1. The Canecutter
The poetry of life is incomplete,
Should I in glorious colors only spy
Earth’s finest joys but fail to deeply sigh
At fields where bonded hands supply my meat.
With tears and sweat, whose blood I use to sweet
My bitter brew, and thus my bliss supply;
They, lamps of oil that burn their vessels dry,
So that my life, in luxury discreet,
May, from their fading light, a comfort gain.
While rain and shine still beat their scarecrow frames;
They lift their heads, and out of deep despair
Demand of God, “Do masters thus ordain
That we, in tears, must build their golden names,
While we, made of dust, must the same dust share?
2. The Wretched of the Earth
Like crabs from a barrel seeking escape,
Tangling and pulling each other below,
Are they whose eyes turn green on getting to know
A kin succeeds, a better life to shape.
How like a lazy swine in miry drape,
Or a viper slithering to and fro,
Few fiends on earth can claim more vice, I know,
Some social carnivores who mock and rape
The very codes and covenants enshrined
Even by God. I have less faith in them
And more in beasts of field or sea conceived,
For all of these act native to their kind.
Can I love and serve them, and not condemn?
Yes. Christ, Marx and millions more so believed.
3. Sheena
Rise! Martyred princess of this painful land,
Come, rest with Me within My heavens above;
From your deep hurt, come take My proffered hand,
And leave behind those souls so lacking love.
You stood beside the road to make a call,
When lawless bandits snatched your phone away;
In brave protest, you stood to block them all,
But savage wheels refused to halt or stay.
They drove right over you with cruel haste,
And dragged your body down a city block;
Mangled, a precious life thus laid to waste,
While justice fails, cold bystanders mock.
The bold killers vanished in broad daylight;
Should such lost souls be pitied in My sight?
4. Covid 19 in New York City
Souls huddle close in homes, struck down with fear,
As sirens wail and blood-tied terror beats.
The death-knells ring, nocturnal, sharp, and clear,
To knife the silence of the New York streets.
Grim Death insatiably calls for more,
Invading homes with mercy left for none.
The plague now knocks upon each mortal door;
The city gasps beneath a dying sun.
With last rites, even tender touch denied,
While man stands all alone and cries to God,
Is ignored like his loved ones cast aside
In parking lots, unburied in sacred sod.
Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?
Is this the grim response to New York’s plea?
5. A New War
War, no more for peace or honor is fought,
That ancient arbiter of human pride;
No more for glitter is a conflict sought,
To seize gold or grounds on which some reside;
The glamour of the chessboard code is gone,
Gone all armistice, conduct, rules, and laws;
No more face-to-face combat at clear dawn,
To fight for faith or country without flaws.
Instead, atomic power reigns supreme;
No more we die for love of state or peace,
We die enslaved to one man’s hateful scheme,
His false, flattering words our worths decrease.
For, as automatons we fail to think,
That tyrants drag the world down as they sink.
6. Cat And Mouse
A brash little rodent once lived in a house
In which there was a cute playful kitten.
He proudly believed he was a smart mouse,
Teasing the cat without getting bitten.
So, every single day he pranced around the cat.
And bullied him into fighting a bout
Puffed up, he boasted to everyone that
He was the master when the owner was out
But more the mouse mocked, less the kitten cared;
The rodent, then angry, incited a fight,
But the wise feline never became scared,
And chose to live with all in peace and quiet.
But as time went by, the mouse grew fat,
The kitten, too, into a hungry cat.
7. Prayers with Action do Move Mountains
A weary hiker walked a winding trail,
Until a giant boulder slowed his pace.
He sat in deep despair, his spirits frail,
With bitter tears of grief upon his face.
He wept and watched the giant boulder grow,
He begged the Lord to move the mount aside;
Yet there it stood, refusing still to go.
He sat there crushed, his spirit stripped of pride;
“Am I a worm,” he moaned, “is this my fate?”
But answer came in a lame man alone,
Who also prayed but did not sit and wait,
But boldly scrambled up right past the stone.
Though heavy burdens block our path today,
A faithful heart will always find a way.
8. The Boat at Sea
On a bright morning by the sandy shore,
I found a lone canoe upon the bay;
I took the craft and picked up a strong oar,
And through the glassy waters rowed away.
But suddenly the rolling waves grew brave,
They rocked the boat and spilled across the side;
In fear of death, I turned around to save
My fragile vessel from the crashing tide.
Once safe ashore, the truth became so clear:
Our Life’s Vessels will face strong storms indeed,
Not just the gentle breeze when land is near;
Thus, hope and strong faith in our God we need;
For, it’s nice to have a boat in the sea;
But in life, the sea, in the boat might be.
9. The Cycle of Life
Prologue to the poem
(The flaming hues of dying leaves in Fall
Surely surpass any Summer’s petal;
Like the blazing of a star’s final blast,
It enlightens our lives with its own last.)
This morning, I beheld a leaf take flight,
Ripened and golden with the autumn’s chill,
Broke off the branch and floated with delight,
Until the earth embraced it, calm and still.
From whence it came, and to dust must return;
For sure as seasons come and seasons go,
A cycle of life, our lesson to learn,
So, must life, and death in dialectics flow,
Like symbiotic sides of the same coin,
To yield their place and give way to make room,
Each follows each by nature’s own design.
For new petals, next spring, to brightly bloom.
Death is not death, but a beautiful thing
For those who colors to our lives did bring.
10. The Capitalist Philosophy
They say the poor on earth must always be
Kept as an unemployed reserve army
From which man’s labor must be drawn cheaply,
Because labor is a commodity,
In this capitalist economy,
A productive force most necessary
To manufacture things of luxury
To feed and furnish all folks of fancy.
So why then this shameless hypocrisy
With lavish spending ostentatiously,
Massive sums to educate and train me?
And still, I cannot feed my family?
I think I now see your philosophy –
To preserve my perpetual poverty.
11. Is This What Guyana is Today?
A child of state was born in years of old,
Of parents vile, though Eden wrapped its birth;
On parchment pure, an angel to behold,
A radiant morning upon the earth.
This child, whose naive mother was deceived
By powers imperial and the CIA,
Was weaned on milk and bitter bread received
Through deeds adulterous and love’s decay.
Today this child of sin, whose form was blessed
With outward beauty and seductive grace
(Which have her foreign visitors impressed),
Dashes the hope of all her lineal race.
The angel is transformed, her glory dies;
A woman steeped in sin, whom all despise.
12. For One Who Lost a Loved One On September Eleventh
How has my world suddenly come to end!
Gone, my verdant valley and golden rays
Life’s sweet melodies, now death wails descend;
And dismal hues transform my fleeting days,
Afflict my heart, devour me from within,
Like deep aches of a lover’s first jilt.
Past joys that thrilled now mock me like a sin;
The knots inside my soul begin to wilt.
Desires are gone, and delicacies fade,
My body moves as if with aged pain,
Though goals and crowns around are rich-arrayed,
I slowly strive, with nothing left to gain.
A state of dark, tormented, dull dismay,
Has ruled my life since that September day.
