A NEW YEAR’S SONNET

And so the firecrackers and the works
Will once again be lit to celebrate,
Amidst the popping of the champagne corks,
A new year’s birth and passing of the late

Old year, with thanks for all the good it gave.
The crackling fires, for one brief moment,
Upon the newborn sky they will engrave
A lightning lullaby and a dry lament

For broken resolutions and the scars
Of promises and pledges never kept
As bright-light displays burst and died like stars
While cinders, in the dark, quietly wept.

And so the extrovert night-sky explodes
While somewhere, silently, a soul implodes.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

UNDER A SHADY SAMAAN TREE

Under a shady samaan tree,
A bluebird sang this song to me;
That love is nothing but a worm
To hold and squeeze until it squirms,
To snatch it firmly by the nape
Once caught, ensuring no escape;
To scratch the ground and look around,
Searching and searching till it's found;
Sharing it with a partner bird
While building nest to nurse a third;
A tiny fledgling in its egg
Will crack the world and find two legs
And then its wings to leave the warmth
Of home to seek its own sweet worm.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

ANOTHER YEAR

Another dawn, another day,
Another year has come and gone,
So quickly passed away;
Some things got done, some lost, some won,
Some things were left partly undone
And some things done halfway.

Another dawn, another day,
Another year was here and left,
Another page of history;
With some, bright cheer, some glad and gay,
Others, despair and some bereft
And life is still a mystery.

Another dawn, another day,
What will the new year bring;
The old confessed, the new resolve,
One more, one less, the spiral ring
Of age will bring... more trials
And many, many, blessings.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

ORCHID SEED

Grant me an ego, Lord, large as an orchid seed;
Humble me, let me wallow in humility.
With modesty, let me blossom like the lily,
Singing praises to the sun from a trampled field.

Save me from myself, Lord, from haughtiness and pride;
Remind me I am no more, neither am I less,
Than any other creature, here at your behest;
That I can do nothing without you at my side,

Sustaining me with every breath of spirit-charged
Air, vibrating inspiration deep within my soul.
Let me be your vessel, an overflowing bowl,
Brimful of contrition, and a heart with love enlarged.

Grant me an ego, Lord, large as an orchid seed;
Humble me, take from me every trace of vanity.
With modesty, let me blossom like the lily,
Singing praises all day long from a trampled field.

Make music with my id, Lord, like a woodwind reed,
With an ego even smaller than an orchid seed.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

EL LOBO

Like a hungry, lonesome wolf
In the night,
My heart howls with desire
For you.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

I MISS THE BLIMP

I miss the blimp,
Its warm, assuring purr,
Whiskers trailing,
Waving, with smooth white fur,
Slowly traversing bloodshot, oppressed sky
Like some malevolent all-seeing eye
Or some demon of the Northern Range
Looking down upon a land so strange,
Inspiring confidence that crime
Would not only continue
But maybe, just maybe, kill you too,
Five to six hundred per year,
In a land so strange, of a million few,
A population in perpetual fear.
The blimp is gone
But the crime and murders go on and on...
And on and on...
Hold your head and bawl,
We have crime for all,
And then some to spare;
No paucity here,
Maybe a little poverty
And prices floating in the sky.
Let the nation mourn;
The blimp is gone
But the crime and killings go on and on...
And on and on...?

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SORREL

Blood-red, bright harbinger of this season
Of birth and hope of mankind's redemption;
As though you knew the Child would have to bleed
Myrrh, in another season of new seed,
Upon the cross to bear the brunt of sin;
To die and live again to give the pin
Of love and life to every wretched soul,
Willing to die of water and then live
To take the blessed cup of love He gives,
The Holy Sacrament that makes man whole.
Sorrel, so like the blood the Saviour bled,
His blood the wine, His flesh the holy bread,
"I am the Living Water" He once told
The Testament anew as was of old;
First wine, then loaves, the multitude He fed.
Rejoice and raise this red cup to your head.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

I WOULD MELT THE SNOW

I would melt the snow for you, my love,
Into icy rivulets and streams;
Then warm them into running rivers,
Rapid enough to take you from my dreams
To that place of warmth, residing in my heart.
Thought I heard your voice, calling to me this morning,
“Honey I’m home,” but it was just the wind, rustling
The palm you planted years before in the yard.
Sometimes I smell the cloves in your pastel
Or the cinnamon and jasmine in your hair
And then it dawns on me that you’re not here.
I would be a warm and gentle ray
Of sunlight, melting the ice away
To the waiting heart you knew so well.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

MELONS

Water, cooling water, sweeter centre,
Earth's core of molten sugar,
Pink pulp with oozing lava of life,
In its cool ambivalence never quite
Deciding between watery and sweet;
Melon, milk of Earth's bosom,
My voluptuous fruit of the valiant vine,
Turgid nipples oozing cooling juices,
I will hold you to my breast and never
Let you fall lest you shatter into pulp
And pieces of my heart or juicy dreams
Of buxom bosoms and melons larger,
With more water and molten sugar,
And rounder than Earth or moon.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

BONSAI

(The power of bonsai is in its ability to portray the utmost beauty of nature. Saburo Kato)

Bent, gnarled and twisted, truncated
Like a haiku. So much beauty
In suffering; all it takes is
Patience and years,

Sparingly watered with the tears
Induced by vain and heartless fiends;
Roots confined to shallow saucers,
Snipped and snipped to

Subdue and stunt by sorcerers
And sorceresses working grim
Silvics on seedlings and helpless
Things like my heart.

Yet we survive and seem to thrive
On deprivation, enduring
Pressure to make us miniature
Trees of beauty;

Looming even larger, blooming
Even brighter, love, a forest-
Full of treasure, love, endearing
And enchanting.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

UNKNOWN OCEAN

Coconut stems, some diagonal, stand
Stark ‘gainst shifting gray and white of blue sky,
Hurt feelings, shaped and misshapen by wind
With rain, harsh sun and storm, nature's every

Twisted caprice, as though crafted by the
Well trained but heartless hands of a bonsai
Master gone mad with narcissistic pride.
Here, shipwrecked sailor on naked rock, I

Found mystery in your fragments of sea shells
To fathom you as with Rosetta stone;
Sponge washed ashore soaking in your beauty,
Clinging to your words, hopeless anemone.

Playground of boyhood pangs, oh loneliness,
Elusive iguana unhinging tail,
Vanishing under roots of coconut;
Each time I try to catch you, love, I fail.

Horizon to be seen but never touched,
Trawler dredging depths of my devotion,
Drag your cynic seine across and over
Naive waters of my mixed emotion.

Tears fall like dry coconuts in the wind
To tinder-scorching passion on the sand
Of desires, no tender soul or bare
Foot-sole can walk for long or bear to stand.

A soldier, or hermit, sidling away
With empty shell, once home for some other
Careless crab, you steal this heart, though you know
It's the shell, the shelter of another.

The almond tree, pregnant with almonds like
Your soulful, slanted, haunting, ellipse eyes,
Whose verdure littered pristine peace before
Curious tourists landed, out of the skies,

Like Icarus, while gangs of welfare sweep
Leaves away to keep beach clean and shining,
Shades native Calibans’ once peaceful sleep,
Now perturbed, in a hammock's gentle swing.

I will awake you with a salted kiss,
My lover, from sea spray induced slumber;
Let tide and current take us where they may,
Sailing to the first and final frontier,

To that wide and unknown ocean... we know as love.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

WHAT LOVE IS THIS

What love is this, can never be fulfilled
Yet foolish hearts would fain pursue it still;

The young fall prey, you'd think the old would learn
To walk away, nor even think to turn

Around to chance a salt-stone backward look;
One last look of longing is all it took.

There's thunder in the hills tonight, my dear,
The lightning lights up my fears with its sheer

Electric candour zigzagged across your smile,
Immaculate Madonna with the child.

What love is this that we can never share?
What will I tell the babies when they stare

Me, with their big, round, luminous, brown eyes;
That love was just a heartache in disguise?

