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