Tio, Losing His Sums, Ontologizes 'What Has Become of Me
[translated from the Spanish of Raul Voz]
'The world of dew is
a world of dew...
and yet...
and yet...' - Issa
Y que? Yet what?
I am a cabin
some woods
Tio's Tree
a crotch mountain
in Mexico
I am drawn water from
artesian deep well
I am a bath with night stars
I am swelling in night-mirage
I am heat vectors from
day-heated earth making
I am giddier star dance
bathing
on the porch at night
(so the shy mountain
cannot see)
I am rain water
gathered rhythmically
from the tin roof tonal
toks
glocks in pots all kinds) ...
I am
porch sit
write again
pick up
paints again
seek the missing
EAR
hike/walk/wobble
a patch of canvas
dirt squabble
(I am) the 3-legged
dog his name
is Trip
(the missing leg)
whose meanness
recognizes evil
stumbles when he
sees me
me (I am) neck hairs
fiercely rising
I am gums drawn
exposed teeth
the terrible tongue
sound of fear
the hunger pit
the stomach wants
wants
the burn there
the dejected bone
tossed to the heap
the creeping past
the field's edge
the burning stalks
the tin can bent
beneath a child's
bare feet playing
the brown eyes do
not see
the worn chain red
brittle in dust lost
without locking
embrace of gates
doors the sweet
child whose name
is known only
from her smile
the bruises
her arms tell
something of
what is sheltered
the squat house
always smokes
the valley
the dry arroyo
trace
snake crawl and
vermin chase
I am the food chain
NOT rusted
brittle the war
is on unseen
real beyond the
porch the tin
above groaning
witness for me
asleep
the hammock
leaves grids
on naked skin
I am the dead
weight the
sleight-of-hand
of eyes shut
the unseen battle
only a dream I am
the wasted
the water gathered
from dew the few
drops winking
in the web
and yet the
black spider and
yet the dawn
and yet still...still
it (I am)
yet waiting
as such
state old men are or
soon to be,
arrive
their ire in retire
crow songs
strong for not
too much longer
pour out red wine
hiss at the intrusive
mouse herald of
The End in
alto sung (I am)
an old man tin-can
spit-cup in hand
can without
doing harm chew
a niggardly weed
skunk tobacco
growing wild(I
am) in ditch
and dale
cogitation to
more write
I am cooked simple fare
the raised corn
the little hay the locals
play that itch of skin for
skin embrace Tio's
primal call to sin over
into (I am) the blurring sanity
of digitally hog-tied
corralled world too
easily pixilating O dust
to dust after
all is said/done I
am and so run on
over-strung/wrought-out
(as is this poem) I will
yes yes my love
listen will yes
recover such enough
air around to go on
sing my song
a tio-tangle in
treelimbs the kind
Van Gogh still somewhere
paints
I am knees sore
now and always
a call
to prayer
to woo in
old boots
worn leather
weak knees
make me to
existence/being
adore
to which I
have only
just
in a
dream
renewed my wedding vows
poem by Warren Falcon
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Related quotes
Das Lied Von Der Erde
[*The Song of the Earth, by Gustav Mahler,
a song cycle of poems by Chinese poet Li Bai,
the famous wandering poet of the Tang Dynasty]
for Selin
I will listen then
as I do now, to Mahler,
I will out pour this
red wine, half fill
the glass, at the
intrusive mouse hiss,
herald of The End that
is in contralto sung
overwrought,
outstrung,
I will listen,
will recover such
enough air around
to go on sing my
song tio-tangle in
tree limbs Van Gogh
still somewhere paints
knees sore
now and always
a call
to prayer,
to woo, in old
boots, worn leather,
weak knees
make me to
existence/being
adore
to which I
have only just
in a dream
renewed my wedding vows
*
I am drawn water
from artesian wells
deep
I am a bath with night stars
I am swelling in night-mirage
I am heat vectors from
day-heated earth making
I am giddier star dance
bathing
on the porch at night
(so the shy mountain
cannot see)
I am rain water
gathered rhythmically
from the tin roof tonal
toks
glocks
in pots all kinds
*
O stand radiant-starred late afternoon
O stained stark shadows black frieze
astonished stooped man
time's wee piss-boy
damp bunk-bed mattress fears
O stand glazed from edges
gaze to bark
vine maps of escape
Iron shadows
impress long into
wet pit
sun shard
spy glass
throat sore
cracked song for dirty boots
poem by Warren Falcon
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Pisciatoio de Nero in Zero world
[reveries from many years viewings of Fellini's 'Amacord' -
'Pisciatoio de Nero' means 'black pissoir' in Italian]
'Hear me a moment...