Or matters not how bleak and dark it seems,
With morning comes relief, the morning beams

Of hope; my love, after the tears and sighs,
Love will find a way, sure as the sun will rise.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

TAP DANCE

Ta tata tap, ta tata tap,
Tata tata tap, tata tata tap.
Who tapping who,
Bo Jangles come like boo;
Three Lettered Aberration
Spinal tap the nation;
Servers providing service
To Police and Secret Service;
Phone talk and e-mail,
Extortion and blackmail;
Eavesdropping what you say and write,
Raping constitutional rights;
Pimping with the blimp,
Smell like rotten shrimp;
Tonton Macoute,
Look the macco dey;
From CJ to President
Want to know where the info went;
Them tappers aint biting nice
With dey sophisticated device;
Take me foolish advice,
Like they only tapping for vice;
Ask Rachel Price;
Comedian like Martin
Lawrence tap dancing;
Big Man in a mess,
E-male in a dress;
Tap with pipe,
Tap without pipe;
Wire tap with a cause,
Legally of course;
Once we pass the laws,
Don’t worry about abuse,
You have nothing to lose
And everything to gain;
Don’t need to look for rain
If you not dancing cocoa in sun;
Once we have the laws in place,
Is tapping in your waist;
The whole country will be safe;
Is a tap-trap,
Tap for tap,
Tap versus tap,
A tap for a tap;
All who tapping,
All who was tapping,
Tap them back
To find out what they tapping,
To find out why they tapping,
To find out what they was tapping,
To find out why they was tapping;
To find out what they find out;
Tap the lines of the tappers;
Hold the perpetrators,
The dirty rotten tap dancers,
And put some tap in their oohs and aahs.
Ta tata tap, ta tata tap,
Tata tata tap, tata tata tap.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

MOONLIGHT SONNETA

Jousting cries and cat-squalls of joyful tournament
Revealing feral, feline bites, sweet throes, through rows
Of shadobeni, and corn, and then the sudden hush;

Bamboo epiglottis clicking the night's torment,
Blades of grass caress the little breeze that blows
Gossip-rustling sibilance, tendrils of susurrus;

Then wind and rain return from wherever they went.
Tassels ululating, shaking, their curling toes
Touching tips, euphoric, in the shadow's conchoid rush;

Feral cries and feline calls, fur and fury spent,
Flower buds, sweet secrets, expose to ear and nose
And wind and rain, sating soil, release their final gush;

Crescendo, then quiet, the moon has had enough.
After orgasmic love, what's left of love... if not love?

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

GOAT MILK

(in memory of the late, great Puppet Master)

My friend, he swears to me
Goat milk the remedy
For all ills,
Like a miracle pill
Ending in afil;
Another swears, by sacred cows,
Bison milk the best,
Even imbibed by Ganesh,
With channa by Ramesh;
Another says goat blood
Libation to Orisa
Is really much more potent
At giving them thunder;
Another says hog blood,
In a Kali puja,
Is really much more potent;
Another says the blood
Of Abraham son
Could wash the whole world clean,
While another
Still sacrificing sons.

My friend, he swears to me
Saturday soup,
Cow foot, the remedy
For all ills,
Like a miracle pill
Ending in afil;
Another swears by souse,
Pig foot could open any door;
Another swears by shells,
Oysters with oyster sauce;
Another says goat head
And guts in mannish water
Is really much more potent
At giving them thunder;
Another says goat head
In pentagram at midnight
Is really much more potent;
Another friend say
Leave the animals alone;
He swear some bois bande
Will wake up Papa Bois...

This land of callaloo and crab
Clambering over each other,
Muddy mirage of a rainbow
Shawled by maya and miasma,
Where no one can be sure
Whether love is for the Gods
Or the Dollar,
We still can
Love
Or, at least,
Tolerate each other.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

HOW CAN I NOT LOVE HER

How can I not love her, a woman so sincere;
essence of her virtue perfumes the very air;
less about the way she looks, as the things she does,
loving and devoted as ever woman was.
Her love is like an ocean, deeper than the sea;
sounds corny but I wonder what she sees in me.

You pathetic poets, who scoff at smarmy love
because it's just as hard to find a word to rhyme,
non-clichéd, with love; have fun until the first time
you encounter her like a catch in keeper's glove,
or desperate batsman hitting the winning run,
dashing to the wicket, communing with the ground.

To hell with imagery, a love as rare as this,
so sweet, so pure, so true, deserves a hunchback's kiss.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

HOUSE ON THE HILL

at the house on the hill I met many minds mutilated
by Mary and then
I strolled along the shoreline where I saw shells and shards of broke-
en lives washed up by the tides
as we walk these shifting sands in the hourglass of time while
debating as to whom we owe the debt
remember an empire takes a lifetime to build and a
death to pass away

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

MORNING’S PARTING KISS

Morning's parting kiss,
A prayer for protection,
Voyaging success
And a safe return.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

DON’T YOU GET WEARY, WAVES

Don't you get weary, waves, of this life of strife?
Like Poseidon, rising up from ocean floor,
Rising, rolling, riding rollers to the shore,
Rumbling, roaring, wave after wave, rife with strife;
Crashing on the rocks like thunder in a storm,
Bearing hopes and boats, with everyone on deck,
Over treacherous rocks and reefs to certain wreck,
Hissing, spraying foam, la onda stoking storm;
Sometimes, in contentment, lapping like a pet,
Next moment, violent, dragon lashing out,
Hissing, spraying fire-foam from marine mouth,
Eyes of fire burning white with salty breath;
Yet you have carried, on gentle gales unfurled,
Explorers and discoverers round the world.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

GUMANGALAR (A Nursery Rhyme)

(Inspired by Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné 's 'Chameleon Poems')

Little 'iguana',
Forever changing colour,
Green to brown, brown to green
And all the shades between.

Soldiers in the trenches,
Blending with the branches
And the leaves;
Camouflage deceives

Predator and prey,
Even turns to grey,
Chameleon wannabe,
Lizard in a tree.

Little 'iguana',
Forever changing colour,
Distending golor-golor,
Dewlap-bowtie under collar.

Some call you twenty-four-hours
In superstition of your claws;
That you will fling and stick on skin
All day, unshakeable as sin.

Changing clothes to blend-in,
Green to brown, brown to green;
Bright lemon green to barren brown
Among the trees and on the ground.

Gumangalar, gumangalar,
What colour is your true colour?

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

IF I WERE A PAINTER

I would paint you, a picture-perfect portrait,
Subtle hues, every pigment from my palette,
Your animated eyes, slightly upturned nose,
Framed by garish landscape, coloured like Van Gogh's:
Light and shadow playing, gently on your lips,
A Mona type smile, elusive as a wisp.
In the background, a roble or a poui
Adds to your blush, a flush of golden beauty.
My paint not of acrylic nor oil, but love,
Fresco of desire on ceiling, above,
The sky, my canvas, the world my gallery,
Your portrait, priceless, yet free for all to see
And adulate, while the universe applauds.
But alas, I’m just a poet of few words.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

WHAT AILS THE AGE

What ails the age, that man to beast must turn;
At this late stage, the twenty first century,
The more we teach, the less we seem to learn
Of sincere love to ease the misery.

Why all the war, the senseless violence,
The nuclear arms, the suicidal bombs?
This trade in war and weapons makes no sense;
We need to build more homes instead of tombs.

When will the greed and prejudices end,
Will mankind never tire of bloodshed?
Will God, another prophet have to send
To teach, we need the living not the dead;

That after all the fighting all these years,
All we have gained is loss... and lots of tears.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

AH SWEET DELIGHT

Ah sweet delight, that I should have you here;
Outside the rain, inside glasses of wine,
Well aged and chilled, yet warm, with you so near.
The radio plays soft violins divine,

Soft as your skin, the sofa where we lie,
Inhaling deeply, delicate bouquet,
Red rose, red wine, bodies entwined ask why
This bliss must end and you must go away.

Outside the moon, inside the candlelight,
These moments ours to cherish and to share;
Tomorrow will bring tears of parting plight,
Tonight let's drink the wine of love, my dear.

Let's drink our fill of love and wine and strings;
Ah sweet delight, whate'er the future brings .

