(Wine, wine; wine, wine; wine till you sprain your spine.)
These brief beats of alla breve we call life
In pelvic fomentation of two isles’
Relentless syncopation, then letdown
To pews and ashen penitence of lent’s
Long abstinence and fasting from the flesh;
Forty days, and lifetimes, to overcome
The Devil's ploys and partake of divine
Wine; a little wine never did no harm.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
AS YOU BRAVELY TRUDGE
As you bravely trudge this jungle
of concrete, steel and galvanize,
as you navigate and explore,
cutting your way across the wild,
be wise and wary of the world;
and may you never fail to feel
the flames of love burn away
the dross, burn away the chaff,
the gross of fear, self-doubt and worry
from fallow fields of heart and soul
to leave the forest of your life
forever virgin, pristine,
forever clean, serene and green,
As you bravely trudge this jungle.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
of concrete, steel and galvanize,
as you navigate and explore,
cutting your way across the wild,
be wise and wary of the world;
and may you never fail to feel
the flames of love burn away
the dross, burn away the chaff,
the gross of fear, self-doubt and worry
from fallow fields of heart and soul
to leave the forest of your life
forever virgin, pristine,
forever clean, serene and green,
As you bravely trudge this jungle.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
Monday, February 21, 2011
GOLD GONE
Gold gone,
So too embalming oil
And all that's left…
The vitriol
Of those who never knew
True hard labour
And attitude of food;
Still the tiller of soil
Toils on.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
So too embalming oil
And all that's left…
The vitriol
Of those who never knew
True hard labour
And attitude of food;
Still the tiller of soil
Toils on.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
Sunday, February 13, 2011
A LEAF FELL
Today, a yellow leaf fell to the ground;
Tomorrow, what was green and young,
Yesterday, will be brown and on the way
To decay, just another leaf
Torn from the book of life, once white and clean
But empty, before the black quill
Of trials, with blue ink, wrote a poem
On a page, one page of one family
Tree, that can never be erased,
Whether glory or disgrace; another
Leaf bud has already sprouted
In its place, nourished by living humus
Of discarded, torn out pages,
Passing on green baton... of the ages.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
Tomorrow, what was green and young,
Yesterday, will be brown and on the way
To decay, just another leaf
Torn from the book of life, once white and clean
But empty, before the black quill
Of trials, with blue ink, wrote a poem
On a page, one page of one family
Tree, that can never be erased,
Whether glory or disgrace; another
Leaf bud has already sprouted
In its place, nourished by living humus
Of discarded, torn out pages,
Passing on green baton... of the ages.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
Thursday, February 10, 2011
MELANIN
(In memory of Harriet Tubman)
Melanin, oh Melanin,
The fairer ones who hurt your skin
Unfairly… shall one day beg
Forgiveness and confess their sin,
Their folly of exclusion;
Will one day beckon you come in,
Into the castle of their skin.
Those who violated you,
Ultra sans humanity;
Refused to hear your ululu,
Trammelled you with whip and flay,
Trampled your rights in every way,
Will one day beckon you come in,
Into the castle of their skin.
Melanin, oh Melanin,
The fairer ones who hurt your skin
Unfairly… shall one day hide
Hot, raw hides from tan and flay,
Sautéed hell of UV ray;
Will one day beg you to come in,
Into the castle of their skin.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
WOMAN OF THE WEEPING NIGHT
Woman, oh woman, of the weeping night,
The womb of man that weeps her children’s plight;
Mother of all mothers, womb of darkness
From whence came man, the infant, and the light
Of all the nations. Oh Eve, oh Eden,
Woman of the weeping womb, oh weeping womb,
Flower full of nectar that bore the fruit,
And the seed, in sweat and pain of labour,
Flower from whence came honey and the strong.
Oh woman whose sin was in believing
A deception and a lie that man born
Of woman and of womb would live forever
And not surely die even in the flesh,
Until the pain of Cain’s stone tolled a bell,
A burning knell felt deep within her belly.
Woman of the weeping womb, oh weeping womb,
Ebony well from whence springs milk and honey
And myrrh of tears more bitter than calumba,
Mixed with crimson blood of her placenta,
Flowing, falling, like Zambezi River
Into swirling whirlpools of the ocean.
Oh weeping womb, oh weeping continent,
Mother, sister, daughter of Yemanja,
When will your tribulations be over?
Woman, oh woman, of the weeping night…
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
The womb of man that weeps her children’s plight;
Mother of all mothers, womb of darkness
From whence came man, the infant, and the light
Of all the nations. Oh Eve, oh Eden,
Woman of the weeping womb, oh weeping womb,
Flower full of nectar that bore the fruit,
And the seed, in sweat and pain of labour,
Flower from whence came honey and the strong.
Oh woman whose sin was in believing
A deception and a lie that man born
Of woman and of womb would live forever
And not surely die even in the flesh,
Until the pain of Cain’s stone tolled a bell,
A burning knell felt deep within her belly.
Woman of the weeping womb, oh weeping womb,
Ebony well from whence springs milk and honey
And myrrh of tears more bitter than calumba,
Mixed with crimson blood of her placenta,
Flowing, falling, like Zambezi River
Into swirling whirlpools of the ocean.
