"paterson" poems
I'm No born free
I tasted the dust of apartheid
My mother was hiding behind the trees screaming for help
No one was there
No time to sleep
We were cursed for struggle
My father never smiled when my mother would say "the baby is kicking"
Cause he knew,it wasn't the kick of joy
It wasn't a sign of being a soccer star
It was the struggle!
1990 Mandela was out of prison
1993 I was born
1994 the Dom's were free
No more Dom-pass,but not uhuru still
Innocent souls were lost
What was the fighting worth for?
I can forgive but never forget
When De klert called black fools
He said they do nothing but barking
We turned to dogs now
This is for Steve Biko
Chris Hani
Hector Paterson
Raymond mhlaba
Let not my skin define who I am
Let not the earth describe me
I know my future because of my history
I was raised in a town of fallen angels
Where blacks were deceived
Whites felt free
Turn the lights off we all the same colour
Don't turn them on
I want my son to know the history
But to not repeat it.
They say follow your leader
How can you follow corruption?
Zuma this zuma that
Its all illusion
I'll only follow u twitter
I want you to retweet all the ish I'll be posting about you,the Raping,The Nkandla part,The Cheating,The Art and the bunch of wives
Yes I voted,I still don't know why I voted
Helen Zille only speaks xhosa in time of elections
Jacob Zuma gives free taxis only to the voting station
Julius Malema will bring apartheid back it is said on radio stations
Mandela spent most time in hospital
All of a sudden his dead
Was he even in jail before?
Oscar Pistorius ran to ****
His now a criminal.
Mandela note on my hand
But valueless
Our economy is dying
Our world is dying
My Dear South Africa..No Power!
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
Dream of the Melbourne Cup by Banjo Paterson
Bring me a quart of colonial beer
And some doughy damper to make good cheer,
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 4:00 AM UTC
pride
falling from a
suspension
bridge
easy
death leap
sparks
a final
thrill ride
splashing
down with
conclusive
thudness
an epic
detritus
skimming
along the
heave of long
regretfull
rivers
buoyantly
bobbing
atop eddies
of hubris
cresting
aimlessly into
nothingness
one way ticket
expiration dates
are strictly
enforced on
leapers
but the final
gulps of
briney pride
swallowed
by loved ones
chokes them
in welling
floods of
unresolved
incomprehension
forcing the
bereaved
to forever swim
in a churning
flotsam during
unexpired
lifetimes
Cab Calloway: Jumpin Jive
Paterson
10/24/13
jbm
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
The Great Falls,
was a massive
clone of ice;
yet still
her waters
poured forth
in roaring waves
over the ebb
of the river.
Sliding into
a frozen crevasse,
down an icy bar,
I land wet,
chilled and numb
from the duration
of the decent
and the soul
piercing cold.
On the landing,
the carcasses
of industrial waste
were encased
in a frozen loam.
The giant
mill wheel
locked in place,
entombed
in a glacier
of ice.
It made
good sense
to found
this city
on an
industrious
bluff.
The Great Falls
spun the wheels
that powered
vast manufactures.
Shoots
and trams
shot flumes
of water
down
every
street.
Everyman
was a master
of his
cottage industry,
forging bullets
constructing
locomotives,
spinning
the finest silk
from the
most exotic
foreign worms.
But the machines
shut down.
The handiwork
of learned men,
entrepreneurs,
urban planners,
engineers
and artisans
now encased
in frozen rust.
Barely a tool
could be used
to produce
a product
or plumb
a line.
A simple
hand tool
could not
be lifted
without
betraying
its purpose.
A society
of useful
manufactures
frozen shut;
dissolving
into bankrupt
liquidation;
so I left
my home
on Chianci Street
and caught the first
Paterson Plank coach
to the Hoboken Ferry.
I would be in
Manhattoes
by nightfall.
The morning travels
consumed thoughts
of future prospects.
The
silk mill
forever
closed.
The industry
of my home
city,
dead.
This weaver
of fine silk
had lost
his loom.
