When I-ngels Cried

 

When I-ngels Cried (to Chassidy and Cam)

©K.Omodele 11-13-07

In an urban landscape which crumpled my soul
Where ulterior motives are brushstrokes by
shardy images of an elusive and
scarred-face dream, I barely noticed when two I-ngels* sighed.

In the solace of an early summer lake
in May, when bird chat was an Ella-scat, and while
soothing powder blue caressed over luscious green
and jerk-seasoned smoke, I clearly saw two I-ngels smile.

On the day the sun refused to shine, when freedom

rushed away like a ship on a West African tide

Seperated by bars, brick, glass panes and misery,

my heart tumbled like a stone when two I-ngels cried.

©K.Omodele 11-13-07

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* Angels

Linden: Age of Innocence

Linden: Age of Innocence

copyright 2011 K. Omodele

Gentle breeze hoists clouds, lifts away a storm

Parakeets chat harmonize innocence

Boats glide lazily 'pon a black river stream

Sun-molten, tar road winds thru innocence

Trains haulin' bauxite ricket up a storm

Three times each day a horn bellows a stream

Now time's rolled by like that black river stream

did glide. Life's a bowed coconut tree in storm

which snap-whips all semblance of innocence.

copyright 2011 K. Omodele

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Word, Sound, Power: TriUne (Tribute to Rastafari in Transition)

"Rastafari in Transition : The Politics of Cultural Confrontation in Africa and the Caribbean, 1966-1988 : A Pan-African Perspective" by Ikael Tafari (Never Gone! Never Forgotten!)

Word, Sound, Power: TriUne (Tribute to the Rastafari in Transition )

copyright K. Omodele 2011 

 Man, Know Thyself

Physically, Mentally, Spiritually

Eye and Eye

i. i n I

Prophet, Priest, King

Word, Sound, Power

Kete, Fundeh, Bass

Second, Minute, Hour

Ites (Red), Gold, Green

Knowledge, Wise-mind, Overstanding

One! One! One!

  Aim,       God,     Destiny

Air, Water, Fire

(EARTH)

Breath, Chalice, Fire

(SACRAMENT)

Man, Wombman, Child

(FAMILY ESSENCE)

 Light, Love, Life

(LIVE)

Man, Know Thyself

Africa, Carry beyond (Caribbean), Americas

Prophet, Priest, King

Word, Sound, Power

Sun, Moon, World

Second, Minute, Hour 

Head, Body, Soul
 Justice, Livity, Truth
Father, Mother, Child

the Elders, The Movement , the Youth
the Abeng, the Shaker/shak shak, the Akete

Word, Sound, Power

Wake Up! LIVE-aspora

cyaan dis di Tri-Unity

Conceptualize...

Beyond...

the Box.

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When Things Fall Apart

 When Things Fall Apart

©K.Omodele

Each day I see the effects of the absence of men/fathers/husbands from families in our communities. It is apparent in my neighborhood with the little boys who scurry the street at close to midnight. It is evident when my own blood sister's eyes squint tight with frustration 'cause her little man got into trouble at school. Another sistren's young daughter talks about her Dad constantly, but hasn't seen him in 'bout a year. Seems like everywhere I turn, absentee fathers leave their marks-things fall apart.

When we gone, things fall apart in some way or another. The family fabric is altered when we're not there and some Sisters struggle on their own, many resorting to hustling or food stamps to supplement meager single incomes. They struggle alone in five-season old dresses and patch up-patch up jeans. Drag our seed around with them in mini vans, subway cars, or putt-puttering twelve-year -old Mirages, dropping the children off at day cares (they can barely afford) or family members. Then, they rush off to cash registers or  mop closets or clerk desks or,  community colleges if they're lucky.

From Lagos to Linden, London to LA, when fathers disappear children become some department's statistics. Often, girls grow into fractured women and boys into inmates. I KNOW. I'm sure you know, too, what happens to our families when things fall apart.

Bredren, Love our sistahs/Big up di Sistren! Mentor a child!
Or get the hell out the way.

