"grenada" poems
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Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 11:08 AM UTC
<>
for the early morning teach
<>
she's young, beautiful and thinks her life is cursed,
in the past, subject of some of my poems, her health to nurse,
yet, as is normative, you fall into & out of a well of touch,
until you accidentally once again path cross,
she provides a precision mathematical status update
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
it is 1:38AM for you,
the not unnoticed ironic minute and hour
when the night ether has prematurely worn off,
rising time close but not nearly close enough,
a dark dose of a sleeping nurse's aide seems inappropriate,
and TV reruns seem like an insult to your brain
instead you turn on some belle string musique,
a Grande Messe des Morts,
a chorus,
singing a high mass for the dead,
while opening all your various email luggage and baggage,
smiling as you read a poetess's message of
laughter behind tears
"i'm fairly certain things are like at least 38% worse."
and Mississippi ******
your uncontrollable mixed drink of her emotional
Grenada grenade cocktail,
flavored with musique, paintings, and words and a nearby beloved's
gentling sleep sounds,
has you writing your own protest poem,
your very own,
oy vey, grande messe,
about lives that were supposed to be
pictures of perfect artistry
and for but a word or two,
instead, a painting of a life that got hung upside down,
and indeed,
leaving a grand mess and no one to help clean up
alternatively weeping, laughing as you are thinking,
smiling recall
Laurel and Hardy's summary definition
of living a life's of ill begotten, misventured adventures:
"Well, here's another nice mess you've gotten me into !"
but 38% worse?
not an even-steven rounded up 40%,
should I write you only 38% of a poem, teach?
or more accurately, more mathematically,
138% of what was writ before?
and you recall your older, prior words
about the love hate affair between
you poet,
and the beauty of written brevity
(her style)
and you give her this then,
this rambling, scrambled, attention paid notification,
word attentiveness, a summary of your readings
of her cheddar sharp and honey mustard sweet retorts of
pained poetry,
it is insufficiently but perfectly sufficient,
a summarizing phrase that opens
and yet
briefly encapsulates all that
you are feeling for her
"thinking of you"
or the 38% larger version thereof -
***"Well, here's another 38% more
nice poetic mess
you've gotten me into!"***
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
Korea
Vietnam
Grenada
Iraq
So many lost lives
We can never take back;
So many ******** wars
We all have lost track.
Panama
Serbia
Syria
Iraq
What were we really doing there?
When did they attack us? Where?
When did they threaten my liberty
To buy an extra big SUV?
When did they land here with artillery
To threaten the freedom of you and of me?
When did these countries declare war
That caused us to gear up once more?
Korea
Vietnam
Grenada
Iraq
So many lost lives
We can never take back;
So many ******** wars
We all have lost track.
Panama
Serbia
Syria
Iraq
Invade them all, degrade them all
Because it doesn’t really matter to us.
Steal their lands, pound them into the sand
When done, throw them all under the bus.
Look what we have done to our natives.
You see how experienced we are at this.
We spare no expenses when it is war.
Oh, and what a lucrative thing it is.
Korea
Vietnam
Grenada
Iraq
So many lost lives
We can never take back;
So many ******** wars
We all have lost track.
Panama
Serbia
Syria
Iraq
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
Diamante falso y fingido,
Engastado en pedernal, &c.;
"False diamond set in flint! the caverns of the mine
Are warmer than the breast that holds that faithless heart of thine;
Thou art fickle as the sea, thou art wandering as the wind,
And the restless ever-mounting flame is not more hard to bind.
If the tears I shed were tongues, yet all too few would be
To tell of all the treachery that thou hast shown to me.
Oh! I could chide thee sharply--but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.
"Thou hast called me oft the flower of all Grenada's maids,
Thou hast said that by the side of me the first and fairest fades;
And they thought thy heart was mine, and it seemed to every one
That what thou didst to win my love, from love of me was done.
Alas! if they but knew thee, as mine it is to know,
They well might see another mark to which thine arrows go;
But thou giv'st me little heed--for I speak to one who knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes.
"It wearies me, mine enemy, that I must weep and bear
What fills thy heart with triumph, and fills my own with care.
Thou art leagued with those that hate me, and ah! thou know'st I feel
That cruel words as surely **** as sharpest blades of steel.
'Twas the doubt that thou wert false that wrung my heart with pain;
But, now I know thy perfidy, I shall be well again.
I would proclaim thee as thou art--but every maiden knows
That she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."
Thus Fatima complained to the valiant Raduan,
Where underneath the myrtles Alhambra's fountains ran:
The Moor was inly moved, and blameless as he was,
He took her white hand in his own, and pleaded thus his cause.
"Oh, lady, dry those star-like eyes--their dimness does me wrong;
If my heart be made of flint, at least 'twill keep thy image long;
Thou hast uttered cruel words--but I grieve the less for those,
Since she who chides her lover, forgives him ere he goes."