Perhaps it is better
if the jubilee of small birds
dies down, swallowed in the sky...
The senses are graced with an odor
filled with the earth.' - Eugenio Montale, 'The Lemon Trees'
the blowing spring blossoms
the falling snow
the sex-crazed madwoman
has her place and is made place for
in the seaside town - Gradicia
sacred prostitute
important to matters of State
of stuttering male
desire of all ages
at film end her
marriage
a new beginning for all
motorcyclist
as Time too
zooms in/out
punctuates
scenes throughout
spring blossoms again
return the final scene
the ubiquitous blind
accordion player
Time's other guise
pestered by brats
perpetually pull his tattered hat
plays throughout
eternal return
*
film family
the schizophrenic brother/
uncle of papa/nephew
climbs a tree on an
out-of-the-asylum family picnic
the day is late
family needs to leave
countryside for city
Tio, uncle, refuses to
descend from the tree top
end of the stony world
loudly shouts
hours over quiet
farmland and fields,
I WANT A WOMAN!
I WANT A WOMANNNNNN!
deeper sanity reveals
in his call for the restoring
Woman
the sanity of Desire
his coniunctio
(consummation call)
in the arms of a tree
rocks tossed
plucked from
coat pockets
rags
keep saner
interlopers at bay below
the love-mad one
in piss pants
sways embraced of
the Woman Tree
reunites vistas
seen above
tearing opposites
of the seen world
mean in over
extended glory
coagulates
the promised
black boots
of State
Unpersuaded he
in primeval arms
innocent
returns to life
wants a wife
or lover
lightens his load
throws stones from
threadbare
pockets full o full
upon the glass house
the loo-loo world
spread out beneath him
a 'pisciatoio de nero'
in Zero world.
*
actively dreaming I am
of a cabin, some woods
(or Tio's Tree) or Mexico
mountain crotch
draw water from
artesian well deep
bathe with night stars
swelling in night-mirage
heat vectors from day
heated earth making
giddier stars dance...
my vocation then -
porch sit
write
pick up
paints again
seek the missing
Ear
hike/walk/wobble
a patch of canvas
dirt squabble
the 3-legged
dog his name
is 'Trinidad'
(his 3 legs)
whose meanness
knows an evil man
when he sees one
cogitate to more write
cook simple fare
raise some corn
a little hay the locals
that itch of skin for
skin embrace Tio's
primal call to sin over
into the blurred sanity
of digitally hog-tied
corralled world too
easily pixilating O dust
to dust
after all is said/done
Go back in time then
'io recordo amacord '
is always circular
as space is not linear
but spherical live off
grid as chimera
an old man tin-can spit-
cup in hand can without
doing harm to self chewing
a niggardly weed tobacco
growing wild in Mexico
ditch and dale
will need espresso
wine nearby (or larders
laid coolly in the ground
for chill and preserve) ,
space large enough for
books and to entertain
2-leggeds - even
Trinidad come to pant
happily at my heels -
who will come if they
come for counsel
talk story
dirty jokes
side by side silent
readings an occasional
'hear this' something
then read aloud which
becomes bread
heads nod agreement
smiles and meals beneath
the witnessed reel of
glancing stars gathering
stones at dusk filling
their pockets own
while climbing
World Tree at apogee
they downward turn
fling themselves low
toward the dawn stumbling
Sun alone fire seeking
fire
I WANT A WOMAN!
