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