For William Carlos Williams
From: Vesuvia, 1997
Music Selection:
Yo-Yo Ma & Silk Road Ensemble,
Arabian Waltz
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 10:10 PM UTC
if I fail my road test again, there will be
flames in the road and sobs in the ear of
the self that demands a piece of plastic,
demands legitimacy from social rule, demands
a head lain to pillow smiling with success.
if I fail my road test again, there will be
a clamour of bike chains and huffs met with
a very un-Zen slapshot clamp cramp stamp me
atom bomb salad. but if I pass, there will
be satisfaction, there will be gladness. there
will be love. and in reality, if failure besets
my tire marks, I will try, and try, and try again.
the old Chinese proverb states... fall down 7 times,
get up 8.
good luck, Kyran Paterson-King. you've got this, you
snarky-ass ************
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
I just finished watching the movie LEAN ON ME (1989).
I graduated from Andover often considered the best high school in America. But the school I just watched in the movie is better than Andover. The school is Eastside High School in Paterson, NJ.
Morgan Freeman, who I consider the best actor ever, stars in the movie. If you have never seen the movie, see it now. If you have already seen it, see it again.
The story of the movie is a microcosm of the state of Earth. The new principal of Eastside, Joe Clark, played by Freeman, saves the high school and the lives of all associated with it--students, parents, teachers--through his love and the love he regenerates in all of them.
As I have said before, only love can save Earth, the love of all 8,000,000,000 of us.
Lean on all others.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jan 31, 2023
Jan 31, 2023 at 2:09 AM UTC
I just finished watching the movie LEAN ON ME (1989).
I graduated from Andover often considered the best high school in America. But the school I just watched in the movie is better than Andover. The school is Eastside High School in Paterson, NJ.
Morgan Freeman, who I consider the best actor ever, stars in the movie. If you have never seen the movie, see it now. If you have already seen it, see it again.
The story of the movie is a microcosm of the state of Earth. The new principal of Eastside, Joe Clark, played by Freeman, saves the high school and the lives of all associated with it--students, parents, teachers--through his love and the love he regenerates in all of them.
As I have said before, only love can save Earth, the love of all 8,000,000,000 of us.
Lean on all others.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Feb 3, 2023
Feb 3, 2023 at 8:48 PM UTC
A bird at port authority
has no wings
he just sits there
whimpering
because he has no wings
He can not fly
so he hops
for his food
and he dances a soft shoe
for his tips
A disabled american
picks him up
I will be your wings
says the vet
but, we can not fly
He hides the bird
in his coat
as he pays the fare
to go through the tunnel
into jersey
In ridgewood, rutherford,
passaic, and paterson
and other train/bus stations
the bird dances for vets of one nation
but, only one vet gets drunk on that
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
You gaze down at your daughter, Camille, and lay your hand upon her body. She is asleep, resting after a long day, exhausted after the day with Boris at the Zoo, then the café in the park. You wish her father had been that affectionate, had taken the time to be with her, been interested enough to want to be with her and you, but he wasn’t, just other women, other things to occupy his life and mind. You stroke her rib cage; how thin she seems; not a bit like her father, not one ounce of him in her that seems apparent. You gaze at her hair, at the features that you can see, she takes after you, it’s in her face and eyes. Even her temperament is yours, you feel, and are glad, rather than her father’s moroseness, and cruelty. If you had taken you mother’s advice you would never have