Granville Wesley Clarke

May 14, 1921 ====July 19 2011

The late ******* or Perry

A golden heart stop beating at sunset July 19 2011



Today my memory is a large duck egg

Yes, that large duck egg, you got from the  

Chicken coop, so that I could have it for breakfast”

If you haven’t tried ducks, eggs
it's time to became a tester.


There will be no funeral today,

Only memories of the people we love

I remember the tall trees, in which you

Climbed in order to cut the branches that block the view

And the wind that cool our roof top  



I remember our morning strolled in big gully

In which we would go and pick green lemons

I with my small paint bucket, you with your big brown onion bag

with our findings you would fill it to the top,

My small paint bucket I  also filled it up to the top:

With my doo rag tied so tight around my head I sweat bullets

my brother old pants protected my skinny legs from the bugs

There we were strolling through the woods  



Almonds,  I ****** the juices, and hammer the nuts with a rock

As you cut down trees, to finish your pig pen,

There will no funeral today, or weeping

Just good old memories, about the dead

Rest in peace, with the angels,

Until we meet again,

If We Speak of the Hurricane



We think of past storms, the aftermath

The deep wailing of the crowd

The interview of the bystanders

And here comes that sad looks

of the homeowner faces

And there it stood that uprooted fallen tree,

Inches away from their house

And that when we know,  

It was the rightful thing to do

Listening to the voice of God:



In the wind of the solemn sound

I remember the falling Palins,

The rusty galvanizes that blanket the streets

Where the birds of prey nested:

And once again, we listen to the voice of God

In the wind of the solemn sound

If we speak of the past storms,  

and chat about hurricanes disasters

I remember how the winds pressed on the

Apartment window, forcing it way in.

But I listen to the voice of God

As I heard an uprooted tree, clash down

On the rows of park car, before the alarms sound

Scattering debris, block the drains

Water filled the lonely streets,

And once again, we cry out to God

The volcanoes, now hurricane Elsa  

Why We??

In the search of something more-
Several doors I closed
Only to be left
Locked in a room on my own accord
All entrances blocked
Telling myself I will escape one day
Except I do not accept reality-
Destined to be isolated from the world.

The week has to have a weekend
Days have to have a tomorrow
And goodbye to yesterday’s/
In turns will bring the months to an end/

What do we have to face
moving forward setbacks and  more
worried looks in the bystanders eyes..
When all is set and done, we have to say grace
We have to look up every morning and whisper to the skies.

The news broadcaster’s never speak of genuine love,
They only wishes to be littered,
While, begging folks to do their part
The cooing of the dark lonely dove
a symbol that there’s is no more  love in ones heart
during the these stressful day/

Ten o’clock curfew at night,\/
Essentials workers must only be seen at dawn/
No more than ten to twelve people on sight/
And large outstanding gathering must be gone/

Black Friday’s deals, window shopping strolls
Everything seem on hold, the biggest black hole of 2020/
And nothing spoke to me: not even a 60 inch flatscreen TV/

Let’s take a page from the Jewish customs
Bury the dead in the next seventy two hours/
All November traditions is limit/
Thanksgiving Day a Tic, tok

All Saints Day, All Souls Day, Mischief Night, Bonfire Night
Once you take down the statues, of useless figures
Would History of the injustices will be erase/

The Door into Darkness

How does one response to questions
About someone who drove them into madness
Times doesn’t always heal old wounds
Some wounds are none -reversible,
Some clothing is none returnable,

Her questions seem to be ..
What was the purpose of his life?
To her it might seem unfair not to answer
For me, it hurts… more that childbirth

Breaking a bone is painful,
Breaking someone spirit and heart weigh heavily:

The tongue that brings healing is a tree of life,
but a deceitful tongue crushes the spirit.” (Proverbs 15:4

His love for me plays out like an air filled balloon
From the Caribbean Island to the America shore
The King will choose his Queen,
But in his kingdom he longs for a wife,

The door into darkness, for me
Would not be, I prefer all my rooms
To be lit……

You shut me into your heart’s great void of silence. . .**

The nagging pain, the fiery blood:
My flame heart………….embalmed
Resentence, revenge to the one that hurt you:
What had love done for you?
What did you learn by saying?
“I love you, I love you
to those who were incapable of loving
Now, I dagger you, over and over,
Erasing the love, I once share with you
Love is a hurting thing,
Hate is a natural emotion,
My heart is no longer silence,
But it fears the unknown………..
What causes hatred.. Love
Where hatred does comes from poison of love

Watch the morning glories in the morning,
   Bow their little faces to the sunrise,
Dripping, tears that release a fragrant
From the flowered garden
See the crickets run for shelter,
As the sun rises in the early morn
See the grass sharpen its blade again
The stifling insect, see the butterflies swarm
White pedals, white ******, touch of innocent

Watch  as the morning glories said good morning
A sign of love, with its slender stems heart-shaped leaves
  and trumpet-shaped flowers of pink, purple-blue, magenta,
slowly bow their faces as the sun came out.