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE ANSWER

I have always wondered how a man would know
When, from thousands of all kinds of women, met
Among patchoi, parsley, celery and beet,
Carrots, sweet potatoes, chicken and red meat,
Onions, lettuce, tomatoes, in the market,
Certificates and papers in the office,
Congregations of believers in churches,
Crowds and carnivals of costumes on the street,
That this one was the one that he was meant
To spend and share the rest of mortal life with.
Funny, the answer was so easy, that date,
You said to me those first few words of interest,

Hello, can you tell me, enquired the time;
Half past three, my watch ticked fast, my heart thumped hard,
I knew it in my head and in my heart,
Both you and I had loved and felt the hurt,
The pain of unrequited love before;
That to get her, life could get much better,
Together, to fill the blue void in my world,
By giving, gratifying, and receiving,
New life of never-ending love and caring.
Tested and then touched by Tess in time of need,
Heaven sent the rib, missing when I was born,
Sent to earth an angel, in female form;

The answer to my fervent prayer and faith
After the pain, the patience and the long wait.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

DEVIL-FISH

They say he went a-diving

in the deep, outside Speyside;

went out to sea as usual

on the day the doctor died.

His snorkel on his shoulder

as he climbed aboard the boat;

a gale was blowing softly,

not a seagull made a note.

They set sail, the usual course,

past the reef beyond the shelf;

no one heard the conch shell call,

not even the Doc himself.

As he jack-knifed overboard

with his spear gun in his hand,

held his breath and dived deep down

as it were to touch the sand,

a creature loomed before him,

the shadow of a monster,

which as it drew nearer him,

took shape as of a grouper.

A giant of a game fish

like he never saw before;

black and brown, the speckled scales,

with a cavern for a jaw.

His heart pounding with the rush

of adrenaline and blood,

released a rubber-powered spear

with a prayer to his God.

His aim was true, the freed steel

penetrated scale and skin,

converting fish to Devil

as it plunged with tail and fin.

The cord drew taut the spear barb

in fish-flesh like a toggle;

he held on to the spear gun,

the prize was worth the struggle.

The devil-fish pulled him down

to a cave under a rock;

bruised and battered he held on,

somehow his body got stuck.

By now he was out of breath

with little strength left to fight;

try as may could not break free,

though he tried with all his might.

No one can tell his last thoughts

amidst such lethal beauty;

the sea fans waved their goodbyes

as he gulped not air but sea.

His companions searched and searched

sea and coast to no avail;

the Doc had simply vanished,

gone like Jonah in the whale.

The coroner to this day

can’t say whether he drowned;

nothing but that he's missing,

his body was never found.

Did fisherman feed the fish?

Did hunter become the prey?

Was it a pact gone sour?

Devil-fish took him away?

They say he went a-diving

in the deep, outside Speyside;

left the whole island in grief,

no one knows just how he died.

by G. Newton V. Chance ©2010

CATERPILLAR

The caterpillar never dies.
It blossoms into a flower-
Worshipping butterfly and flies,
And flutters,

Like my love, until forever,
Seeking out the sweet elixir,

The nectar of ambrosia,
Found only in the garden,
In the fragrance and the colour,
Of your love.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

LONG SLEEP

(for Geeta Boodansingh)

On this bed of dread,
Breathing deep breaths,
Waiting on the long sleep,
Sound sleep,
The last sleep,
Journey of unknown dreams,
Grim boatmen gliding
Down one way streams,
Deep rivers of no return,
Where the dark moon goes,
The dark moon glows,
No billows blow nor sweep,
A dread, drab land,
Where no willow grows
And ever widows weep.

Memory speaks of many things,
The real and the imagined,
Milton's and Alighieri's
Transcendent images
Of heaven and of hell,
Purgatory,
Angels and archangels,
The guardians and the fallen,
Of good deeds and of evil,
Done and left undone,
Of love and hate and loved ones left behind,
And a rebellious, recalcitrant Devil.

And time with dual, dial hands,
Swift as humming bird wings,
Short hands,
Short as nanoseconds,
Long hands,
Long and wide like frigate wings,
Strong hands,
Strong like cherubim wings,
Strong enough to bear, this weary
Sojourner home.

What is this smell
That lingers and so malingers in the air,
Something dead lives here.
Be it Lazarus
Or Barabbas,
Of temporary reprieve,
Or duality of two thieves,
Whose paths cross
With the Christ upon the cross,
The resurrected and the lost,
And all the lessons taught,
And all the lessons learnt.

God may be forgiving...
but life... is not.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

BIZARRE BAPTISM

Bang Bang Bang
Three shotgun blasts
Shattered silence
And innocence
Forever
A quiet fishing village
They said it was a horning
Crime of passion
I was young
But old enough to understand
John went to work as usual
That fateful morning
Except he carried
Gasoline and gun
There on the beach
Doused his boss
Threw the match
Frantic and on fire
Christopher
Headed for water
Dived beneath the waves
Beginning of a bizarre
Baptism
By fire and water
Three times did he dive
Under water
Then bob above the waves
Each time greeted by pellets
Of furnace-fire lead
I remember the body
On the beach
Blotches of pallid scalded skin
Patches of black between
Surreal
Lying in the sand

Bang Bang Bang
Three shotgun blasts
Shattered silence
And innocence
Violence
In cold blood
Fish must have nibbled
I thought
Few days later
Windfall
Big jacks and round-robin
Caught in seine
Had problems eating
Imagined them nibbling
At the body
Eucharist bread
I will make you fishers of men
He said
John the Bizarre Baptizer
Lost his head
In a time
Of no hesitation
To crucify or hang

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

NOTHING BUT THE LIVING

I have felt the weight,
The heat, the hurt, the hate,
The venom of vertical violence;
Heard the horizontal lines of lies,

Seen long lines of broken lives;
Uttered guttural 'argh' of pain and rage;
Dared to tear and burn sacrosanct pages,
Peculiar proclivities.

I have tasted blood, bitter blood,
Of my own wounded mouth,
My own bitten tongue,
Talking against tooth.

I have seen and heard angry mouth
Speak out, spit out uncivil banter;
Spit toxic saliva;
Spit broken tooth, bad blood and silver

Shards of civil battles fought.
I have seen blood, oceans of blood
And every body fluid,
Flow from orifices;

Seen black blood, blue blood,
All the shades of red.
What matters colour of blood shed?
Colour of blood bled?

What matters colour of dead?
The colour of death?
Nothing but what's left.
Nothing but what's right.

Nothing, but the living.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THESE ISLANDS

these islands
these enchanted isles
chain of pearls
'pendant on mainland
breast

these islands
enchanted isles
chain of pearls
unclasped
without clasp

each one
the medallion
each one
planted in chains
each one
worth fighting over

pirates
pirates and earthquakes
havens
havens and hurricanes
ports of royal
treasure
sun sin and pleasure

these warm seas
once treasure chest
chain of pearls
these warm seas
cooling breeze

these warm seas
once sepulchre
their cool coves and caves
still echo
sombre past

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

TIME SLIPS BY

Time slips by,
Oh my, why,
Does time slip by
So swiftly;

Birthday unto birthday,
Age along the way,
Night stalks day;

Cat caught up
With picoplat, at play,
So stealthy;

Time slips by,
Oh my, why,
Does time slip by
So swiftly?

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SATURDAY SOUP

Yes, go ahead and tell her
Call her now to the wire fence
Whirl around and spin your tale
Scream to high heaven that I was careless
I let you slip from my grip
I let you fall to the floor
Whirl around and spin your tale
Cantankerous pot cover
Clap out your tale on the floor
My woebegone metal pot cover.
I can see her through the kitchen window
Craning her ear for more of your news,
As she pipes up in her grating voice:
Aye Neighb', like you cooking soup today?

Copyright ©2010 by Judy Rocke

CORBEAU

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing," (Edgar Allan Poe)

In the nastiness of existence,
This nastiness of existence,

I, King Corbeau,
Sovereign of Sewer City,
Ruler and Lord of the Labasse,
Mayor of the Malodorous,
Connoisseur of Carrion and Carnage,
Corpses, Cadavers and Carcasses,
Dark Bird of Death and Disgust,
Fowl of the Foul and Decay,

I, Gobbling Gobbler of Ghoul,
No sweet songbird, say,
Could I sing,
Would sing you songs,
Stories of the ones found,
Flesh never found;
This raucous caw,
A dirge for the lost and the missing.