married Paterson, never have let his hands or lips near you, let alone marry the **** He’ll be no good, for you, Mavis, she had warned on your wedding eve. You never listened; never took note; you knew best you thought. Marry in haste, relent in leisure, you father had said, in that voice that made you want to hit him, but you never did, although he had hit you many a time as a child, even for the most trivial of things. Dead now, preaching to some other crowd now, wherever he is. You smile at Camille’s sleeping face. Picture of innocence. Like you as a child, you guess. But there had been no Boris in your mother’s life; just your father and his preaching and teaching and moaning and sitting at the table with his long hangdog features and the cane by his hand ready for punishments. You remember creeping into your parents one night as a child and hearing the most awful noises in the dark; like your mother were being strangled or beat up upon, you raced from the room, hid under your blankets in case you father should come and get you. Camille came into you room last month as you and Boris were making love, her voice knifed you, so that you and Boris fell apart like some circus act gone wrong. She had wanted a glass of water, her small voice echoing through the dark, Boris and you panting, going all frigid as if death had claimed. Boris lay smiling in the dark, as you went, took Camille by her hand, fetched her water, lay her back to bed and to sleep. Now she sleeps again. Picture of innocence. Angel of your life. Your precious. Your daughter.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 3:11 AM UTC
It was early 21st century and in the Saddle River County Park in Saddle Brook, the good one, not the one on the other side. But, the one where Officer Reycuk lets the postal employees from the Paterson Distribution Center bone-up for lunch. There, was a duck and he would waddle up to the park-goers (people) and he would harass and berate them. I was sitting on the bench near the parking lot, (the one that faces the restrooms) and I had my feet turned in and pressed together. I must have spent an hour or more observing this duck as he made sure that everyone in the entire park got a piece of his lip. Anyway, as he was tiring-out he must have mistaken my feet for a nest and he waddled his way on top of them. Making himself comfortable and tucking his head under his wing to take a nap. I felt so for this little lad that I made sure not to move my feet to disturb him. As passerbys made comments and chuckled. I imagined just what of this duck could be dreaming. A simpler time perhaps. When he had no stress. No worries. No responsibilities. No need to yell at the humans who come into his place of abode and destroy it. With their littering and smoking and loud rudeness. Or maybe he was dreaming about some swan he's had his eye on, or flying, or going for a swim. Then, without warning, I pulled my feet abruptly apart and chided him vociferously "YOU DUMB DUCK! PEOPLE are dreamers NOT DUCKS! He just shook his head, then waddled away mumbling to himself incoherently.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Oh look, it's what's his name
He was in that thing with...
Corrie?
No, well he might have been
Oh, you mean on BBC one a few years ago
Yes
He played a copper along with Denis, oh, I forget
Waterman?
No, he was in the Sweeney
That was the Seventies
He's old enough
The Bill?
No, that was ITV
Well, you've lost me
Google it
Google what?
His name?
Well you don't know his name!
Oh I give up
Hopper?
On BBC one?
He might have been in a film
Hmm, maybe
Right...it must have been Dennis Waterman
I'm telling you, it's not Dennis Waterman
Well, I give up, and so does Google
(2 minute silence watching the programme)
I've got it! Bill Paterson
He looks nothing like Dennis Waterman!
Same age...ish
Your mad
(A shrug of the shoulders)
Right, I'm going out
Yeah...see'ya
Thinks to herself...Bill Paterson...I think he was in a film actually
Oh, that's him in...