1.6k
two hundred years ago
or so
this title might have read
"America", etc.,
according to the myth
that then was strong
and still exotic
and promising to aliens
with no experience
today, after Wounded Knee, the Trail of Tears,
the Civil War, the Restoration, all the lynchings,
after Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, Nicaragua,
the Gulf, Iraq, Afghanistan,Lybia, Syria & cetera,
Ferguson, Baltimore, & cetera,
"America" has disappeared
it has, in fact, become quite evident
that to subsume the continent
on the far side
of the Atlantic or Pacific
with this name
will do no more
in truth, it rarely ever did
the mythic notion
of a just and free society
was definitely buried at My Lai,
Panama City, on the desert plains
of Kurdistan, the Baghdad prisons,
and Guantanamo
by racist violence & arrogance
and pitiful ideas of white supremacy
the usa today lies bare
of the old promise of 'America'
street people, rampant fundamentalists,
drugs, and low employment rates,
in a society that longs
despite its cherished myth
of tough but honest competition
for holy war in order to rebuild with profit
what it has destroyed with arms
that, to all evidence, cares not
a penny's worth for
the unbuildable
which never shows in the domestic census
or for the lives of others but their own brave boys
preferably white
who have in recent years
though with increasing discomfort
upon appointment by their country's presidents
achieved the dreary fame
of bombing back into the stone age
distant lands that had
just barely begun
to make it out from there
* * *
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
Prisoner without a cage
Soul forever trapped
Confined to a lifeless shell
Devoid of emotion
Slowly I waste away
Endless nights dreaming of escape
For this is not the life I chose
I don't believe in that higher power
For who would trap me here
Like a caged bird
Doing tricks for crackers
I'd rather be exploring Astral Plains
And wander lusting for knowledge
Than stay here another moment
Around people sippin the Devils potion
For this brew is awfully potent
One sip fills you with wrath and rage
As you begin to rattle my cage
All their minds filled with green
As they do anything to fulfill their greed
And begin to gorge themselves
Like glutinous giants grilling in Grenada
Never getting their fill
Lusting after thick thighs
And supple ******* doing
Anything for that 2 piece meal
Envious eyes eying everything in sight
Boasting that selfish pride, as your
Inner voice says that can't be me
He's talking about
You yes YOU
As you sit smug with your
Body shaped like a circle
Due to years of sloth like behavior
Don't worry about me I know
I'm different, I don't belong here
I know that
We are nothing more
Than temporary beings
Gone in an instant
Seeking the meaning of
Our existence
What is my purpose?
I guess I'll never
Know why I'm on this craft.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 10:24 PM UTC
They said it was a category five
Thank god its roar
Turn into a category four
Laying waste to many a life
Wiping away the property
The Caribbean’s sign of liberty
From the mishap of Grenada in 1983
10 dead
They can still look ahead
But the thoughts keep going to Florida
But didn’t think Trump kept you in his thoughts did ya
Took you a while to get the evacuation through
As the political tensions grew
And Trump declared it as not good not good
The closest you can come to trifling is by saying that Irma isn’t the result of a good mood
But enough chitter chatter because there is an SOS on the rise
In such a situation climate deniers consider climate change to be the reason as their surmise
Rush Limbaugh cannot see the truth
Because his face is buried deep in the smoke that will pollute
Hurricane Irma I pray the woman in your name understands and leaves the children alone
Because there are no sins to atone for if they are orphaned and dead alone
They’ll be on the prowl for food and money and liquor and ending up appraising the days that are sunny
But funnily anyway they are because you business ******* have increased your influx of money from the disaster stricken many
Water, air trips you’ve been taking business studies from **** Cheney
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 2:23 PM UTC
To the tune of Camp Grenada, in the key of Sarcasm.
Hello darling!
Youre amazing!
You'll make Vegans
Give up grazing!
It's like I asked for
Another volley,
Not like I'm hoping you get hit by the trolley!
Innundated,
With your ego,
Who am I to
say oh God please no?!
For when they sees it,
They all wants it;
Thanks again for your **** pic and how you flaunt it!
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
I used to see in white puffy clouds
Mickey mouse
sometimes imagined
the view of a dog or
a reflection of
the map of Grenada
I was so stupid
but something happens when it turns darker
up there in the sky
it now becomes ******
which seems more often
and so
I see Thor and Poseidon
tag teaming Athena
climaxing in
lightning and a loud roar
and the sweat from their adventures and writhing pours
all down the side of my face
my shirt gets wet
and goosebumps shiver
all over
my breast
I seem to have lost
all innocence
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 7:16 PM UTC
Whispers of Youth
Dusty boxes, like forgotten books, Hold chapters of quantum leaps— My first steps, tiny and determined, Leading to a world of wonders.
Goat’s milk, flavored with Grenada nutmeg, A remedy for cow’s blandness, And lactose intolerance—the secret code Of those simpler days.
Cod liver oil, Sunday mornings’ ritual, Bitter drops to ward off unseen foes, Mumps, measles, whooping cough— Childhood’s battles etched in time.
Curiosity fueled my quest: Pebbles, night crickets, butterflies— Each a treasure, carefully collected, One line at a time.
And that snarky bird, Caged, then set free— Freedom’s squeak of happiness, A lesson etched in feathers.
The kitchen window, a gateway, Its slight squeak echoing freedom. The bird, banana thief turned guardian, A debt repaid in whispers.
Childhood memories preserved, Not just atop that distant hill, But in the flutter of wings, And the quiet moments we cherish.
🌼
Jul 8, 2024
Jul 8, 2024 at 8:21 AM UTC