Plastic rivers dumping cargo,
Lagoons and bays abused
All along the coast;
Floods exposing dirty minds
And habits;
Streets of Sewer City.
Rural roads
Throughout country,
One contiguous Labasse.

I, Supreme Scavenger, can clean
Labasse from land
But not Labasse from minds,
No more than can the garbage man,
Minus mask, underpaid and scorned,
Or CPEP cleaning, cleaning, cleaning,
Litter mounds, cycles never ending,
Of dirty, dumping, minds
And habits...

Constellations of Blimps,
Corbeau at carrion, clamour under clouds;
True stars shine silent against night sky
Above constricting clouds,
Sodden with Labasse smoke.
Land of limbo,
Lost and missing;
Who will rise above bar,
Clouds and empty bluster?

I, Supreme Scavenger, keeping
Close eye on plastic land and river;
Lagoon abused,
Lacuna of local culture,
Allowing foreign vulture
To pry out eyes and entrails;
Keeping closer eye
On sister isle;
If needed I will go.

In the nastiness of existence,
This nastiness of existence,

I, King Corbeau,
Sovereign of Sewer City,
Ruler and Lord of the Labasse,
Mayor of the Malodorous,
Connoisseur of Carrion and Carnage,
Corpses, Cadavers and Carcasses,
Dark Bird of Death and Disgust,
Fowl of the Foul and Decay,

I, Gobbling Gobbler of Ghoul,
No sweet songbird, say,
Could I sing,
Would sing you songs,
Stories of the ones found,
Flesh never found;
This raucous caw,
A dirge for the lost and the missing.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

YOU MADE ME FORGET

Made a promise to myself,
The last time I was hurt by love,
It was the last time I’d ever fall for anyone.
Seemed like all of my life,
My heart was broken enough,
To write a book filled with sad songs.
But the first time my eyes fell on you,
I realized you were a dream come true;
Cupid’s arrow pierced me through and through,
Through and through, with love for you.

You made me forget, all the pain I used to feel inside,
You made me forget, the many times I cried, I cried and cried;
You made me forget, that I said I’d never love again,
You made me forget, the many tears I shed, they flowed like rain.

Since you came into my world,
You chased all my blues away,
So much sunshine I have never known before.
You bring love untold,
To me night and day,
Love so sweet I want to love you more and more.
Cause the first time my arms embraced you,
Caught by your charms, there was nothing I could do;
Cupid’s arrow pierced me through and through,
Through and through, with love for you.

You made me forget, all the pain I used to feel inside,
You made me forget, the many times I cried, I cried and cried;
You made me forget, that I said I’d never love again,
You made me forget, the many tears I shed, they flowed like rain.

I’m so glad I took the chance,
One last try at romance;
You fulfill my fantasy,
How wonderful true love could really be.
I thank the Lord you came my way,
And that is why I say a prayer,
Your love will always stay, stay with me.

You made me forget, all the pain I used to feel inside,
You made me forget, the many times I cried, I cried and cried;
You made me forget, that I said I’d never love again,
You made me forget, the many tears I shed, they flowed like rain.

Copyright ©1995 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE WELL

Earth
Drought
Earth
Desert
Earth
Hope
Dig
Dig
Dig
Dig
Hole
Hit
Rock
Eureka
Treasure
Water
Table
Drop
Stone
Plop
Deep

Lower bucket
Pull up rope
Lower bucket
Pull up rope
Lower bucket
Pull up rope

Pour pour pour
Drink drink drink

Well
Creativity
Never dry
Never empty

The well
Of creativity
Is never dry
Is never empty

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

OTHER SIDE OF THE CITY

street corners without street signs
just like in the jungle
city has no place to piss
quite unlike the jungle

lost

a little further east
dweller on sidewalk

seller on sidewalk
remarks to other seller
on "stupid" passerby
who enquired
then refused to buy

elderly madwoman
uprooted
some weeds
or herbs
(depending on perspective)
with soil
from sidewalk
held it out in hand
walked proudly
as if to say
look at me
plant a plant
plant a tree
or food

(or maybe just keep the damn place clean)

then railed against
garbage
behind gated
abandoned
hallway
saying she could clean it
given the chance
or the employment
(maybe occupy it too)

maybe
that elderly madwoman
may be less mad
than many

and that madman
soliloquising
maybe
may be only speaking
to his hand-

less head-

set cell-

phone

about the phony
city
and the phony
people
on the other
side

of the city

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

ORCHID

five-pointed star-
tepal
flesh-pink lip-
petal
seduction
six-pointed star-
petal
and sepal
floral attraction
pink-flesh lip-
petal
resupinated labellum-
mmmmmmm
excitement
enticement
six-
leg in-
sect
land on
obsession
flesh-pink perfumed lip-
petal
pink-flesh enlarged lip-
petal
six-pointed purple-stripe star-
tepal
pedicel
in petal
and sepal
equal
polli-
nation

testicles are roots

woman
you must have bee-
nnnnnnnnnn
an orchid
and I a bumblebee
in another life

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

TO THE WISE

to the wise
wisdom abounds
even in the abode
of the foolish

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

STORY OF THE MINI AND OTHER MINI STORIES

sitting front row
showing shoes
legs cross
uncross
showing shoe sole
giving priest
confessor of souls
another cross
a carnal cross
to carry

short skirt
short crotch
low cut
high heels
hurting feet
stiletto heels
stabbing holes
in asphalt

can't stoop down
can't bend over
don't pull it down
pull it up further
what you trying
to hide
everything
already outside
breast outside
belly outside
back outside
backside outside
underwear outside
stop bitching

this posing
this posturing
bad for posture
only fostering
some fascist agenda
some sadist fascist
fashionista
designer
of hate couture
out to make you sick
out to make you suffer
out to make you sick
sick and sexy
out to make us sick
sick and sexy

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

AMANDLA!

(Dedicated to all the heroes and heroines and martyrs who fought against and slew the dragon Apartheid. Viva Azania!)

[Benikuphi ma madoda (where were the men)
abantwana beshaywa (when the children were throwing stones)
ngezimbokodo Mabedubula abantwana (when the children were being shot)
Benikhupi na (where were you?) Hugh Masekela (Soweto Blues)]

I was there,
on Robben Island,
when the fortress walls surrendered
and the dungeon doors collapsed
and the fetters burst asunder
at the feet of the Madiba
as they walked from Victor Verster.
And the people cried, "Amandla!"

You can take me,
you can take me,
take me out from Africa
but
you can never,
you can never,
take Africa out from me.

I was there,
down in Soweto,
when they exiled Masekela
and they Branded Abdullah
and they banned Miriam Makeba;
when they banned, then detained, Walter
as they hounded Winnie 'Dela.
And the people cried," Amandla!"

You can take me,
you can take me,
take me out from Africa
but
you can never,
you can never,
take Africa out from me.

I was there,
in Soweto, ho!
when the bullets flew and hummed
and they murdered Steve Biko
and they mowed the children down;
when they relocated blacks
with stray bullets in their backs.
And the people cried, 'Amandla!"

I was there,
down there in Sharpeville,
when they massacred the children,
armed with stones against the Sten;
when PAC formed the Poqo
and ANC formed Umkhonto.
And the people cried, "Amandla!"

You can take me,
you can take me,
take me out from Africa
but
you can never,
you can never,
take Africa out from me.

I was there,
down in Angola,
when the fearless Fidelista,
side by side, with the Namibians,
stood their ground against P. Botha,
cracked his crocodilian armour,
as they drove apartheid back.
And the people cried, "Amandla!"

You can take me,
you can take me,
take me out from Africa
but
you can never,
you can never,
take Africa out from me.

I was there,
on Robben Island,
when de Klerk capitulated
and the dungeon doors collapsed
and the fetters burst asunder
at the feet of the Madiba
as they walked from Victor Verster.
And the people cried, "Amandla!"

Amandla! Amandla!
And the people cried, "Amandla!"
Amandla! Amandla!
And the people cried, "Amandla!"...