An uneducated woman clings to a young lad’s side
He woo her, he romance her
in six month time he took her for his bride

on the honeymoon in the heat of the night
in the wooded  house lid by only the street lights

he saw her for whom she was: as she lay there
a thing as cold as ice, without any care

he consummate the marriage like a hasty
frighten, laid back  hare:

he rose up before dark, and followed the cat
as its sat on his grandfather old front door mat

he wonder why he downgraded himself , no ecstasy  
was it for lust or love, *** or sympathy

how could he take her for his bride,
and cling to her side,

Not knowing she was cold and sexless

A relationship like this can be painful
but not necessarily hopeless

**For Love is blind but with the fleshly eye
,
He was so wrong. today she is colder than ever

I went to sleep in the year 2020
and woke up this morning in 1841
In old England, as is might seems:

Using words like give me a pint,
You old ******, lick me boots,
Lass and me Gentlemen
They had everything
Like everything in common with
America nowadays except, of course, languages.

To flogged a dead horse more like what i was seeing:
Racism there was as white as you could imagine
race against race: British and Ireland

The rich and the poor,
The upper class and the low renters,
Stagecoaches, and pan wagons,
I was somewhat confused,
with such animosity
White on white racism,

so when did the Black race came to that place.

Come to me senses, a poor Irish lad told a lass
A poor lady response by saying
aye better be on yah way!
You silly ******,
The red brick hair, the Irish twang:
Looking restless, moving around in that city,
Where the noise, and the eyes of the people
Seem, a part of labor and a part of pain
A part of sadness and a part of happiness

After seeing this small glimpse of their future
The labor, the pain, the sadness and the happiness
Was so timid,  waiting to be belong
One ****** even said, the sea give,(seafood)
And the sea takes, (shipped sinks)

Was I dreaming, why was really there?
As a poet in order to move on in the future,
we must know our past stories,
there will be times of unwanted pain,
the odd games…………

Where we are force to live in a roulette society:
I felt worn out like a cylinder..
In the year 1841 – 1843 in a comatose state

Child watches yours manners,

speak only when you are spoken too
Never be sassy; never look into the eyes of evil:
Else the whip will be on your cocoa backs
Its 2020 the whips snaps louder than ever,

Have any of you ever read the
“The Merchant of Venice

A poet ought not to pick nature's pocket.
Let him borrow, and so borrow as
to repay by the very act of borrowing.

Big banks are more dangerous than standing armies,
and the practice of borrowing and spending money
to be paid back by the next generation is stealing from their future
The U.S. debt to China was $1.07 trillion in April 2020

Someone forget to paid the Pied Pipers,
Was it the poor man, or was it the rich man?
They troubles became our trouble,
Now we all are suffering in the land.

They debt or the worldly infectious disease  
Now we all are suffering in the land.
Child watches your manners, speak when only spoken too

A poet can silence, a poet can be vanish from the world
And Robert Frost said anybody can start a poem,
but it takes a real poet to end one.
And that’s such a beautiful ending, gawking at clouds. Quote

Let us poets tell the real stories,
No let us convey the truth about the merchants!

The last time I think of death and breath
In the same sentence: was on an Easter Sunday
And on that day when I saw videos clip over and over of a
Public assassination, a lynching in the year 2020

As humans beings we all need oxygen to live,
Never take it for granted, we need to breath
Same as for the fishes in the ocean they
Need, oxygen too, to survive,

My poems need a wider audience to get
The essence across, demographically
More than a public assassination
My faithful followers is the essence of my poetry/

If I say that they can heal the world in seven days
In the mind of my reader, they will
Probably asked, who does she think she is (God?)

You see the divine is the vaccine, the healer,
I need more time to write, the poems /
That will heal this world, my poems bring
Emotional connection to one’s inner thoughts:

Seeing someone taking them last breath is peaceful
They chest goes up and then down,
slowly with a goodbye
My father was singing, one of Fat Domino
Favorite song, then he slowly closed his eyes:

According to reliable source my x husband,
also struggle to breathe before he took his last  breathe

My gold fish just float to the top of the tank.
The last time I think of death and breath
In the same sentence: was on an Easter Sunday
And twenty minutes ago, before I compose this piece

He gathers up his belongings and board the train
A little hunger contribute to his weary load/
which can be promising or can be fatal
No matters what the day might bring
He just has to move on because he is
worthy of human  interaction.


even though the world has marched along,
His unsteady gait, his hours of stinks,
Passerby, will complain,
even  through the eyes, of empathy
he stink or life stinks?

He knows the looks upon the faces of deep
He will continued to smile, with grace
See  him, smell him,  he is still alive

Your loves ones are dead, per say.
Your, nurses, your doctors, your actors,
your funeral directors,
and there he stood that happy ******,
stilling repasting and idling/

On the city train/ your flat forms/ alleys and doorways
Dreaming, how it was, when he was activated/  
And was once cherish by a special  love

Now the earth is formless and empty,
darkness is over the surface of the deep,
and the Spirit of God is hovering over the waters.

Your states are drowning
in stench, of death
Fear not want not,  
while he is homeless,
But content this ******,

the vagrant!

A survivor a moth without the mold,
A fire, without smoke, the hungry man
Without food, a man without a home,
And with all the pity that you feel,

Take heel, death is permanent
Homelessness is not a disease,
Corona Corvid 19 is the infectious virus

Wear, the mask, adhere to the rules
he whispered to me
his homely, homelessness is not our war,
You are their underground enemy >>