Sunday, August 4, 2013

SNACK PACK

Mama an alcoholic
Papa a power addict
Uncle more cunning and clever
at conning than a cocaine piper.

Baby suffers from colic
bath water fast running out.
Do not be fooled by tarots
reshuffling of party cards
impacting the social pact.

Beware brothers and sisters
of friendly part-time strangers
bearing grab-bags ram-
packed with goodies and out-
landish promises.

Beware my little children
of sweet-talking flute-
playing part-time strangers.
They will feed your hearts alive
to the Devil.

©2013 by G. Newton V. Chance
Posted by G. NEWTON V. CHANCE at 5:41 PM 0 comments

Saturday, August 3, 2013

OWL

                                      night howls
                  night-sky a hooting owl
      portent of a people's impotence

                  a four-headed dog barks
            chokes on its own placenta
                  swallows its own vomit
                  eats its own excrement

                   it is the hour of the owl
                                       a pygmy
                   hoots at Pygma-lion's
                            disappointment

          in office atlas askew on axis
                      clock stuck on one
                o clock is there no one

                              pure enough to
                                      save goal
                                   save game
                                  save world

                           messenger wanted
                                    apply within
                         messenger for hire


no dogs and calypsonians allowed
no dogs and calypsonians allowed
no dogs and calypsonians allowed
no dogs and calypsonians allowed

 will the children ever play in safety
                                 without fear

         thoughts of morning conjure
                 no optimistic promise

                      in an underworld of 
           waning oil and rising crime
         waning sun and rising prices

                              Anubis awaits 
          with scale of Maat in hand

     ©2013 by G. Newton V. Chance

Posted by G. NEWTON V. CHANCE at 5:05 PM 0 comments

Friday, August 2, 2013

TOUCH

(In memory of my father, brothers and sisters,
even the ones I never knew)   

The dead are all around us.
We don't see them,
they don't see us.
Touching how a memory
can make contact
without touching;
how the seed of a virgin
orchid rooted on a mango
limb could bring you face
to face with long buried
memories of a father who first
showed you gentleness
in the savage
nature,
beauty in a wild
orchid uprooted
and transplanted
to a front yard garden
from the precipice
of a flowering rock.

©2013 by G. Newton V. Chance 
Posted by G. NEWTON V. CHANCE at 8:25 AM 0 comments
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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.

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older
than the flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn
all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

by Langston Hughes

the poet writes the poem;
the reader gives it life
(© G. Newton V. Chance)
Make somebody happy (© Alexander Ligertwood & Carlos Santana)

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