My One Confession In this dark hour when my life pride would devour, I know I can do nothing no matter what I own no matter my great feats I cannot heal without my Sustainer. I am industrious smart know all - But Father, I can do nothing be nothing, except by your grace.
Tag: Jamaican poetry
Accept
Accept Accept you know but do not know. For when we don't know good things will come. When we look around the corner too soon We may fall into a trap too deep. There is no esculator up these mountains only the wind to carry us. Accept that you can't know and good things will follow.
I Stand Corrected
I Stand Corrected I stand corrected, for now I truly see, the breach I have committed in not seeing your humanity. I am better than the Pharisee - is this not true? I stand corrected, for my shaky legacy of misguided hurt that led me to bury you in the dirt when I cast the first stone instead of bathing you in the light. I stand corrected for my part in not seeing the treasure you are, in my chest filled with duplicitous art.
June Plum
June Plum Seductively sweet - though it can be a savoury delight- it reaches for your insides promising to be more than a treat. It delights the sense quenches the urges, buried so long and so deep. it's golden light promises perpetual sunshine that excites, but only if you take that first bite and not even a drop should fall on your chin. But how can something so small brought by a Bligh who brought so much strive taste so right? Yet here it is slowly awakening the senses delightfully taking control...
Keeping it Real
Keeping It Real
I have been designed many times:
who I am
who I should be
who I was meant to be.
But none asked
what I am to me
what I was meant to be
or what I see in me.
They count the years
and fuel my fears
with their unasked for expectations.
No one seems willing
for me to be me -
They will say they do-
There is the lie.
They can't handle the truth of me.
And so they see what they want to see
the maddening fever of their mirage.
So
they polish up and shine
the me they designed
and leave me to languish,
wasted
dusty
on the shelf.
There I sit
after having been split
by good intentions
and kind words,
struggling to reassemble myself
while you nurture a leprechaun elf.
I Try and Compose Myself
I Try and Compose Myself I stay still and pray for the will to keep myself together. The more I try to shut my eyes A little piece of me falls away like the burnish autumn leaves. Silently too like an old banshee I scream from the fright of what this could mean. Layer after layer melted in a scurry while I sat nervously fretting and sweating with worry - what could this mean? As each layer continues to fall away - to de-compose and expose - What I see, is a deep down rawness of a tale no one knows - not even me.
Reputation
Reputation There goes the lie on spindly legs. It crawls about trying to find a route out of the doubts that it may not be who it seems. The Lie: We must protect Reputation - at all cost: kill if you must steal, fight and cuss. But don't let out the truth of what it is... Constructed to please the crowd now a monster too proud to be cowed by humilty. Knees stiffened back straight eyes fixed on success' frivolities. Now it goes through the door Head held high headed for the gate that leads straight to hades. Humility stand just a way off, waiting for those who seek, waiting for those who are meek.
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