I WANT A WOMAN!
in such male heat
Light cries up/
reveals the morning
dove the crow their
sonorous response
to the Sun's Call,
different as they are
unconcealed...
what is revealed:
the mouse in the hole who loves the hole,
how the serpent's tail shimmers as one has
tossed it with a very long stick out the door
shouting - the door shouts too - 'be gone!
no more! ' one has learned to shake the
sheets, the pants, the socks, the topsy
turvy heel-worn shoes before the getting
into because scorpions and spiders dwell
therein and even a snake loves a warm bed,
my pillow for its head, found a skin shed
on a flower-patterned pillow case where
fleecy lambs forever pink silently low
as the cloth grows thin from head wear
dream wear because I was once a sleeping man
(this happened
to me
lived 3 great years
a mountain
one hundred year old house no electric
a well for water
spring house chill in
cold mountain spring
milk butter meat
thick mesh and laden
plywood over basin
keep critters out
bathing
on the porch at night
(so the shy mountains could
not see) from rain water
gathered rhythmically
from the tin roof tonal
toks
glocks in pots all kinds) ...
*
but for now
out the theater
into city street
I've been drawn
out and now
long overdrawn
am drawn the
more in
drawn in
not sketched out
but stretched as such
state old men are or
soon to be, arrive
their ire in retire
crow songs
strong for not
too much longer
but damn it all
hear such
being here hurts,
stone stars
I'm cold! I'm cold!
I shout up to them
Sun star tumbling old
bodies down to dirt song
of the earth
'Das Lied von der Erde'
I will listen then
as I do now, Mahler's,
pour out red wine
hiss at the intrusive
mouse herald of The End
in alto sung
over-strung/wrought-out
I will listen will
recover such enough
air around to go on
sing my song
a tio-tangle in
treelimbs the kind
Van Gogh still somewhere
paints
knees, sore,
now and always
a call
to prayer
to woo
in old boots
worn leather
weak knees
make me to
existence/being
adore
to which I
have only just
in a dream
renewed my wedding vows.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She of the Craft
She enters the room
All eyes turn
All eyes burn
Her skin
Her skin is cold
Colder still to the
Touch of tender
Lustful gazes
In Crazed mistrust
Of the heart
Of God
Of Man
Of Woman
We are lost
Lost are we
Lost to the touch
Of angel dust
She leaves the room
Leaving them chained
Manacled
Bondage bound
Lost unfound
They remain
Insane
Within the insanity
Of the night that
Beckoned them to
Forest depths
Her skin is ash
Her skin is frost
Her skin is sand
Her skin is lost.
Scarred earth
Charcoal soil
Freshly cut primrose
I’m bleeding
I’ll heal
Though thorns
Have cut me deep
Can u see them?
Hear them?
They dance in shadows
Circles by twilight
Dead flowers
Ruined temples
Decay
Silent streets
Can you hear voices?
The ghosts are
Witness to soulful murder
Vultures claw at the jelly sweet eyes
Of the bodies that line the streets.
Blood Red Rivers flow liquid death
Over mangled maggot ridden corpses.
Does it make you feel alive?
Does it incite you in the motion to rise?
Where is she now?
What is she doing?
Is she laughing?
Is she crying?
Does she remember my name?
Will she sing for me?
In knowing her to exist
New temples erect
In honour of her presence upon this plain.
She a wild snaked eyed goddess
She a beauty of raven tones
Deserves the worship of the gods
Fire
Earth
Water
Air
She of the craft
She who smiled and stirred the alchemy of my soul.
She who opened up her heart to me upon our first encounter
I miss her, the girl I met but once
Within some ecstasy fuelled dream time sanctuary
Where we danced a thousand years
In each others arms
We felt safe
So far away from the harm of vicious men
Where she now?
What is she doing?
Is she laughing?
Is she sighing?