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

A LITTLE PIECE OF EARTH

a little piece of land
that’s all I want
don’t wait until
I return to dirt
a little piece of earth
is all I ask
never had nothing
from the day of my birth
don’t need no water
cause water still free
don’t need no fire
no pyre for me
the plant has root
anchored in earth
and I a wanderer
without branch
without root
no better than fowl
no better than brute
a little piece of land
so I can belong
birds have their nest
birds have their song
the Son of Man
nowhere to make His bed
nowhere to rest His head
a little piece of property
a little real estate
a little piece of earth
to make me whole
and happy
crabs have their hole
guppies their water bed
the Son of Man
nowhere to rest His head
a little piece of earth
is all I crave
enough to live
or make my grave
one day I’ll have
my peace on earth
one day I’ll have
my piece of earth
to plant a plant
to plant my root
to plant a plant
or plant myself

Copyright ©2010/02/09 by G. Newton V. Chance

A MAN HAS NOTHING

A man has nothing
but his conscience
separating him from God.
A horizontal line
between land and sea and sky.
An imaginary line
running round his world.
A spiritual equator,
stretched around his soul,
stretched and parallel
ad infinitum to infinity.

A man has nothing
but his conscience
separating him from God.
A line, impalpable,
of thought and deed and word.
A gate across the threshold
to light and liberty.
Nothing but his conscience,
the knowledge of good and evil,
separating from the garden
of Eden and the tree.

The angel with the flaming sword
between Adam and his God.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

BALATA

I would be the valiant vine,
the succulent vine of vanilla,
defiantly clinging
to your mighty, fissured trunk.
Climbing, climbing, reaching
for the buxomness
of your overflowing breast.
Proffering sweet perfume
from my beautiful wild orchid
and my sticky, chocolate beans.
I would be the intrepid monkey
clinging tightly,
with my long, prehensile tail,
to the suppleness of your limbs.
Gorging your cloying berries,
balancing on branches
as they bend and sway before
the envy of the east winds.
Pliable and plastic
as the latex in your veins;
durable as the duramen
in your spine and abdomen,
building bridges across cultures.
Nurturing a needy nation;
sustaining with the life-milk
from your overflowing bosom
and your silent forest wisdom
as you watch over your land.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

UNDER OCEAN AND RIVER AND SEA

(Scientists have calculated that in about 250 million years, the continents will again join and form a new Pangea as they are pushed by the continually expanding ocean floor. 'BISL Volcanoes and Earthquakes')

Under ocean and river and sea,
we are one,
one continent of valleys and ridges.
Beyond boundaries, there are bridges;
turtle, whale and porpoise crossing,
no need for visa or passport.
No levy or tariff or bother
to enter waters and seaport.

Over continent and island and country
we are one,
one continent of cloud, sky and air.
Beyond boundaries, there are bridges;
ibis, duck and plover crossing,
no need for visa or passport.
No levy or tariff or bother
to enter airspace and airport.

Over time and under forces,
ocean and river and sea,
continent and island and country
were once one;
and will be one again.
No boundary,
no need for passport or levy;
one continent of cloud, sky and air,

one continent of valleys and ridges
and always open bridges.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

MY LOVE, THERE IS NO WINTER

My love, there is no winter,
here,
in the suburbs of my heart;
the house wrens never leave
for warmer ground.

No snow-capped mountain peaks
to loom and freeze your climb;
at the apex of this heart,
nothing but tropic heat,
wild and tropic heart-heat
of a wildly throbbing heartbeat.
What is a little fog compared to frost;
love may lose her way
but the song will not be lost--
long as restless wrens
are twittering in the portals,
inviting you to enter,
enter into my aorta,
its arterial rural streams
to the tropical rainforest
of my soul.

In my soul there is no winter,
only cool, clear springs of water
and the green, cascading laughter
of an unpolluted river.

Water falling, flowing, filling
love pools full of lovers
wading, bathing, diving, swimming,
drinking, filling,
pouring pitchers full of liquid
life and love
from pellucid pools of love.
Follow my forest river,
forever-flowing river,
to the womb-warm waters
of tranquility.
Bask and bathe in rainbows
in the sunny, sandy idyll of my bay,
my sheltered cay;
in the womb-warm waters
of the Sea of Me.

My love, there is no winter
in my heart;
only sunshine, endless sunshine,
nothing but endless sunshine,
with a little rain of course.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

BLOODWOOD

Bleed,
bleed, Bloodwood;
bleed,
as cruel blade
bites through skin,
cruelly invades
body ,
drawing blood-sap
from beneath your bark.

Para and Balata
bleed
bouncing balls of rubber;
and Maple,
bottles of liquid sugar.
You, oh Bloodwood,
bleed
blood and liquid anguish.

The Roble and the Poui,
as everyone knows,
brandish golden-yellow flambeaus
in flamboyant Dimanche Gras shows.
You, in your modesty,
your darker-chocolate, golden-yellow,
just as flamboyant, blossoms
go unnoticed
except by the few
fortunate to see you
in your splendour.
Ask the honeybee.

But Bloodwood, I know you.
Can recognize you anywhere,
your buttress-wings,
butterfly-thin
yet sturdy;
almost gossamer
if not made of wood.
I know your anguish.
To feel the cruel blade of men
for no reason
other than to know you;
to see you bleed,
incisions and decisions
to fell you or to spare you.

Bleed,
bleed, Bloodwood;
bleed,
and when your blood
has dried up
your body and your heart-
wood
will give life, give sustenance,
to termites
intimately dwelling
in the wooden homes
and hearts of men.

Tree,
you must be a woman.
Only a woman can
bleed,
bear fruit
and bitter burdens.
Only a woman can
bleed
so much and live.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE FLESH MUST FADE

The flesh must fade.
The flesh and skin must peel
and fade,
as must all things ephemeral,
temporal and corporeal.
The red, ripe flesh and orange skin
must rot

and leave the seed.
Beauty, ephemeral beauty,
of body, flesh and bones,
must peel away and leave the soul,
the blue sky and the green sea,
emerald seat of virtue,
evergreen seeding garden,

to breed and shoot new cycles
of fruits and flesh and seeds.
Once when we were young
we saw ourselves as gods,
and goddesses,
forever young and green,
full of youthful beauty.

We are
not.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SLAYING DRAGONS

these household pests
have created
a killer
a ruthless raging
stone cold murderer
the Anti-Buddha
forever waging war
on monsters
of malaria yellow fever
bubonic plague and dengue
meningitis and leptospirosis
on vampires
and bloodlust terrorists
battling mosquitoes
and guano-tossing geckos
forever wrestling roaches
firing missiles
at flying and crawling
creatures criminals
like Chemical Ali
with chemicals
from tanks of aerosol
firing silver pellets
of salt
at toads and socouyants
slaying snakes
and climbing ladders
beating bats and swatting gnats
baiting rats and crazy ants
burning lethal repellants
breaking recurrent lances
on whirling windmills
of never ending vermin
swinging cocoyea at Arachne
waging mortal combat
struggling with stubborn daemons
of self mastery
from the distant psychic past
my lover laughs
and labels me
Saint George
the dragon slayer
sometimes I think that maybe
I am really
slaying myself
and or
some part of me

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

CARAMBOLA

five-fingers
five-pointed star-
fruit
pentagram
of passion

fruit forbidden
apple
of succulent
seduction
turgid tissues

oozing
vital juices
sensual juices
running down
chin and fingers

sweet juice
exuding fragrance
exotic flavours
yellow star-struck
star-fruit

golden sun-ripe
star-fruit
fluid factory
of ambrosial
pulp and nectar

flowing
pulpy planet
every cell
a planet
in orbit

oozing
juicing
producing
galaxies
of liquid gold

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

I LOVE YOU

I love you with the fatal
fascination of the night-moth
to the flicker of the flame.

I love you like the heron
loves the fresh-mown, harrowed ground
with uprooted insects flitting,
in abundance, all around.

Like the cud of cattle loves
to chew the tender shoots and blades
of fresh grass sprouting underneath
the samaan tree's cool midday-shade.

I love you like the teak seed
craves the dark, moist, loamy clay;
with cotyledon stretching,
upward to the light of day.

My love, how can I say it.
I love you like the rain-fly,
when the rain and lightning calls,
madly wings and mates; to die.

I love you as the shadow
is lost without the body.
With an ardent love, I love you;

I love you, with all my life.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

BAD-BOOK

There was a time, the tale is told,
When numbered books of Moses, and the mighty Mages,
Would travel through the air, mystic, metaphysic,
Like winged Hermes or Hermes Trismegistus,
To appear, on lonely beaches, secret places,
At the bidding of the occultist scientist.

