I come from a musical place
Where they shoot me for my song
And my brother has been tortured
By my brother in my land.
I come from a beautiful place
Where they hate my shade of skin
They don't like the way I pray
And they ban free poetry.
and the few survivors who couldn’t
were lined up
along with the civilians
or killed in ways to entertain the soldiers
And dogs were trained to
tear them to shreds
and the ground became black with
their soaked blood
Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed
While I make rhymes my brother John
Makes shiny shoes which dames try on,
And finding to their fit and stance
They buy and wear with elegance;
But mine is quite another tale,--
For song there is no sale.
My brother Tom a tailor shop
Is owner of, and ladies stop
To try the models he has planned,
You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.
I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, with bells,
and clocks, and trees.
I do not consider myself a poet,
But rather a vessel for words to flow
Through my heart and onto the page,
Where their beauty and depth may show.
It is not I who chooses the words
But my heart that guides my hand,
Leading me to phrases and verses
That I could never understand.
Once more I take my pen in hand,
And write of sorrows, dark and grand.
But ere I weave this tale of woe,
I must apologize, and so
To you, my dear and patient reader,
Who may find my work a dreary bleeder,
I beg your pardon for my style,
That oftentimes may make you smile,
Day by day
Night by night
I find myself loving you more and more
Every song I sing,
and the emotions it builds
Is a reminder of my love so real
Your beauty and grace
Surpasses what my eyes have ever seen
or my ears ever heard
Varied moods and feelings surge
Well conjured up, shaped
When Nature enthralls us all -
Our heart and mind
And thoughts flow afloat,
Bubbling so delicately
In the surging deluge of life.
Beauty of the body grows,
Sacred poetry feeds the soul, like slow rhythms of ever green nature,
And the heartbeat's anticipation of sooner, finding satisfaction in later.
Anything is possible in verse, as it flows from fanciful, unbound mind,
Giving sublime inspiration and comfort, in vibrant styles, one of a kind.
Poetry is as vital to wholesome living, as is pursuing your rosy dream,
Though the sun reigns at lemon noonday, under thick clouds of cream!
When you find yourself wandering, poesy rhythm will guide your feet,
In the dance of self discovery and insight, which makes life complete.
Poetry warms eager hearts steadily, and adds pure romance to living,
Like gazing at the twinkling Milky Way, and stars which keep on giving.