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Best Poems Written by Marckincia Jean

Below are the all-time best Marckincia Jean poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Loose Pocket Change

Loose Pocket Change



A whistle blew
And out went candlelight 
It’s wax ,cascaded and crystallized
It’s  tears, warm and heavy, emptied into the deep
A bouquet of wilted flowers 
Before the grave

Dark shadows of death 
Stalk and circle those  in blackouts 
Black birds crow and fill the mind and burry the spirit 
Sunken fishing boats 
Bare hooks
Empty nets
Loose pocket change 
In a pit of a bag
Stolen instruments

Black water under the bridge 
Dirt and grime consumes it 
Garbage and human remains float 
Garlic peeling at the harbor 
Women’s work
Men burn firewood for charcoal 
Children get home schooling
Come feeding time, children fight 
Typhoon blew stick houses down
Rice and grain swept away
Momma pawns everything 
To open up her shop
Placing a bet on her life
A promise to feed her husband and lad 
In the ruins of the slums 
Hunger bury those who go without 



Marckincia Jean
Free verse 
09/17/19

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Character

Character 


Of personality
Of nature
Of quality 
Of spirit 
Of tone
Of image
Of ego
Of pride
Of disposition 
Of juxtaposition 
Of morale 
Of frame of mind
Of temperament 
Of attribute
Of mood
Of portrayal 
Of reputation 
Of description 
Of esteem
Of representation 
Of design 
Of sublime
Of divine  
Of character defined 




Marckincia Jean
Free verse 
96/28/19

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Hope For Haiti

Listen to our cries,
Observe all the fear and devastation that surround us.
Listen to our hearts beating, pounding loudly. 
  
Without hope, how in the world can we cope?
 Many of us have lost faith and many of us too have found it.
God, how could this be, why me, why our country? 

Have pity, give us mercy.
What have we done to come to this?  
We are neither perfect nor righteous, we admit it.
Many of our families and friends we will miss.
  
Did not get to say goodbye, 
Did not get a chance to apologize
For all the wrong we've done.
And now what, they are all gone,
All we've came to love with hugs and with shoves.


By Marckincia Jean
  
  
Who could have predicted this?
Still, if one could, would we all have fled?
And to where, where would we be received? 
  
Our eyes opened wide, bright, clear, and white, 
Startled, frightened and uncertain.
Many have died, hundreds of thousands buried underground. 
The awful smells of the dead,
Stacked on top of one another like piles of bricks.
Many yet to be found, 
Still buried alive, beneath the heavy rubble.
Among the dead,
Many innocent souls, parents, children, singles, and criminals.
  
Port- au prince, the Haitian city capital,
Home to the Presidential Palace,
All of what now lie in ruins.
Rubble covers the streets. 
Many questions to be asked,
Not many answers will be gasped.
Change, when will it come, not soon enough, I suppose.
  
But beneath our heartbreaks, obstacles, and pain, 
There is a spirit that tells us: 
Everything will be fine,
No need to worry,
Don’t, it’s not necessary,
For you are mine.
I'll take care of you.
If you believe in me,
 I'll always be there. 
I will be your light and guidance,
I will put you in the right direction 
And send you off to your destination.
 Trust me, 
No one else can compare,
 For I am your creator.

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Tribute To the Story of An Hour By Kate Chopin

Tribute to The Story of An Hour by Kate Chopin 


A subtle blank stare filled her eyes
As she , Margery Bollard ,locked them with whom she took her vows
A photograph of him against the floral wallpaper
Haunted her soul
She fainted and  collapsed onto her living room floor 
Within half an hour
She drank a glass of water and mingled it with tears
Cold and heavy tears
Aged her by fifty years 

She climbed up the stairs to her master bedroom with which she shared with her husband, Daniel  Bollard 
Their boat sailed to lover’s lane

A speck of light drew her eyes towards the small squared window 
She pulled her large arm chair by the window and 
Sank in its warmth 

Now 
Under her breath, a sharp whisper fled  her clenched lips 
Filled her heart with horrid rage 
A widow out of place 
Sweet freedom show your face
Joy, joy, joy I embrace 
Fill my heart with everlasting blood
Young, without child
Have me live yonder miles 

Her heart swelled and broke 
A moment of grief pursued
Her ears rung with song 
Let freedom come 

Her teeth chattered
And her hands trembled 
As if on a mission of world domination 

From outside her bedroom window she saw blue skies and green trees
Rain took the skies
And owned it’s rights 
Tart was the fruit
And bitter was its rind 
Radiant rays of sunshine cleared the sky

I shall cry no more
No more hits to the ground 
Sweet freedom , roar 

The sound of foot soldiers on command 
And swinging doors dared her to get out of place 

Margery, Margery, I’m home
Soldier Bollard ran up to the master bedroom
Haven’t seen you in months , said Daniel
Haven’t  heard from you in a year, said Margery

Wasn’t there a major attack on your post?