Today, the library, whole libraries,
Through HTTP and TCP,
Travel through the air to appear, everywhere,
To everyone, in homes and schools and libraries
At the clicking, at the bidding, of the lowly mouse.
As we stand before the tree of knowledge

Of good and evil, to pluck and suck forbidden
Fruits from sacred texts and textbooks of caduceus,
Believing that the tree of life was never lost,
Remember, before writing there was the Word;
So be careful what you do, be careful what you see
And, above all, be careful what you say.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THOSE WHO PASSED BEFORE US

Let's begin by recalling
the faceless ones
from the mist of our morning.
The faceless ones are grimacing,
the nameless ones are mourning
in the shadow of our evening.
The ghostly procession
of those who passed before us
is passing on the pavement,
transparent; without fanfare,
without torches
or candles to light the way.
Without music, without candles;
even the dead need music
to sustain their disembodied souls.

Who is watching over us,
in the dark night of the selfish
and the soulless?
Have those who passed before us
turned
away their faces, in shame?
Whose shame; their shame, our shame?
Who is mourning more,
the violently departed
or the wailing ones behind?
Will there be peace
for the now gone and the long gone
and the wailing ones behind?
Even the dead need peace
to rest their disembodied souls.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

OH MANATEE

Gentle mermaid
of the Nariva,
mysterious denizen
of her streams,
swimming to limbo
without a murmur,
elusive in the daylight
as moonbeams,
oblivious to oblivion’s
impending danger,
enigmatic as the night
and her dreams;
strange creature!
Your life is strange
and man is stranger…
Oh manatee,
you must not die.

Trichechus manatus,
carrying with the ease
of buoyant bubbles
your ponderous pounds
with flippers
that like moriche fronds
or water weeds
seem to wave
and beckon
into your mystic ponds
where some arcane wisdom
of the lands and seas,
like an underwater
Buddha,
you will pronounce
on the importance
of every organism
of every species…
Oh manatee,
you must not die.

Silent sea cow,
mammalian scuba diver,
so curious,
innocent and playful
like a child;
serenely gazing,
while grazing,
Naba-rau,
Water People
living with the
Warrau
in the wild.
There was a blithe era
when the Bois Neuf
marsh water,
teeming
with fish-frolicking
Kuyu-moro,
lay unspoiled;
then came
the treacherous
two-legged predator…
Oh manatee,
you must not die.

He hunted you
almost to extinction
while decimating
your habitat;
will this destruction
forever go on?
or will humanity,
with conscience
and heart,
conserve, reserve,
protect
your population:
I call
on Land People
to do our part
in ensuring
your safety, survival
and propagation…
Oh manatee,
you must not die.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

YOU SPEAK TOO MUCH, FATHER NED

You speak too much, too much, Father Ned,
Don’t you know that it’s boring?
The boy in the corner, nodding,
Is one wink away from snoring.

You speak much too much, Father Ned,
Don’t you know no one is listening?
Why not converse with your thoughts instead
And save us the suffering.

Why do you speak so much, Father Ned?
Your words are devoid of meaning;
Yet like an incessant woodpecker,
Tok, tok, tok, you keep on repeating.

We have no attention deficit,
Maybe a short attention span;
You’ve got to know when to quit
And give us an intermission.

You speak too much, too much, Father Ned,
Your words are a monotone;
It’s not that we are ignorant
But we’d much rather listen the phone.

You speak much too much, Father Ned
It’s not that we find your words boring;
Like air they flow, in and out our heads
And fall through the cracks in the flooring.

Why do you speak so much, Father Ned?
Don’t you know no one is listening?
And why do you write so much, Father Ned?
Don’t you know no one is reading?

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

BUSH-BATH

(Happy Emancipation Day)

bush-bath does cut all blight
bush-bath could make you bright
and if people put light

burn red candle on you
work obeah or voodoo
to make you do

all kind of foolishness
they want you to
bush-bath could cut that too

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

WALK WITH ME, OH MOON

Walk with me, oh moon;
let us count the tombstones,
excavate the young bones,
piled on young bones,
prematurely pulled from earth-womb.

With you at my side,
no need for furtive glances
over shoulders at the shadows.

Hand in hand, old woman,
there is no shame in romance
but I am in no mood for romance,
I am in no mood for dance.
I am in no mood for marching,
for marching is a death dance;
I am in no mood for waltzing,
for waltzing is a love dance.
Let us walk this slow dance, this sad dance,
with cadence of reflection and remorse;
let us search for young bones
without tombstones,
old bones too,
whose flesh was never found.
Help me count the pyres,
the urns and scattered ash.

Mourn with me, oh moon;
earth and moon are old
and fertile
but I am old and futile
to stem erosion’s tide,
devouring coastlines,
consuming bloodlines.
How will river survive
without replenishing rain?
The rivers run brown with foetal blood;
brown with foetid water.

Talk with me, oh moon;
tell me, moon,
from your singular perspective,
tell me what you see.
I feel your empathy.
Is this all you have to say;
that the wages of sex is life,
and the young makes way
for the new?

Walk with me, oh moon;
we will leave no footprints
to follow in the sunlight,
nothing but ethereal
evanescence of the silence,
of silent footsteps,
as we walk into the night.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE SUN NEVER STOPS SHINING

(for Christopher [Baby] Rocke, 5 years old, who observes everything, remembers everything and questions everything)

The sun never stops shining,
It's just obscured by clouds at times;
In rain, with thunder and lightning,
It only steps indoors awhile.

And when the moon and stars are out
And there's no sight of the sun;
Winter solstice in north, head south
And there you'll find the shining sun.

The sun rises in the east,
They say, and travels to the west;
Around the world to return east
Without compass or GPS.

This flight takes twenty-four hours,
Three sixty-five times a year;
But if you live at the North Pole,
It takes six months (or half a year).

Where the sun goes is a mystery,
What it does and what it sees;
But while you and I are sleeping,
It's exploring strange lands and seas.

The sun never stops shining,
Sometimes it's not shining on us;
But you can be sure it's out there
Smiling and shining on someone.

You can be sure it's somewhere
Shining and shining all year.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

PIPILE PEOPLE

(for Robyn Cross)

With feelings of foreboding,
we watched;
an Arawak and I,
perched high,
on a laurier tree
in the hills of Iere,
we watched three strange ships
with long white wings
riding the winds
above the sea,
watched them sail to shore and land
strange looking strangers,
strange white-skinned men
with long white crests and dewlaps
and long straight bows we later learned
spit thunder.

Thus began,
with axe and machete in hand,
the wanton clearing of my land.

Later, other strangers came;
strange men with ebony skin and iron chains
around their dewlaps,
then men with brown skin like the first peoples
and yellow skin like ripe pineapples.

Later still, appeared the skidder and the Stihl
with demon power designed to kill
the forest and her fledglings.

My friend, the Arawak, has long succumbed
'cept for a few straggling souls,
struggling for survival
and recognition.

I swear by my blue wattle
I have witnessed many battles
'tween Papa Bois and people
as he strove and strove to save us
from Conquistador's colonial curse
and heartless hunter's blunderbuss.

I, Pipile pipile,
better known as Pawi,
ask not for your pity,
but that you open eyes and see
that I am you and you are me.

Lose me and you would have lost
your way, your self, your soul;
I am this nation's survival--
I am this nation's past,
its present ...
its patrimony.

I am Pipile pipile,
Spirit of this island and its people.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

JUNE

After the sun’s long smelter,
the fury of the fire,
the clouds shed copious showers
of tears and cleansing water.

Fruit and fodder, food for the fauna,
grass and grain profusely praise the rain;
the hills and plains grow green again.

Chaconne serenades the month of brides,
a month of endings and beginnings,
with blossoms in red showers,
consummating native pride,
redolent of poinsettia
in December, that other

month of endings, blessings,
birth and new beginnings.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

BATALEE (SONG OF THE LEATHERBACK TURTLE STAR)

(The eastern mage, all wise and numbered three,
to manger led the star of mystery)

[Part I]

Leviathan of the leather shell,
I know your pain, your plight, too well;
living fossil of prehistoric time,
supreme sailor of the oceanic tide,
your labour of laying, a scene sublime—
to watch you shift the sands your eggs to hide.