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Seeking Makeda III: (Journey in Touch)

All rights reserved for The Abeng and My Conscious Pen/
YardCore International, Inc. Publishing

Seeking Makeda III: (Journey into Touch)

copyright 2011 K.Omodele

There never was a time when Queen Makeda was naught.

Anticipating caresses...

by soul-stimulating fingertips

gentle nudges from Aksumite hips

lines traced on skin; breath short, light nips

and feather-brush strokes by silken lips.

Remembering the Empress'...

whispers call, goose bumps 'pon skin,

stirring response, the conga rid-dim

heart-warmed breath like whiffs of medzItational* bliss

soaks the eardrum, arousing soul-sensational lifts

*meditational

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Silent Violence

Silent Violence

by Kaya Omodele 11-15-07

Lonely bird in a cage croons longingly
Day by day his tune sours, dims to a wail
Until one night his heart bleeds of silence

Caged and draped in only a muffled wail
Shivering, wings fractured, hauntingly silent
Languishes… Laments…Sighs longingly

One final breath, discomforting silence
Peaceful now? Finally, no more wailing?
No pain? Sorrows dry? No further longing?

Forget singing; I know why a caged bird
wails. Silence is Violence.
Copyright K. Omodele 2007

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Seeking Makeda I: (Journey into Sound)

All rights reserved for The Abeng and My Conscious Pen/
YardCore International, Inc. Publishing

Seeking Makeda I:  (Journey into Sound)

copyright 2011 K. Omodele

Because Makeda is still a symbol of the epitome of African wombmanhood, there was never a time when the Empress was not…

...Empress Divine…
like destiny enshrined in mind and time
as gems essence glows in Solomon’s mines
sublime, King Solomon’s sun-burned sweet
divinely implanted life's breath, heart beat


breath takes
pulse race
pul-sates,
re-so-nates
rhy-thm
re-peats
ke-te,
fun-deh,  bass


vintner’s red glint in long ling-er-ing kiss
on Rosa-moist lips inhaled soul-ful bliss

copyright 2011 K. Omodele

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March 27...(Comfort of Fools)

copyright 2011 K.Omodele for The Abeng

A new beginning...

her sashay graced the catwalk

snatched his thought,

suspending his breath

on a climatic ledge

...

gripped his stone-flint heart

and struck a SPARK!

the river-walk in Augusta

arms en-wrapping arm

skin caressing skin

sun-warmed hearts coddling

prom dates whisper in spring

soft kisses dripping promises

of life-long tomorrows

filled with never-ending,

early-morning pillow talk

and private sabbatical reasonings

interpreting Love and contemplating Life...

love of a lifetime

learning through life, time

growing, graying

soul intertwining soul

...

but

tomorrow

never

came
and the promise

comforted only the fools

Jah knows, their yesterdays crept in the way...

copyright 2011 K.Omodele for The Abeng

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Caribbean Poetry: Catharsis (When I Write...)

Caribbean Poetry: Catharsis

(When I Write...)
a free-style

©2010 K. Omodele

When I write, I:
seal long–time wounds in my soul
try stitch a heart that’s been torn
mend this conscience I've worn...

When I write, it's like:
slitting my wrists when I vent
scribbling blood with my pen 

        I'm awakening each sense…

When I bleed through my pen, it's like:
purging away old stabbing pains
watching them swirl down the drain
then lifting my face to more rain...

I word to di riddim of drums when I write!
I sound di Abeng from plantations when I’m right !
draw power from village and slums, passage rites!

I AM
Tom Feelings when I write/
Count Ossie when I write/
When blind, more sight/ when dark, more light/
my stain, my plight/my pain, my fight/

I create a unique, lyrical mural -
when I write...
I am right.

©2010 K. Omodele

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  ---

Marcus' House

(Photo By Jennifer Poyser 2009)

©2010 K. Omodele


Why does Marcus’ house lean
with dilapidated beams
and neglected, time-cracked posts?
Surrounded by rambling goats
hurry come latelys who don’t overstand
the glorious essence Mosiah’s stance
not religion rather Community
uplift… One Aim, One God, One Destiny.