Few survived, I’m one left behind
You look sick, Marge 
Have you slept?
Your hair is unkept and wild 
The stove is empty 

This is not my wife 

Margery nearly died, angry and out of breath 

She collects herself and screams from the top of her lungs 
I’m a woman
More than a mother and an obedient slave

Before Daniel could respond and react 
Margery collapsed yet again 
This time within a heartbeat, she was cold and without pulse 


Marckincia Jean
Narrative 
06/30/19

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Tribute Documentary Zimbabwes Forgotten Children

New draft Zimbabwe’s 




Tribute Documentary Zimbabwe’s Forgotten Children


Mama will be left behind when I die
I’m too sick to survive
My education was put to an end
When papa had no more to spend
We walk over sewage water
And sell plastic bottles for cents
We eat leafy greens and maze meal
We had some money
With our papa’s slum shop
But they wiped it out
I’m afraid to talk
Can’t speak out against the boss

I fold the blankets 
Make the fire 
And clean out mama’s bucket of poo
Papa is gone 
Died from HIV
And mama is trailing behind 
I’m sick, too

Baby sister needs my care
My daughter, I pity you
A girl your age should not have this much to do
My heart breaks 
Oh deliver me, God the creator 
I feel the tears my mother cry
I cry a silent terrible cry
When she dies 
I’ll jump right behind

Cardboard boxes and blankets keep me warm outside 
I came here when my mother died
I beg for food 

I’ve slept in a wrecked car
I use plastic to keep out the rain
The baby cries when the food runs out

With no other choice
I dig for gold
Got to watch my back
It’s illegal 

The farms grow weeds
If I look dirty, 
I get beaten by police 
They hit me too, 
When they make me work on the farm
Get fed once if at all

Me and grandma have one meal
Beans and maze meal 
The beans are poisonous 
And must be boiled plenty
And the skins must be removed 
I go to bed hungry when there’s no food 
I have no time to play
Me and my friends struggle together 
Climb trees
Harvest sticky berries
To trap small birds 

Grandma ate ants first
After she fainted of hunger 
Broke off their heads 
And ate their  bodies
Cholera  kills some
Hunger stalks the land 

My tummy , throat and ears hurt
Hunger has been the worst 
I can barely talk
Mama has diarrhea and vomits 

Police and soldiers 
Made us destroy our  houses
So we did
And we packed our bags 
And resides in wastelands 
We ate until it disappeared 

I’ve suffered too long
A year without my daughter 
You’re wrong 
I went to beg with other girls
And never came home
The church women accompanied me
And helped bathe mama 
HIV scares me
But I don’t always use protection 
It’s been long since mama bathed
Her feet attract flies 
My heart is sore
Our food will arrive 
Through foreign aid 
What will become of my children ? Mama says 
My brother beats me
How will he raise them?
Mama took a deep breath and died 
Take care of yourself she said
Big sister gets hit by him, too
She is back on the street begging 
He looks after us
But he’s barely around
My infant sister cries out for mama 

Mosquitos and flies surround open sewers 
So we head to the bush or under a tree to potty

Papa taught us how to dig for bones 
We shall never be beggars , on our own
I’m sick of people laughing at us 
And telling us to leave 
We collected several sacks of bones
to sell
It retrieves and bleach sugar 

The waters have few fish
And the sticky berries are not trapping birds
Grandma will have her child schooled 
Even if it kills her and you
Grandma begged and pleaded for me to go to 
They say pay at least fifty cents 
So I can enroll
This bright child  
Is raised in filth
Because grandma can’t afford it

Daddy grows cotton 
To finance our school fees
He speaks English , too

If I were president,
Schools and jobs would be universal 
And I would fix broken things 

Nearly 90 percent of us students were turned away
We were not taught anything new
For tuition and smarts come at a cost 

I was made in Zimbabwe 


Marckincia Jean
Narrative
06/12/19

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Our Dark Past

Barred and chained human cargo
Cheap labor and debt of the motherland
Rotting flesh and thought
Silenced and defeated spirit

Cheap labor and debt of the motherland
Freedom and dignity --- denied
Silenced and defeated spirit
Feces, vomit, disease-bathed