As a boy I would sit with my father,
while twilight drew her sepia curtain down
upon the weary day,
and watch the turtle star
descend above evening's horizon
till it dipped beneath the turquoise water;
and when fearful lightning flashed
and then the thunder rolled,
(Shango did his sombre drum-roll solo,
with elemental cymbal crash)
your abdomen would burn
and we for sure would know
that you would lay the burden of your yolk
and albumen to rest
on beaches that once were
shores of tranquillity
before the beasts called men
had invaded their pristine privacy.

Mighty mariner of the ocean depths
unerringly retracing natal steps
to return to shore where you were born
with biological compass so sure
to faithful lay your fecund burden down
in sandy hands of Mother Nature.

Then cruel men your landing would await
as you proceeded with ponderous gait
to cross high water mark
and thence commence to excavate your nest;
but then those men your progress would arrest,
would turn you over helpless on your back—
you so powerful of the leatherback,
as if drawn by naval string of navel
to navigate around the world and back,
not like Cristobal greeted by Isabel
with pomp and royal splendour,
instead waylaid by poacher
of mien crude and mean,
with murderous attack,
determined to do you in.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

EVERYONE WANTS TO KNOW ME

everyone
wants my information
what is your name
what is your game
what is your age
where is your cage
your occupation
your qualification
your religion
your school
are you smart
are you a fool
some competition
some promotion
some statistician
in the mall
the grocery
the utility
the government
the police
the CID
your passport your permit
two forms of ID
your fingerprint your photo
your DNA
the revenue department
some questionnaire
some form
or senseless census
are you divorced
widowed
married
single
is your wallet fat
does your pocket
jingle
got property
got progeny
show me your card
bank or credit
badge or debit
green or smart
or temporary
show me some form of ID
what is your number
your phone your pole
your card your code
what is your email
your sex
are you male
or female
or same
what is your story
are you sick
or healthy
criminal
or crazy
a sadist
a rapist
a masochist
an atheist
a Marxist
a socialist
a communist
on the wanted list
an offender
a molester
a felon
a melon
a lemon
a lime
a limer
an imbiber
a junkie
a monkey
a monk
a punk
a pumpkin
a bumpkin
a good fellow
an odd fellow
a good guy
a gay guy
a great guy
a fall guy
a stand up guy
everybody
want to get to know me
and when they do
they not so sure
no more

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

WE WAIT

seconds
tick
into minutes
tick
into hours
tick
into days

we wait
we await
Your return

days
turn
into weeks
turn
into months
turn
into years

we wait
we wait
we await
Your return

years
roll
into decades
roll
into generations
roll
into centuries

we wait
we wait
we wait
we await
Your return

centuries
crawl
into millenniums
crawl
into aeons
crawl
into eternity

we wait
we wait
we wait
we wait
we await
Your return

life
evolves
into lifetimes
revolves
into timelines
devolves
into timelessness

we wait
we wait
we wait
we wait
we wait
we await
Your return

I was never gone

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

I WOULD HAVE LOVED YOU ANYWAY

and I would have loved you anyway
though your curls were red or silver grey

more than the colour of your hair
is the loving way you care and share

more than the smoothness of your skin
is the beauty of the soul within

much more than the texture of your hair
is the warmth I feel when you are near

and I would have loved you anyway
though your locks were red or silver grey

though your scalp was bare
not one strand of hair

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE THOUGHT

The thought
is mother
to the word
and father
of the deed.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE CELESTIAL PALACE

Why argue thus, my sunlit butterfly
and moonlit moth, over cosmic mysteries
way above your enchanted arcs of flight.
For one, sunny fields of flowers delight,
the other heeds Hecate’s call at night,
even to sacrifice the self at shrines
ethereal, mankind’s artificial light.
One says that every evening King Sun dies,
with dirgeful winds in disc-shaped barge he sails,
and at daybreak resurrects and rises
as Aurora blows her golden conch-shell
calling him forth to live another dawn;
the other argues that King Sun at dusk
departs and dozes off to opulence
while cloistered in his foam-filled western bed,
the celestial palace of a kingdom,
citied far, in lands beyond horizon.
Dark Moon, nagging queen of pessimism,
mourns her man’s departure at afternoon;
Silver Moon, his favourite concubine,
is confident that King Sun will return
from nightly pleasures of exotic lands
in far-off harems of ten-thousand stars
on morning’s magic-carpet of bright clouds.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

SOARING EAGLE

Soaring eagle,
the mouse
is watching you,
vultures
circle behind you.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE UNGRATEFUL CHILD

Once upon a time,
Earth Mother lived
in the world.
One day Earth Mother,
impregnated with the Word,
Seed of the Creator,
gave birth to a child--

Man.

And Manchild, in his immaturity,
his ignorance, greed and vanity,
in the name of science and technology,
armed, with the weapon of civilization,
was bent on turning 'round
and destroying her,
his own mother.

But little did he know
that he would perish too,
for land is greater than man,
and man belongs to land;
she was here before and will be hereafter,
a grim reminder, survivor
of ingrate mankind’s mean demeanour.

So ends the saga
of ungrateful Manchild
and Earth Mother.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

WE, THE CHARRED ONES (A LAMENTATION)

We, the charred animals, who fought your wars,
defended your democracy,
endured your endless humiliation,
we, the charred ones, who fought your wars,
we wept when you refused to
acknowledge
your wrong,
to repent your endless atrocities
against us.
You passed up the opportunity to
make atonement for your sins
before God and man
down in South Africa,
your not-long-ago bloody bastion
of bigotry—
of segregation,
and snow-white apartheid.
Yea, we wept with the untouchable ones
on the subcontinent;
yea, we wept with the first nation peoples
of the world;
yea, we wept with all the oppressed
of the world;
we wept with the oppressed
and our tears touched,
our tears flowed across the oceans
and touched
and pooled in every land
with tears of the oppressed in every land,
touched, until the pool of lamentation
overflowed
and touched the Master’s hand—
yea, until the pool of lamentation
overflowed
and touched the Master’s hand.

Copyright ©2001 by Newton V. Chance

BUNDLE-WOOD

(in memory of my father)

how long will mankind
piss against the wind
hang upside-down like bats

to defecate on the Maker
succeeding
only in messing on ourselves

a musician called Shortman
once befuddled me
declaring out of the blue

“this world
is one big shithouse”
then I saw it clear as daylight

birds doing it dogs doing it
fish doing it frogs doing it
flies doing it bats doing it

cows doing it man doing it
politicians doing it priests doing it
to the world

to our minds to our lives
scarab pushing it
is gobhar

in the water in the air
in the forest on the street
in the park on the lawn

on the roof on the floor
in the ceiling on the wall
in our minds in our lives

we are surrounded by it
my father used to say
“if bundle-wood never loose

it never tie good”

Copyright ©2002 by G. Newton V. Chance

BLACK MADONNA

Black Madonna, Holy Enigma,
Some consider you the Mother
Of God.
Many the veils and mysteries,
Like Hod or Yesod,
The ancient myths and histories,
Like the kabalic unspoken Word,
I may not understand,
But this one thing I am assured,
You are the Mother of man.

Black Madonna, Divine Diva,
Some consider you the Mother
Of Miracles.
Many the altars and shrines,
Like Holy Oracles
To pilgrims and seekers of signs,
Like bishops and popes in shackles,
Liberating the pawns in the people's minds,
Presiding over papal debacles
To reveal your true bloodlines.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

SONG OF THE INNOCENTS

Wish that I had died a child,
Returned to heaven undefiled;
That I had, then, the divine sense
To preserve my soul in innocence.

When first I drank sweet mother’s milk,
Believing life was of that ilk;
But then for knowledge did I thirst
And learning, wondered which was worst,

The naive bliss and ignorance
Of foolish men which knows no fear
Or the tortures of a conscience
Captive in dungeons of despair.

Love can be blind, love can pretend,
Though faint and fickle, to be true;
Cursed be the day, the hour when,
With love’s blind eyes, I first saw you.

