Culture Poems
There's A Dark Cloud Over My Head
by Leon Thomas Lee
There is a dark cloud over my head
With every move i make, every step i take
It keeps following me
Lord you know i want to free
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds
Now as the rain begins to fall, i feel so small
I'm always getting wet with the rain of prejudice
Look there is a mist of discrimation
And the fog of injustice
Dark clouds, dark clouds, dark clouds hanging over my head
......
Discrimination
by Adelaide Rhead
Why do you think you're better
If your culture is not the same?
Yes, maybe you seem different
But deep inside all are the same.
Why do they think they're better?
If one is black and one is white,
If one is man and one is woman.
They are the same, that is their right.
......
This Heritage
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
In this arid circumstance,
on a collage of sacred pulses,
this pot —Heritage — merely sits,
smoked and besmirched by elements
of mundane faggots.
The Purse-Seine
by Robinson Jeffers
Our sardine fishermen work at night in the dark
of the moon; daylight or moonlight
They could not tell where to spread the net,
unable to see the phosphorescence of the
shoals of fish.
They work northward from Monterey, coasting
Santa Cruz; off New Year's Point or off
Pigeon Point
The look-out man will see some lakes of milk-color
light on the sea's night-purple; he points,
......
The Despot
by Edith Nesbit
1 The garden mould was damp and chill,
2 Winter had had his brutal will
3 Since over all the year's content
4 His devastating legions went.
5 Then Spring's bright banners came: there woke
6 Millions of little growing folk
7 Who thrilled to know the winter done,
8 Gave thanks, and strove towards the sun.
......
Verdigris and Wasted Talents
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Verdigris is the evidence of death,
the symbol of ruin,
of waste,
of abandonment,
of incest,
sign of eternal grief...
Dust your BOOKS of verdigris,
of the mould from which penicillin
would dread.
......
Virginia Woolf
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Have you read the note?
It speaks of the doom of the liquid element.
An inclement weather, grey, and with the fuss of a bleached lightning,
Besieges the tick of the clock.
Must have been a bland Sunday, which retreated
From the temerity of old wine,
Haunted by the lonesome refrains of exhausted hymns.
The belfry yawned loosely....
But quiet crept in like leprosy,
Hanging loops on loam-matted hair, black and fringy,
......
Vista
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Buoyed up by the syntheses of the past,
idyllic murals of green hills open paths
to a healing truth.
What say the brown camels of Casablanca
to assassins nursing festered wounds of
new Karma?
Yesteryears recline on the shoulders of
a greying age, chanting songs to a
......
This Heritage
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
In this arid circumstance,
on a collage of sacred pulses,
this pot —Heritage — merely sits,
smoked and besmirched by elements
of mundane faggots.
Musicians
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
Under the aegis of darkness,
they trespassed narrow-edged ways -
wayward musicians;
spectre-framed and so pronto the
afflatus of restless painters and
hungry poets.
Mute and stout,
they seemed agnostics,
reclining on image-powers; thoughts
and dumb instruments facing earth;
......