Does me remember the songs we played?
Does she wish to lift her chest in the
Knowledge that tomorrow never knows?
It’s been too long now without contact.
I invoke the spirit of unison to bring forth this angel into my life once more
For she is all that I could ask for
She of the feathered claw.
Where is she now?
Why isn’t she knocking at my door?
All it is I can hope for is that the fates have sewn a tapestry of beatific vision
With I and my fairy princess hand in hand
I pray that we will one day walk this land as one in unison
Holding dear the love that paints the sky pastel shades by sunset.
For once words can not express
Nor colours paint the mood that she brought me to embrace
And so I keep my faith in fate beside faith in the choices we make as our own.
I keep faith that once day we may call the same hearts home.
She my snake eyed goddess of the highest esteem.
Foreplay
Worship
Devotion
Undying Loyalty
Love in motion.
Truth
Trust
Love
Lust
All you feel
Is all that’s real
And I know that I would feel her beyond eternity’s wall of sleep
I know that I shall keep real and ready the love I hold for her
Though I may grow old and tired of waiting
To meet her once was promise enough that an angel such as her
Would not grace once alone this life of mine.
So father time
So father sky
So mother earth
Hear the forest child cry
For I am sighing in and out of agony
With the thoughts of never knowing true the touch of her flesh again
Allow her to remember the connection we felt
May she dream of me as I dream of her?
Hope
Hope is all I have
Hope of once more hearing the words
I love you.
poem by David Lacey
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Without you
The world sits still without you,
war's day's night's, season's,
without you I'm waiting for
something to do, when I realized
there's nothing, time passes me
by, 'I've always felt that' and
still it feels like there's so much
to do, sometimes I feel like
a little planet, that no one has
yet discovered; without you is
like missing a piece of the sky,
or the ocean, I feel like a puzzle
and the one piece missing is you.
Without you there's no hunger,
no thirst, without you my hands
no longer will write pastoral's to
the night, without you my eyes
will not gaze your charms again.
I cherish sweet love, thy lovely
argument of bloody tears, without
you, I shall even live and your tomb
I'll make, or you survive when I in
earth am dust. Without you- who
shall cry my lost? , without you I will
remain dead. And you still live -such
righteousness in the eyes of one.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Burn
don't look don't look" the shadows breathe
Whispering me away from you
"don't wake at night to watch her sleep
You know that you will always lose
This trembling
Adored
Tousled bird mad girl... "
But every night i burn
But every night i call your name
Every night i burn
Every night i fall again
"oh don't talk of love" the shadows purr
Murmuring me away from you
"don't talk of worlds that never were
The end is all that's ever true
There's nothing you can ever say
Nothing you can ever do... "
Still every night i burn
Every night i scream your name
Every night i burn
Every night the dream's the same
Every night i burn
Waiting for my only friend
Every night i burn
Waiting for the world to end
"just paint your face" the shadows smile
Slipping me away from you
"oh it doesn't matter how you hide
Find you if we're wanting to
So slide back down and close your eyes
Sleep a while
You must be tired... "
But every night i burn
Every night i call your name
Every night i burn
Every night i fall again
Every night i burn
Scream the animal scream
Every night i burn
Dream the crow black dream
Dream the crow black dream...
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These Times
And soon the vaults were empty
of the stuff we call money
as many lost sleep at night
in a dream of deep fright
Horrific story after story was told
by folks we know, and in the news
by folks starting careers so new
by folks growing tired and old
Then came a call so bold
carried by The Voice of old
to be learned from our Earth
in these times of dearth
Listen to the call my friends:
water for life
water for all
water for survival
water for food
water for economic stability
water in the name of equality
One by one, people began to listen
of a new change rising on the horizon
But for some the call was lost
in hearts of heartless greed
who care not of water in time of need
And so the banks remained empty
of the stuff we call money
and many lost sleep at night
in a waking dream of deep fright
poem by William E. Marks
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What Is Revealed Side-By-Side
Recalling Barnardsville days in the Blue Ridge
1
Silent, side-by-side, reading.