How could we not carry the Trumpet’s Sound
Self reliance, pride: no national bound
until the whole of Africa is free
reciting the words “Self Identity”

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E’nig•mat’i•cal

Time steals youth like waves thief the soil
and mushes it to slushy silt
Visions once strong as oxen gait
fade like leaves on autumn trees wilt.

Time’s a crude fire; smelts love from a heart
fond moments from minds like copper from bronze
extracting core Truth from precious al-loys
some rivers turn streams, some oceans turn ponds

Time is...water carried in a wicker basket absent-mindedly handled as if the vessel would miraculously retain the inevitable...

Copyright 2010 K. Omodele

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Woman Who Cried

  Woman Who Cried
Copyright K. Omodele 2007

Can I mend your lacerated heart?
Douse the fire pain
and together face hard-wind rains
that lash slash slash lash.

Woman let me soothe your punctured heart
Saddle my back your burden-load
The climb feels a steep
never-ending, raggy road...
my shoulders can brace your wailing soul

Copyright K. Omodele 2007

***This poem is a tribute to my Auntie Jenny who lost her elder son, Kirk, over fifteen years ago in a gun accident. I have seen, first hand, how such a tragic loss can affect the human spirit and soul. Everyday, she Rises... and I think that is testament to the resilience of the Human Spirit.

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Dancehall Bubbler

Copyright 2009 K.Omodele

Wind...slow...Wind...low

rub hard...don't stop

roll slow...tem-po

Grind slow...love dat

Ka-Boom...one drop

I-shense...draw slow

BOOM-boom!...BOOM-bap!

Re-lease...blow slow

Wind down...in time

slow wind...wind slow

wind up...roll slow

slow low...tem-po

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Longing For?

Copyright 2007 K.Omodele all rights reserved

Longing for...

Though you’re here in my heart night and day,
your scent is elusive, faded like life’s first image
Sometimes I can make out your voice sighing my name
light as a whisper of blossoms-sorrel, mango, guava;
gentle as the moonlight’s touch on a blacked-out night.
Night after night after night I can feel your touch
like a Caribbean breeze’s caress, goosing up my skin,
lifting through me like sap in a ganja plant.
Intoxicating. Stimulating.Yearning
for you to appear

near.
Yet
memories
remain as fleeing illusions
to be pursued
but never attained.

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Auntie's Ayes

Happy Earthday, Auntie Cee!!!

My Auntie’s Ayes
©K.Omodele Oct 10, 2007

My auntie’s ayes are never ever blue,
but warm glims, they blend green tints hazel-brown;
When down pressed they arise, as phoenix true,
Like gusts of wind, they urge me off the ground.

My aunties’s noes not straight , not cold,
And never isolatingly abrupt.
Round African noes, like a blanket old-
Still somehow comforting- love enwraps

Auntie’s voice beacons like a lighthouse bright
Guiding a lost ship through a dark night sea.
When storms have battered, her words dove-like
sing, “Boy you can be who you want 2 be”
My Aunt, who bestows Divine Oneness wealth,
Believes in me times I’ve doubted my self.
©K.Omodele Oct 10, 2007

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How The Hibiscus Grew

Image via Wikipedia

How The Hibiscus Grew

© K.Omodele 11-11-07

Spring’s vernal fragrance like anointing dew

Blue cloud free skies, a washed and anew

In golden morn’s kiss, the hibiscus grew

From sodden nightmares, it writhed fresh - anew

Like how young lovers' hearts surge as they grew

through fences - the way hibiscuses do

Despite shoddy soil the hibiscus grew

Discarding old dreams; embracing the new

morning’s glisten, as it kisses the dew.

From the dew dampened night, the dawn arises anew; each winter

presents the promise of spring. The gift of Jah is Life.

© K.Omodele 11-11-07

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