A phenomena of the 60's& 70's not only for his boxing skill but uniquely at the time coupled with his ' off the cuff' rhyming verbalised 'happenings ' at 'weigh ins' & interviews etc.This verse (less memorable ) than those earlier poetics is a sample from his later 'spoken word ' style & thus gives a more rounded view to this most famous of the modern 'popular ' reciting poets of the 20th century.
Pen to Paper is Labour to the Mind
Ink scrambled across pages in a form of letters results in knowledge acquisition
Like a dome filled with bodies the mind undergoes infestation
To think a tick to my scribbles can get me a certificate of qualification
My heart spoke, my mind interpreted
I put pen to paper and the whole page was filled with ink
My heart said “She’s beautiful,” My mind said “Beauty defines her”
My heart said “I miss her,” My mind said “I am going breathless without her”
Pen to Paper is Labour to the Mind
What can’t be verbalised, could be voiced in a form of letters
That’s when the mind deciphers what the heart utters
Letters do kill but they have the ability to empower life
Voice has power to crack any item made of emotions
There’s volume in the voice and power in utterance
When Emotion collides with feeling
The heart intervenes in utterance and the mind deciphers
Even with volume in the voice with power in utterance
Pen to paper overpowers volume and the power in utterance
Hence “The Pen is mightier than the sword”
Pen to Paper is Labour to the Mind
Children are tugging at my dress
They won’t stop; they give me no rest!
They’re such a nuisance; a great pain!
I tried to ignore them; in vain
I cried out, ‘Please leave me alone!’
They ignored me and were like stones
Annoying stones inside my shoes
They held fast to my dress like glue
‘I have no time, please go away!’
They didn’t obey to my dismay
‘Do you not understand English?’
They ignored my verbalised wish
I turned to face them finally
‘Alright, what do you need? Tell me!’
They looked at me with mournful eyes
Tears welled up; they began to cry
‘What’s wrong with you?! Please let me know!
Why do you cry?! Why do tears flow?!
I’m tired and sick and weary!
What’s wrong?! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!’
They did not respond to my plea
What were they trying to tell me?
I sank to my knees in dismay
Crying tears I’ve held back for days
No words were needed; tears would do
For now, I’ll just embrace the blue
I’ll stop running from my tears
In my sadness, Jesus is near
Cried she concealingly in her heart,
felt lone and heavy,
disconcerted she was from her graceless life ,
Waited for the support of someone's hand,
and his courteous voice.
Shoddy reason it was which her family verbalised,
downhearted she felt in her mundane life,
she burked her feelings and tried to take a breath,
But found it effete tto restrain her mind and flesh,
and died with the charge of annihilating oneself.
No one knew that her parents cursed her,
None knew how gravely her thrashing went on ,
Nobody knew that she was treated extrinsic,
Not any soul knew ,
That she was tormented so hard.
Her body was thrown into a stream nearby,
Not a proper burial was given to that innocent child,
and twenty two she was with a beautiful smile,
but was only tortured,
B'coz she was born as a 'Girl Child'.
It sometimes amazes me how a seed of inspiration is translated into poetic
composition...............
Words bubbling
like molten lava
and flowing down a
mountain of creativity.
Ideas flashing into
consciousness, like
comets in the night sky,
begging for durability.
Imagination simmering
in a cauldron of creation,
par-boiled, and waiting
patiently for deliverance.
Verbs verbalised.
Nouns nurtured.
Similes simpatico.
Metaphors metathetical -
all awaiting translation
into metrical form:-
be it iambic verse, rhyme
or sultry sonnet.
An onslaught of inspiration
clambering for attention.
Poetic invention born of
imaginative progression.
Wondrous words!
Artistic expression.
Scintillating syntax.
A palette of calligraphy ....
Words bubbled down
my mountain of creativity.
I have survived the
onslaught of fecundity.
Creation created.
Imagination captured.
Ideas apprehended.
Job done!
There is no saying sorry for what we expressed,
Yet the dark cloaking cloudbank of sorrow
Pervades the unrest verbalised for the best,
Said to build new beginnings tomorrow.
So know that intentions were honest, humane,
No matter how forthright you find us,
We strive to explain that as friends we remain
And the past we should usher behind us.
After all the close years, realise that we miss
Your bright laughter and wit that shone through,
So in light of all this it will grieve us to kiss
Farewell to a friend such as you.
The door remains open and we remain here
Until time and the grave can hold sway,
Reconcile with no fear, for we still hold you dear
And might thus meet each other half way.
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