An occasional 'hear this then. '
Read aloud, words, bread, jam;
familiar tarnished knives spreading;
wedding set, grandmother's, all hands
forget intent on feeding, reading to each
gathered mouth.
Heads nod agreement.
Backs of hands and books
as napkins. Smiles all
around.
2 - What Is Read Out Loud
Beneath witnessed wheels
dancing stars gather stones at dusk,
pockets fill climbing World Tree to
apogee
then downward turn,
stones flung low to dawn,
that largest sun stumbles
alone to blue, screaming,
I WANT A WOMAN
heat enough to reveal morning's dove-blind croon,
burnt crow, having no use for light, missing
a leg, perches hard against solar winds.
Sun's call, different as bird and star, discloses.
3
What is revealed:
the mouse in the hole who loves the hole.
How the serpent's tail shimmers when tossed
out the door -
BE GONE
How one has learned to shake the sheet,
the pants, the socks, the heel-worn boots
before the getting-into, the putting on,
for even a snake loves a warm bed,
a pillow for its head - found once a
skin shed on my flower patterned
pillowcase, fleecy lambs forever silently
bleat as the cloth thins slowly slowly
from head wear, dream wear
because I was once a sleeping man.
poem by Warren Falcon
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Not Quite Dawn
Not quite dawn, night seeping out of the blue,
troubled sleep, no stars, and you, a week gone,
the whole universe applying its laws to your absence
which is the silence everything returns to like water.
I have never touched you, so my fingertips
can still play you into existence on a keyboard,
though the loss of your voice is a dead bird,
and I am a loose thread of blood in a labyrinth
of motherboards and micro-chips like me
who can’t find a way out of themselves without
turning away like a planet from its own stars.
How quickly the light comes, and the darkness
bleeds away like a love-letter under the door.
No eyes. No hands. No skin. No hair. I am
not even the ashes of a cleft witching wand
that went looking for water and caught fire instead,
and we have shared only the light of the mind
that paints a world with the shadows of a ghost,
and might only be the last habit of an amputee to leave,
a mere mime of the way our eyes make us see.
And yet the heart hurts as if you once were flesh,
and I am awake as if another bed denied me my own,
and I am angry and sad, scared and alone as if
the universe were shy one comet, one bead,
one firefly among billions who shone for me
and that light was brighter somehow than a galaxy.
The day grows a new skin over your absence,
and I am as out of place, out of time, as a streetlamp
still shining down on its feet in the morning.
And there could be a thousand and one reasons
you don’t write back, why the black crow caws,
the sky is a concrete rose, the blood of the poppy
runs along the gypsy blade of its undulant smile.
From the heights, I can see a small, blue egg
smashed on the rocks below, a gesture of ruin;
from the depths, the remnants of a shattered star,
and all I can do is stare into the relentless images,
a word without a mouth, like the new moon
shucked from my tongue like a black pearl.
poem by Patrick White
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These times
And soon the vaults were empty
of the stuff we call money
as many lost sleep at night
in a dream of deep fright
Horrific story after story was told
by folks we know, and in the news
by folks starting careers so new
by folks growing tired and old
Then came a call so bold
carried by The Voice of old
to be learned from our Earth
in these times of dearth
Listen to the call my friends:
water for life
water for all
water for survival
water for food
water for stability
water for equality
One by one, people began to listen
of a new change rising on the horizon
But for some the call was lost
in hearts of heartless greed
who care not of water in time of need
And so the banks remained empty
of the stuff we call money
and many lost sleep at night
in a waking dream filled with fright
poem by William Waterway
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Mater Dolorosa
Who is this that sits by the way, by the wild wayside,
In a rent stained raiment, the robe of a cast-off bride,
In the dust, in the rainfall sitting, with soiled feet bare,
With the night for a garment upon her, with torn wet hair?
She is fairer of face than the daughters of men, and her eyes,
Worn through with her tears, are deep as the depth of skies.