Oh weeping womb, oh weeping continent,
Mother, sister, daughter of Yemanja,
When will your tribulations be over?
Woman, oh woman, of the weeping night…
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
Saturday, February 5, 2011
MADIBA
When the great, heroic prince Madiba Mandela
Emerged triumphant from his deathly dungeon
After seven and twenty long-suffering years to sever
The hideous, hoary head of that foul, demonic dragon,
That evil, revulsive, repulsive dragon Apartheid…
The noble son of Shaka demolished the last mighty bastion
Of shameful, shameless, colonial oppression
Like a rushing, relentless, tsunamic black tide
So that murderous, scoundrelly bastard, P. Botha,
That bloody, child-murdering, Afrikaner boar-Boer,
Like a drowning man going under water,
Was forced and sanctioned to swallow his pride;
To accede and concede to be ruled by democracy,
Thus restoring the natives their human dignity.
Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance
Emerged triumphant from his deathly dungeon
After seven and twenty long-suffering years to sever
The hideous, hoary head of that foul, demonic dragon,
That evil, revulsive, repulsive dragon Apartheid…
The noble son of Shaka demolished the last mighty bastion
Of shameful, shameless, colonial oppression
Like a rushing, relentless, tsunamic black tide
So that murderous, scoundrelly bastard, P. Botha,
That bloody, child-murdering, Afrikaner boar-Boer,
Like a drowning man going under water,
Was forced and sanctioned to swallow his pride;
To accede and concede to be ruled by democracy,
Thus restoring the natives their human dignity.
Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance
OH AFRICA
Oh Africa, glorious Africa, are your Gods dead
And your Elders and Ancestors lie sleeping
Soundly, soundlessly, in tombstone-pillowed bed,
Silent griots in their lifeless, stone-cold graves,
Unheeding, unhearing, unknowing, uncaring
Of your children’s torment and suffering.
Daily your children drop and die like flies,
They flounder beneath the roiling waves,
Submerged by floods of rough and cruel tyranny,
Wars, famine, viral plagues, drought and misery;
The pestilence of their leaders' lies
Has become a Red, a Dead, and bloody Sea.
Arise Obatala, Black Messiah, and save
Your Diaspora; deliver us from this bottomless cave.
Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance
And your Elders and Ancestors lie sleeping
Soundly, soundlessly, in tombstone-pillowed bed,
Silent griots in their lifeless, stone-cold graves,
Unheeding, unhearing, unknowing, uncaring
Of your children’s torment and suffering.
Daily your children drop and die like flies,
They flounder beneath the roiling waves,
Submerged by floods of rough and cruel tyranny,
Wars, famine, viral plagues, drought and misery;
The pestilence of their leaders' lies
Has become a Red, a Dead, and bloody Sea.
Arise Obatala, Black Messiah, and save
Your Diaspora; deliver us from this bottomless cave.
Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance
Friday, February 4, 2011
FRUITS AND FLORA
Bless the earth to bring forth sweet fruit, oh God,
In green profusion. Grant the land a sea
Of green, lush cover, bearing succulent,
Sweet fruit. Curse not earth-clod with bitter, clot
Harvest of Abel’s sacrificial blood, shed
By Cain’s green evil of envy toward
His brother but rather let the fertile
Green fields flow fresh juice, sweet as sugarcane;
Sweet sea of grass and herb and flowering
Flora rich with earth's abundance as coral
Gardens' overflowing ocean treasures;
For without the fruits and flora, we are
Nothing and life and labour but in vain
To reap the rot of sickness, age and pain.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
In green profusion. Grant the land a sea
Of green, lush cover, bearing succulent,
Sweet fruit. Curse not earth-clod with bitter, clot
Harvest of Abel’s sacrificial blood, shed
By Cain’s green evil of envy toward
His brother but rather let the fertile
Green fields flow fresh juice, sweet as sugarcane;
Sweet sea of grass and herb and flowering
Flora rich with earth's abundance as coral
Gardens' overflowing ocean treasures;
For without the fruits and flora, we are
Nothing and life and labour but in vain
To reap the rot of sickness, age and pain.
Copyright ©2011 by G. Newton V. Chance
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- G. NEWTON V. CHANCE
- George Newton Vivian Chance (Trinidad and Tobago) -- member of the Poet Society of Trinidad and Tobago, http://poetssocietytt.blogspot.com/ and the World Poets Society, http://world-poets.blogspot.com/ -- born in Tobago on 3rd March 1957. While residing at Rio Claro was inspired to write over a hundred poems at the turn of the Millennium. Hobbies include playing wind instruments, building computers, observing nature, reading and writing poetry. Believes that the power of a song is in its ability to evoke emotions by the marriage of lyric and music but that music without lyric can be just as powerful, that lyric without music can also be just as powerful, that there is music in the lyric and that lyric can be simple yet profound. Also, in this the age of computers, would like to model his lines after simple and efficient code and, analogous to Object Oriented Programming, achieve most of his imagery from nouns and verbs, avoiding the bloat and excess of unnecessary adjectives. This is what he aspires to attain in his poetry.