In time rejected hearts will heal
Then straightway all the pain forget
And wounded warriors flesh congeal
To thwart and taunt grim, greedy death.

The eye cannot itself perceive
‘Cept mirrored in the tears it grieves
And God, to Adam He gave Eve
To wash his back, not to deceive.

When God first made the Universe
By invocation of the verse;
Said let there be and it was good,
Establishing supreme the Word
(The pen is sharper than the sword.)

Heaven acknowledged, Earth obeyed
Till wily Snake he did persuade
One third angels and all mankind
To peel the fruit and eat the rind
(“Thou shall not die,” the Imp opined.)

And Death he weaves a woeful tale
Of men who sought to no avail
By ballot box and election
Political succession;
And failing, many crowns impaled
Through treach'rous coupe and treason,

Only to wake up and discover,
To their woe and abject terror,
That the monster they created
Did naught but seek to perpetrate
Perpetual war, bloodshed and hate
As it stalked the land unsated.

Copyright ©2001 by G. Newton V. Chance

THE FOUR-ROADS

Be careful of the four-roads
For the devil and disciples
Still deal and do their dark deeds there.
Where once a tow‘ring kapok tree
Overlooked the cross-roads,
There now are steel and concrete poles
Bearing street and traffic lights
To keep away the jumbies.

They are still afraid of lights,
Afraid to stop at red lights,
So beware when crossing four-roads,
Beware of jumbies
As they run away from red lights
For they just may maim or kill you
And sell your soul to Satan
At the four-roads.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

APRIL HILLS (2010)

April hills brown and bare
fires fires everywhere
April fools are dancing 'round

April hills bare and brown
smoke and ash and haze surround
houses burning to the ground

April hills brown and bare
water dwindling day by day
prayers for the rain to come

April hills brown and bare
forest fires everywhere
rain soon come and cover ground

April hills bare and brown
fires raging all day long
hill will soon come sliding down

April hills bare and brown
fires blazing all around
soon the rains will flood the town

April hills brown and bare
fires fires everywhere
April fools will learn next year

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

85

(for my mother)

to be alive
at 85
a privilege
of age

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SAND FLY

no truck on flyover
sand flying all over
building boom over

Copyright ©2010 04/03/2010

EDWARD

(in memory of Edward Thomas, 1878 - 1917,
a great English poet who shared my birthday)

Edward, lover of England,
her herbs, her birds, her coast, her sand;
wish that you were here to see
the wonders of my country.

Your sleet and snow are not for me
nor have I seen celandine;
I only know sun, rain and green
and yellows of the poui.

My berries from balata,
my oak obtained in bottles;
the cuckoo a chachalaca
and horses with brakes and throttles.

You fought in trench with pen and gun
to army bugler's bugle;
I fight with pen and pen alone
to Masekela's flugel.

Were you around, your years would be
one hundred and thirty two
and I am young, much more than you,
I am only fifty three,

but Edward, lover of England,
her shrubs, her birds, her soil, her sand;
my country means as much to me
as your country meant to you.

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

MAN GRAVE

God gave a grove of trees to man
a boundary between sea and land

to breed the bounties of the sea
and help to tame the tsunami

stilt roots for fingerlings to hide
and oysters to withstand the tide

the ebb and flow of earth and moon
to feed the crab-eating racoon

the scarlet ibis and egret
in habitat both dry and wet

but man soon laid and hatched a plan
to kill the grove and grow the land

and so wetland was dried and paved
transforming mangrove to man grave

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

COCAINE #3

cocaine
police
rats

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

RUN IT #2

run it
or ruin it
from god to dog

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

RUN IT

run it
or ruin it
time and twine

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

COCAINE #2

cocaine
pain
death

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

COCAINE

cocaine
airplane
death

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

POCAHONTAS

Pocahontas
white hunters
genocide

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

STINKING SHIP #2

(for Winston 'Gypsy' Peters, the most 'spiritual' voice in calypso)

captain
the ship is stinking
throw cargo overboard

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

STINKING SHIP

captain
the ship is stinking
walk on water

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SCALPEL #2

surgeon wielding scalpel
patient live to tell
relief

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SCALPEL

surgeon wielding scalpel
pain is hell
relief

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

CAIMAN

caiman in the river
eyes that shine and glitter
the hunter hunted

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

NO BIRD #2

woke up one morning
no bird whistling
the world in mourning

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

FRIGATE (AN EPIGRAM)

the frigate is a pirate
and unlike the Head of State
is nothing but a bully bird

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

REEF WALK

beaucoup environmental
walking on the coral
once there was a reef

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SCHOOL PAN

why should each school own a pan
after all it was made in Japan
and it can't even play a bhajan

Copyright ©2009 by G. Newton V. Chance

NO BIRD

woke up one morning
no bird whistling
end of the world

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

WOOD SLAVE

a wood slave walking
on the ceiling
world is upside down

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SNAKES

(And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel. Genesis 3:15)

my father told me
when you dream snake
watch out for enemy
and traitors
hidden lurking
among leaf litter
and dead tree head
under rock and rotting log
you don't want to look for them
'cause you might see them
coil-up sleeping
or glimpse them slithering
with their always open lidless eyes
swiftly away in fear and surprise
from your fear to safely
hide under the premise
that belligerent
will not pursue
or execute
preemptive strike
to their demise
or see them exposed sunning
to warm cold blood and body
or witness serpent shedding
scaled skin if you lucky
and you do not want to see them
but if you do not see them
you could step on tail or head
and get stung in self defence
so make sure you have a gun
or sharp cutlass in hand
and eyes open
in the jungle
but if they dare enter your house
to look for rodent rat or mouse
then you have the right
to beat to death
but I am still confused
Father never told us
some snakes are non venomous
and how to seal reveal or deal
with the poisonous
and the precious
camouflaged and concealed
openly in caduceus

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

HOW COME CARICOM

(zombie - a will-less and speechless human in the West Indies...
Merriam-Webster Collegiate® Dictionary)

how come
Caricom
take so long
to come
when Haiti
on the ground
and under the ground

and how come
Caricom
was waiting
on Caricom
to know if to come
and when to come
with their crumb
and their gum

and how come
when Caricom
finally come
they couldn't land
'cause Uncle Sam
done come
with food and gun
to take control
above the ground
and on the ground
and underground

tell me how come
when the help come
it take so long
to reach some
on the ground
and under the ground

and how come
Comte Dracula
now come
and beseech
the rest of the leeches
to release their chokehold
on the neck of the victim
on the ground
and under the ground

how come
Caricom

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

SHAKA LAKA

(for Winston 'Shadow' Bailey who used to plant peas for Shaka Laka)

cocorico cocorico
cocorico cocorico
morning a chachalaca
of synchronized ebullient
song flung and bounced from clan to clan
echoes across canopy
talking drums cross hill and gully
here in this piece of paradise
piercing this peaceful paradise

where serpents are macajuels
no mapepires or corals here
‘cept the brains among the reef rocks
but beware there are scorpions here
parrots too who believe
speaking other people’s language
the way to suck seed and achieve
make up your mind about this bird
am I pest or nation’s pride

cocorico cocorico
cocorico cocorico
will never tire of this tune
from morning noon to afternoon
proudly I stand proclaim and crow
defiant as mighty Shadow
saying go cook curry ochro
I declare never will I disappear
wont let you do me like you did the deer

hear this I am Shaka Laka
and this is Shaka Laka land

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

TONGUE TWISTER

tongues touch
and taste
and talk
love
talk and
taste and
touch tongues

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance

BLACK SMITH

pound pound pound
with every ounce of sinew
Shango with the hammer
Ogun with the steel
Eshu with the horseshoe
pound and round the cartwheel

of fortune forging heat
drawn by horses hooves
clip clop along the street
hasten hasten hasten
from the evil of the gallows
from the evil of defeat
to the anvil of the beat
pound the sound into the steel
make music to make magic
the rhythm of the drumbeat
the rhythm of the heartbeat
the rhythm of the bellows
the rhythm of the bell
to peal to feel to heal
from wounds and wars and woes

pound pound pound
with every ounce of sinew
Shango with the hammer
Ogun with the steel
Eshu with the horseshoe
round and round the cartwheel

Copyright ©2010 by G. Newton V. Chance