Feel Free to Roam

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

The Bop: Spoken Word/ African American literature.

You might not get this but if you did, you must be Status-less


I am enclosed by walls of liberty and
democracy, these grave stones that
seek to release me from the
clutches of colonial slumber, clasp a
fierce burden upon my chest and
render me trapped in a crucial hold of status-less

If mi nah been come, mi nah been know
Dis land nah mek yah, fuh Black Man.

I dive into the deep crevices of my
courageous heart, where lay hidden are the
bones of my culture and the blood of my history.
The names of mothers whose bosoms comforted me and
whose aprons I hung from in still mornings .
Aromas of sweet-broom and peppermint hold safety.


If mi nah been come, me nah been know
Dis land nah mek yah, fuh Black Man.

I now penetrate the salty air of whiteness with
a big bold black fist, they said without this I
am just another corpse, lost in the abyss.
They, the men and women of heavy-pigmented pride fail
to comprehend the space of Afro-Caribbean-American-Immigrant.
Welcome to America enjoy your stay.

If mi nah been come, me nah been know
Dis land nah mek yah, fuh Black Man.

The last stanza is heavy...in terms of a need for more clarity (that's wht my Prof said)...so i'm working on correcting it for my final presentation...

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Humanities: Spoken Word/ Afri American; The Triolet

Cries From the Tombs of Haiti

I looked to our rising hills and
saw great soldiers marching in
heaving dead on their crystal bones and
i looked to our rising hills and
feared lord had forsaken the living and
as time faintly died in the morning
I looked to our rising hills and
saw great soldiers marching in.


No more Whiplash For Haiti

rain, wind, wash, splash
mother nature with another whiplash
folding and molding, loud crash!
Rain, wind, wash, splash
lonely infant vacant calabash
homes swallowed in a mishap
rain, wind, wash, splash
mother nature with another whiplash.



Masquerade

Humans in gesticulation
incarnate colonial slumber.
Through robotic fixation
humans in gesticulation
throw doubloons with blind caution,
transcending plantation order
humans in gesticulation
incarnate colonial slumber.



A Libation at the Bayou.

God sent a baptism to unearth
the captured souls of the bayou.
Weeping mortals seeking worth
God sent a baptism to unearth
structures of fallacious mirth.
Shackled blood can now bid adieu
God sent a baptism to unearth
the captured souls of the bayou.



From a Condors Vantage Point

Aging flesh of the dead
collide with fierce cries of the living.
Green giants behead
aging flesh of the dead.
Water and land spread
with threatening doom upon the living
Aging flesh of the dead
collide with fierce cries of the living.



Wailing Santiago

Do you hear the Copihue?
Do you hear the Copihue?
Her crimson flesh decays,
do you hear the Copihue
Her solemn neck hangs lower today
for the children of Chile.
Do you hear the Copihue?
Do you hear the Copihue?


By far my most difficult traditional verse...because of the restriction and also the instructed format that was necessary to follow.
But i can see some growth in my writing and that's a plus! (?)

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Humanities: Spoken Word/ Afri American; The Pantoum

Fuh de Sakiwinki

Dis yah suh, ah aweedese land.
Dis yah suh, come through Muddah and Papa.
Now who ah dis man, sey he want come tek a piece
a de rice, a de shugah, a de oil, a de gold and even de sakiwinki.

Dis yah suh, come through Muddah and Papa.
Dis mud lay heavy with simmering blood, and triumphant bones.
A de rice, a de shugah, a de oil, a de gold and even de sakiwinki
he wan come thief, wha belong to you and me.

Dis mud lay heavy with simmering blood and triumphant bones of
Burnham, Jagan, Chung and Desmond, who would no sooner tek a cutlass to dis man,
He wan come thief wha belong to you and me.
Hugo Chavez dis land would not be claimed your victory.

Burnham, Jagan, Chung and Desmond, who would no sooner tek a cutlass to dis man
extol with grave voices of rebellion
Hugo Chavez! Dis land would not be claimed your victory
banded brothers will sooner rise from the depths of mortality.

Extol with grave voices of rebellion
dis yah suh, ah aweedese land
banded brothers will sooner rise from the depths of mortality to
save de rice, de shugah, de oil, de gold and even de damn sakiwinki!







Write a poem using your native dialect or language, mine being creolese. I'll continue to pick at this piece...i think more can be done.