This is she for whose sake being fallen, for whose abject sake,
Earth groans in the blackness of darkness, and men's hearts break.
This is she for whose love, having seen her, the men that were
Poured life out as water, and shed their souls upon air.
This is she for whose glory their years were counted as foam;
Whose face was a light upon Greece, was a fire upon Rome.
Is it now not surely a vain thing, a foolish and vain,
To sit down by her, mourn to her, serve her, partake in the pain?
She is grey with the dust of time on his manifold ways,
Where her faint feet stumble and falter through year-long days.
Shall she help us at all, O fools, give fruit or give fame,
Who herself is a name despised, a rejected name?
We have not served her for guerdon. If any do so,
That his mouth may be sweet with such honey, we care not to know.
We have drunk from a wine-unsweetened, a perilous cup,
A draught very bitter. The kings of the earth stood up,
And the rulers took counsel together, to smite her and slay;
And the blood of her wounds is given us to drink today.
Can these bones live? or the leaves that are dead leaves bud?
Or the dead blood drawn from her veins be in your veins blood?
Will ye gather up water again that was drawn and shed?
In the blood is the life of the veins, and her veins are dead.
For the lives that are over are over, and past things past;
She had her day, and it is not; was first, and is last.
Is it nothing unto you then, all ye that pass by,
If her breath be left in her lips, if she live now or die?
Behold now, O people, and say if she be not fair,
Whom your fathers followed to find her, with praise and prayer,
And rejoiced, having found her, though roof they had none nor bread;
But ye care not; what is it to you if her day be dead?
It was well with our fathers; their sound was in all men's lands;
There was fire in their hearts, and the hunger of fight in their
hands.
Naked and strong they went forth in her strength like flame,
For her love's and her name's sake of old, her republican name.
But their children, by kings made quiet, by priests made wise,
Love better the heat of their hearths than the light of her eyes.
Are they children of these thy children indeed, who have sold,
O golden goddess, the light of thy face for gold?
Are they sons indeed of the sons of thy dayspring of hope,
Whose lives are in fief of an emperor, whose souls of a Pope?
Hide then thine head, O beloved; thy time is done;
Thy kingdom is broken in heaven, and blind thy sun.
What sleep is upon you, to dream she indeed shall rise,
When the hopes are dead in her heart as the tears in her eyes?
If ye sing of her dead, will she stir? if ye weep for her, weep?
Come away now, leave her; what hath she to do but sleep?
But ye that mourn are alive, and have years to be;
And life is good, and the world is wiser than we.
Yea, wise is the world and mighty, with years to give,
And years to promise; but how long now shall it live?
And foolish and poor is faith, and her ways are bare,
Till she find the way of the sun, and the morning air.
In that hour shall this dead face shine as the face of the sun,
And the soul of man and her soul and the world's be one.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Water
water for water is water, thirst made me dried
eyes tears flow water, leaves skin broken
need water, cure my pain smooth my rough
surface makes it clean
pure and perfect water made so bright, all the
day expose heat dried my sweat, in my face
and lips tears seen in the eyes
all day long I seat in my brow, waiting the sun
down to lead me low, hunger and thirst open
my throat, water spelled drops like a dew
wash my warm body as you can see, the limps
legs and the hands would be easy, where ever
in my body, the water comes refreshing to me
slowly, slowly, fell the cool water beneath
my delicate skin, in my buttock where you have
to stay, hold on, I sit you in my dream, my living
water makes me the same
oh! water, please always watered me in each
new day and fell the real me
poem by Antonio Liao
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Love's Embrace
The flame of love flickers within the shadow of night
Two souls shall dance in perfect harmony
The heat of love holding them like a moth to a flame
Heart felt emotions relived yet never growing old
The world around us becomes nought but a dream
This everlasting moment reflected in our eyes
Heated skin against heated skin sparking the fire within
Caressing lips stoking the fires of passion
Trembling bodies locked within a lovers embrace
As passion moulds us into one sweet entity...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Passions fire...