 Freedom and dignity --- denied
 Auctioned, lashed, lynched, and drowned
Feces vomit, disease-bathed
Song lost in the midst

 Auctioned, lashed, lynched, and drowned
Rotting flesh and thought
Song lost in the midst
Barred and chained human cargo









Marckincia 
A Pantoum 
3/07/15

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The Joker

His golden delicious red lips 
Rosy with a hint of distaste and betrayal
His grassy green hair 
Compromises the diseased brain rotting from within
His tall plush shoulder pads 
Thin waist and frail stature–demasculinizes 
Yet adds weight to his corpse-like, ghostly-pale complexion
His tightly clinched teeth 
With his brutal and merciless laughter  
Entertains sarcasm and mockery
Revenge he seeks 
For his defacement by way of acid
His personal symbol
The two-sided coin
A silly game of life or death 
Mastered by none other than the Joker
Gotham City’s most notorious vigilante 
A corruptive force 
Rooted  in civility


By Marckincia Jean


By Marckincia Jean
6/5/15

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Goat Unaware

Didn’t know a goat had to die
To make grandma’s dish so delicious. 

Fileted meat
Marinated in herb and spice:
Onion, garlic, black pepper, clove and thyme
Pan griddled, embracing black char
Simmer in oil

Sizzling, a snake’s hiss 
Aroma drew nose near, from afar
A dinner’s delight
 
A black fur billy goat
Eyes starring widely
Chewed green, so unaware
Doomed for demise
To adorn dinner plates
 
 Prey to the hunter’s ritual 
Age old, as time
Sharp blade placed to throat
Its red soaked the earth
 
Free -verse 03/07/15

by Marckincia Jean

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Swirling With Rain

Swirling With Rain


Misty vapor fog line the lane
Pockets of rain poke throw the clouds
Dew collect on tree and grass

Downpours tap tap tap onto rooftops
Drizzles of droplets drip down the drain

A wailing whimper weep
Woes of wretchedness 
Withered willows washed down  the Waterway 
Wind wreathes and worms wiggle out the earth

Hearts and stick figures drawn on the steamy car windows

Starless, shadowy silhouettes 
Storm the street with shield and screen sure to shade in the stream

The storm lasts for but a moment 
Whimsical rainbow arcs stroke  pavements, swirling with rain





Marckincia Jean 
Alliteration 
10/07/19

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A Pupil of Papua New Guinea

A Pupil of Papua New Guinea 


I live in a village deep in the jungle 
And cross rivers on foot and by wooden boat
Westerns have come but have not taken our pride

Village men perform an ancient ritual,
 A tribal dance 
Honoring their ancestors and praying for a safe journey and return for their children ,dad’s  niece and son
They wear leafy palm skirts , tribal prints , face masks , body paint and headdresses 
They drum to a beat and sing in silence 
Well into the morning
The ceremony calls  for no emotion 
Such equates to weakness and vulnerability 

A seven-day voyage to school awaits
Father , a farmer goes with son and niece 
Father gave all he had 
For his son to be taught and to have
The school nearest us have closed
It still stands , neat and clean
With desks , a blackboard and chalk 
Broken into pieces 

Aunty takes us in for the night 
We are fed white sweet potatoes , yams 
The school lies far into the distance 
Behind the  furthest mountain at the horizon 
There lies the toughest and largest river we have.
The water is cold 
I can’t tell what it holds

Dad warns against the
dark brown venomous snake 
That kills with one bite
It mixes in with the the dirt and the roots 
Large birds and buffalo roam the area, too

This green python camouflages in the tree 
It wraps itself around a thin brown branch surrounded by green leaves
It has no venom and is good to eat 
The boy catches it with a trap he made 
Puts a loop around its neck and grabs it away
His dad cooks it traditionally in bamboo

The river has crocodiles,
We pay for a ferry, a canoe 
Boy jumps out of canoe and hides
There was no convincing him otherwise 
At 8 years old, the boy’s  journey ends
Even at his fathers disappointment and expense 
His niece, 12, though scared, carries on her way
Two men row her away
She continues the path alone 

The river connects us to the world outside 
Though many drown and die 
She made it to school
The day before,
She slept in the jungle, all alone
She gave $100 for one year of boarding school
Her family’s savings 
Is put to use
The class is full
She would have been turned away
But her long trip was reconsidered
So she stays 
As the only person from her village 
She’s proud
Here to learn English ,  social studies and arithmetic
Here to eat and to play 
Here for confidence in another day 


Marckincia Jean
Narrative 
06/16/19