JJB
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 2:34 PM UTC
The fall draws me
.....as the view drew me
..........along many landscapes
...............and what I experienced
....................and learned along the way
.........................opened up many avenues
to new plans
.....new places, and
..........new people
...............new opportunities with
....................new insights
.........................and new acceptance
I remember everything
.....even more intense than it was
..........brighter than in the full sun
...............purer is my love
....................purer are my choices
.........................purer my desires
in the final fall
..........with less pleasure
....................and less expectation
and what I did not achieve
.....did not get and
..........could not prevent
...............dissolves in the sea
....................of eternity
.........................fall after fall
Feb 28, 2023
Feb 28, 2023 at 2:54 AM UTC
by that time it was the second worst time of my life
by now it was the third
unless you’re a mathematician
infinity
is a dream
but this set-up is not-all
keep your trans-finites, we'll keep our dreams
if Nietzsche teaches us anything it’s that we had to invent laughter
if only to live with our tears
but he teaches us many other things, useless and wonderful things
like dancing
and Seneca asked why cry over parts of life
while the whole of it calls for tears
and well
perhaps because its parts come too few
or too many at a time
all we lack are general and special theories of error
decisions
against decisions
it’s true you have to repeat the same to reach something new
but it only happens through that final repetition
that infinite fold
where you’re told
you’re untold
again
rest
yet
your wisdom will get old before you do
your unrest will outlive you and i know it’s no comfort but resistance is never futile
just look at the ant slaves stolen at birth with no future who revolt against the empire of their oppressors to spare their former homes where their same blood struggles on again nameless
and drop the drugs if they impede your work and stop you from being the animal at your limit
if they cut off your body from what it can do
there’s even less than no future for you
‘my dear sea up in arms at the wrong shore’
i was a beached whale
but yes Don Paterson can **** the time like no other before it kills me
and as for the tests to come, sum(s) will have cheated you all out of two or three centuries at best
unless
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
In order to get sharks
Close to us
We need to
We need to attract them
By using
What they want
I was in my
Bed
Craving a smoke
So I went downstairs
Looking around
Peering
Searching
Something to ease my mind
Please
I went
To the garage
Its horrific
How pollution
Like an empty package
Can make its way
Into our ocean
A box of something that needed to be
Wrapped up tight
Something
That someone cared about
And shipped to a friend
Or lover
The box
Wrapped in plastic
To keep it safe from eroding for the next
100 years or so
Went from Paterson
To a shipping center in Cranbury for
Amazon
To Deal
To the pipes that spill into the water
Underneath that bridge that girl was killed
At
In Belmar
To the ocean depths
Farther out
Past the ****** party boats
Overcrowded with drunkards
Who have no business fishing
Out past the private charters
With their fish finders
And dynamite
And out past the big waves
That rock the shipping containers
That held the package once
Past the girl
At the bottom of this
Particular piece of ocean
The box unraveled
Like the meaning of what was inside
And the plastic wrap came off
It floated up
Gravity is backwards underwater
And wrapped itself around a
Yellow Shark
Right between the fins
And the gills
The predator got used to it
And the plastic stayed
It's skin deformed
Morphing around our intrusion
The shark was alive
And it knew more about the world
Then you and I ever could
There was nothing to smoke in the garage
Not in the golf bags
I checked every pocket
Or my old safe I used to bring to
Summer Camp
Nothing in the washing machine the last
Tenant owned
Not under the towels
Or inside the summer Umbrellas
So I searched inside
There was nothing
In the nightstand
Or the drawers
Nothing in the desk
Or the jar
Nothing under the hats
Or in the shoebox
Nothing in my old books
But
A piggy bank
I emptied it out
And counted the change inside
There was $1.75
As I reached in
To get the noisy coins
That didn't fall
I pulled out an omen
It was a quarter
With the texture of a shark
And a color
Black as the ocean
At night
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 9:41 PM UTC
My childhood memory
comes and goes, just
like my childhood
until it simply
went; The order
of things, I don't
remember learning
the days of the week
and especially not
how nice it would
have been to know
what makes a day
out of a sun or a
moon or even
Saturn; days of
weeks of months
of years, torn up
like me never to be
retrieved like me
my childhood
memory
deceives me,
evades me,
hides from me
with only the sound
of it pushing through
yelling mouth as wide
as a mixing bowl
"MY NAME IS JANE
MY NAME IS JANE"
I said it over and over
again until it got to
dark to even play
the game where I
could be not me
for a change
I sat in a giant fire pit
encased in stone and brick
pretended it was a house
like Lucy's after she moved
to the country, not us
standing at the top of the
yard yelling cuss words
**** YOU at cars
I suppose there were lots
of screams like when the
goldfish hit the floor and
died before we could save
even one or when mom
ran into the door again
memory does not pretend
at least it doesn't do that
we had no god, no food,
no father and no car
I do remember when our
new babysitter left us in
Paterson Park and no one
got us until it was well
after dark
Somehow none of us
screamed, why bother?
**** you tee hee hee
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 5:37 PM UTC