The flame of love flickers within the shadow of night,
Two souls shall dance in perfect harmony.
The heat of love holding them like a moth to a flame,
Heart felt emotions relived yet never growing old.
The world around us becomes nought but a dream,
This everlasting moment reflected in our eyes.
Heated skin against heated skin sparking the fire within,
Carressing lips stoking the fires of passion.
Trembling bodies locked within a lovers embrace,
As passion moulds us into one sweet entity...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cool Water
Day by day ... whistle while you work ... our
Backs are breaking ... up from hollow earth ...
From end to end ... the noise begins ... in the
Human battle stations ... and the big ones
Coming in
Work, work, work, work ... work till holes are
Filled ... work, work, work, work ... bags of
Bone and skin ... lovers hold hands ... tossing
Their heads ... tangled in hair ... tied to earth
... with skin and glue
But their skin is the same as yours
Coming in for the world to see
They can sit at the table, too
The same blood as you and me
Speak very softly .. hold my hand ... someone is
Sleeping ... in my bed ... priests pass by ...
Worms crawl in ... one dreams to be ... one dream
For all
His skin is the same as yours
Is he not made the same as you?
And some have fallen down
And blood spilled on the ground
Work, work,work
Till his life is doneu
The old man .. is at our door ... and hes
Knocking ... knocking ... as his neighbors weep
... each day repeats ... are we nothing in your
Eyes? ... someone answer, someone answer ... this
Rusted garden gate ... can barely even stand ...
Their work is over now ... and rest will be at
Hand
Is their skin not the same as yours?
Can they sit at the table to drink
Cool water
Cool wateru
And his lungs are filled with rain...
And the waters rushing in...
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am An African Child
What can you see in me
except for my skin?
I am black and proud.
Humble but i have my pride.
Am a street king.
Bare footed i walk the street.
Am well known in every zone.
You say am weak,
but listen.
In me there is no retreat.
In me there is no surrender.
I fight until i cry.
If you know my fear,
tell me.
I am never afraid.
Even when the masqurade dance
i follow closely behind.
What do you see?
Shame?
Well listen and learn.
With almost toothless mouth,
i smile.
I like playing half naked,
with my tommy like kwashiorkor.
When i fall, i get up.
Cleaning my body
with my dirty hand.
Outfitted or not,
every sunday i wear
my best cloth to church.
Without night bath
i sleep on my mat.
But when i wake up,
i find myself on a cold floor.
Like goldminers,
i diligently i seek for tyres
to roll around with my other brothers.
Like an he goat
it takes more than a stroke
of cane to make me change.
In finding trouble,
there is great humor
and i run away when i find one.
Am black as dark.
At night the only thing
you see is my white eyes.
An African Child
Am proud
That is who i am.
poem by Enebeli Ifyprada
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In Africa's Night (A Lament)
Death in Africa's night, she's 38
They bear me from hospital grounds
Our home is empty, except for me
A rented shell where loss abounds
I read Psalm Number 121
Memorial closes the Book of Plans
They stand in line for a moment's embrace
She lies under embalming hands
The box with permits of expiration
Weighs in the belly of the plane
We fly over saltlands of Kalahari
I descend into the heartless flame
To the yard for the last time, laid out low
In the rondavel they had thatched for us
Here we laid on our wedding day
Here we come to the terminus
Women sing Laments all night
I fall asleep in the haze of dawn
Her swollen face in the coffin view
Her mother cries, not the child I knew!
The army pitches canvas halls
Mourners pour from the desert towns
Pots of sorghum meal and meat
Warm the nights they huddle around
The dreaded wizards laugh in the bush
Age-cohort girls joke in shebeens
We are beaten, they are waiting for
The burial of imprudent dreams
Trucks leave for the village shores
Their tails of dust rise in the eyes
Of morning's face, falling upon
Late drinkers by the riverside
Red rectangles newly dug
And how this earth drains soft and fine!
