#simone
I am a lighthouse
My light shines you ashore
Away from the boulders
When you can’t see Anymore
I am a lighthouse
I guide you through the storm
But when I am used
I am not wanted anymore
I am your lighthouse
But still I am alone
My purpose is solely
To guide you back home
Dec 25, 2020
Dec 25, 2020 at 10:52 AM UTC
down the Valley
where the river flows
flocks of graves
swarmed with crows
ashes to ashes
turn dust to dust
where their metals lei
and turned to rust
stenches of blood
screams and decay
where wasted sheds
are left astray
down the Valley
where the river flows
are plumps of graves
where flowers grow
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:17 AM UTC
Like an aberration
A colossal of ways
Is when the moonlight
Meets the sun raise
Time-lined asphalt
Orb shadowing the dawn
Avoiding flickering wounds
By moving on
Like a neighbor
A wall mould to clay
That is the burden
Between night and day
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
The ugly poetess
Over the housetops,
Above the dry blades of the sugar cane husks
I have known fear, I have known hunger
I felt the pain of a nail wound deep in my foot
I belted out the blues like Nina Simone
An era of reform: the moments of truth,
On top of the hill, lies a village in Barbados
Acid rain, rooftop leaks on to my bed
It was a rough year:
only food sources were rice and breadfruits
We lived through it all:
It was my destiny:
To love and to hate them:
those old fruit loops
Through the eyes of a uprising poet
The curving of his pen,
Somehow, he made amends, he purge
the smoky air,
the disgusting sight of the pig pens
out of his mind
lack of personal dental hygiene,
the elders lost their teeth
Grinding down on sugarcane, while they
awaits the big meal of the day
Supper!
With innocent eyes and achy feet
I read so many books for inner peace
My stomach was empty,
but my mind was at ease
To dream big while aiming high
Marlene, Delores, and Linda
Known as the vanishing three
Migrated to North America
Where a Barefooted child
like me wasn’t supposed to be
Eventually, I know I would have followed
I have woven my feathers,
while looking upwards,
In my little corner under the old rusty galvanizes
.
At the old country shop the vanishing three mothers
told me that I wasn’t pretty enough to leave the island
Words of hatred, mere words of discomfort
I felt my wings tighten against my rib cage,
My tongue, glued against my jaws
From that day forward the poet smile against stupidity
And spitefulness, she too had come to
Eat her words, the old shopkeeper
The poetess enter another line from that era
Uncaring beauty without brains
Where are they now?
I walked with confident down that street
The misty air moist my skin
The poetess return to the Island of Barbados
Without the sugar in her blood..
.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC