why do you fear me?
You, who has not seen war, why scorn me?
I am you, I AM YOU a human seeking only tranquility
Yet you belittle me
I am not a terrorist
I am terrified of your behavior
So I ask you then, who is the terrorist?
I, who have suffered so,
Shall embrace all lost souls
I with nothing, would give my all
To comfort any anyone in pain
My heart is mine, no one can steal my kindness or smile
Even I cower in the shadows
Afraid of our times
Orphans Fears
I am here
Crying
In the cold
I once had a home
Now I have only fear
Not even a sweater to stop my shivers
I wrap myself in old newspaper
Do you read the news?
The American migrant bounds along like a bouncing ball along the wobbly suburban fence,
before climbing the nearest tree like a grey helix, leaping into the drizzled drenched foliage.
Some dislike its ubiquity and its imperialist approach towards our more attractive patriotic
bushy tail red squirrel, as though the American greys torture the reds to death over fires.
Our red has been fighting back with our support in attack in favoured parts of our island,
as elsewhere the commonality of the American grey and its acrobatic antics everyday
brings a smile on this drizzling, damp morning - so welcome Yankee doodle dandy.
The Lady of Liberty looks me in the eye.
I am tempest-tost, and welcome reliant.
I pass at her feet, yet gaze at torch high:
Soon to be standing on the shoulders of giants.
silhouette afar
first seen thrush in withered paddy
lone warrior