The sand so quick, the tears so dry
The crowd surrounds the burial line
The midday breeze lowers its head
The sun is cruel as mourners sing
Her tears burn on my eyes, my skin
The box falls, closing everything
A spouse carried her back to earth
Two children carry on her name
The dust would not be shed from skin
Until a love was born again.
poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I live Africa
I walk Africa, I talk Africa, and I feel her on the skin of my neck,
I embrace her, I adore her, she brings memories one can never forget,
I dream of her, I sing with her, and I am proud of the man I’ve become,
I love her and she loves me back, I live for her after it’s all said and done
I live for her, I live with her, and she shows me love words can’t explain,
Her skin so brown and her eyes so bright, look once, and you will look again,
I hold her on my chest so dear; I embrace her in my arms,
I whisper secrets in her ear, and she weakens me with her charms
I love Africa with all my heart, and my heart she puts at ease,
When I kiss her lips its like breeze, a weakness hits my knees,
I hug her close and will never let go, like her forest’s hug their trees,
She begs me to stay and never let go, and she always will say please
I love Africa, I live Africa, I trust her with my being,
She gives me perspectives unknown to man, when my fragile heart needs freeing,
She takes my hand and guides me through those testing times when I give up,
She shows me love, she makes me smile, and she’s my reason to cheer up
I adore Africa, I love her blue skies and I love her curvy lands,
Her skies so blue and beauty unreal, and I love her beautiful sands,
I am me because of her, and I wouldn’t change that for the world or more,
I love Africa, I live Africa, and she is mine for ever more
by Jimmy Manganda
poem by Jimmy Manganda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stolen Child
(wb yeats)
Come away, human child
To the water
Come away, human child
To the water and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand
Where dips the rocky highland
Of sleuth wood in the lake
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There weve hid our faery vats
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries
Come away, human child
To the water
Come away, human child
To the water and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light
Far off by furthest rosses
We foot it all the night
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep
Come away, human child
To the water
Come away, human child
To the water and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above glen-car
In pools among the rushes
The scarce could bathe a star
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
We give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams
Away with us hes going
The solemn-eyed:
Hell hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside;
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast
Or see the brown mice bob
Around and around the oatmeal-chest
For he comes, the human child
To the water
He comes, the human child
To the water and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand
Human child
Human child
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand...
Than he can understand...
He can understand...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song of Warriors and Saints
Sing me a song
That could lull me to sleep
And make me dream
Of my dream before I weep...
For in my sleep
I may see again
Visions I cannot remember
At dawn when I was awake.
And when my skin is seared
By the scorching heat
Of day, my sweet dreams
And the song can heal the pain.
Sing to me the song
Of a courageous warrior
In the field of battle
That leads to honor and the grave...
But in death, the warrior sees
The struggle to fight
For freedom and equality
Is his poem of elegy...
And in his wake,
The living sing a new song
And to his funeral they march
With a jaunty heart!
Sing to me the song
Of Solomon or Socrates -
The right way - or the road
To perdition and to shame!
Or the songs of angels
That lift my ailing spirit-
For the good and the truth,
In my heart, I always seek...
And with a melodious cry
My world is free of lies
And I live the life
I longed for before I die...
For the song in my dream
Is the song of all songs-
The song of warriors and saints!
poem by Jane Quijano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wishing On That Old Star
After our date was over that first night
I found myself out on the porch in the soft moonlight
Emotions and feelings about you running wild
Looking up into the sky, I felt like a child
Picked out the brightest star, I could see
Made a wish on that old star for you and me
Praying happiness and joy would fill our hearts
So our relationship could have a fresh start
Promising to always treat you like gold
Swearing I'd never leave you out in the cold
It seemed that old star renewed its glow
Following me everywhere I go
Now, two kids and thirty years have gone by
Still, I look up to the night sky
Watching me out on the porch
Our love still burning like a torch
You say that we've come so far
Since you first wished on that same old star
poem by Jr James D Nall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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