Prophets Vexed (A Sonnet)

Caribbean Poetry: Prophets Vexed (A Sonnet)

Abeng Caribbean Poetry: Prophets Vexed (A Sonnet)

copyright 2015 K. Omodele

"The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less."

~ Eldridge Cleaver, Soul On Ice

The Prophets of Paths shudder at voices bawling

from blood-boiled rage unleashed 'pon innocents' shoulders.

In this Reign of Techs compassion's tumbled and fallen

like boots kicked off feet of war-disgusted soldiers.

Prophets shake heads as zealots hurl stones at caskets

Misspoken parables prop up houses 'pon sand

"Knowledge without wisdom is water carried in baskets.

Jah Word shall spread thru bloodshed, with sword in-hand."

Prophets vexed cringe; proverbs bent into gun rhetoric

Trumpeted Truths, now off-key, rankled-ranted sound

slanted words echoed. Bodies bucked, bullets bellowed

Humanity butchered, understanding drowned.

Bare Innocents killed

Ey, Wicked, be still!

Caribbean Poetry: A Rain - Season Morning in Georgetown (a Tritina)

Want cuddle you up this puddled up morn
as raindrops TINK-ing 'pon zinc roof top sound
like dreams DINK-ing in empty Milo tins.

Cozy; senses tingle from steel-pan* sounds
strummin' like fingers, breaths stickle** on pins
drops titillate we up this Georgetown morn.

I stir; your moans drown, rain-coins TINK in tins
Thru sprawled windows breeze caresses our morn-
whispery touches pimple skin to sound.

You never cuddled to the sound of rainfall on a zinc-tin
roof one rain-season morning?

*steel pan (aka steel drum) - a West Indian percussion instrument made from oil drums
** balance

©2015 K. Omodele

Caribbean Poetry: An African Proverb (It Takes A Village To Raise A Child)

                                              Caribbean Poetry: An African Prover 

                                               (Takes a Village to Raise a Child)

                                                    copyright 2015 K. Omodele

It takes a village to raise a child,

In my tribe, loyalties deep and overflow like the Nile

My women- fierce lionesses, bare panther paws-

fang and claw for the light, Yaa Asantewas.*

Queens rinse man-children's feet that done danced with jinn

Violets firm facing 'gainst tree-uprootin' winds

Aunt-ies, Cousins, Sisters, Earths, Moons and Soil

I salute my whole tribe that did raise a child.

You know this village done raised a child

who turned away, an' SPLURT a mad dash fi di wild?

But my tribe's fire lighted paths, beaconed and called

Omowale- son returned like the Prodigal.

When my tribe's seeds spring forth, Earth's nurture fruit

A child's name- first thought so that word breathes Truth

The Son Rises- Omodele- sound em-powers youth

This village raised a child; 'ey, Yo Tribe...SALUTE!

* Asantewa~ Asante/Ashanti Queen who fought against the British in the Ashanti Wars.

K. Omodele

----------------------------------------------------------end-------------------------------

Abeng Caribbean Poetry: My Church Street Yard (Ode For Ivah)

My Church Street Yard (Ode to Ivah ~ Ivor Edson Brown)

Copyright 2015 K. Omodele

A black-thorn rose in meh Church Street yarden.
Smiles bloom there once, then ruff winds hardened.
Wish time would roll back so
I'd mek my old yard know
It's the one place in the whole, wide world I go
when my days darken.
I got meh Church Street yard, now
fold-up in my heart, though
-ripped, torn and broken.

For my cousin- a man named Ivor.

In 'membrance of our final reasoning 'pon de phone,
gyaffin' clear 'cross de Pond:




"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the
darkness conscious."~ Carl Jung

Rest now, my blood.
One Love,
K. Omodele

Abeng Caribbean Poetry #caribbeanpoetry

CARIBBEAN POETRY: Coconut Tree (A. Haiku)

                                                          Coconut Tree (A. Haiku)
                                                                 copyright 2013 K. Omodele

 

                                                                          A coconut tree

                                 bends and bows in hurricane

                                        winds but doesn't break.          

 

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

Related articles

• When Things Fall Apart
• Silent Violence
• Linden killings...Commission members to be sworn in today

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.

Tweet

Related articles

• Tempting Irie: II (consciouspen.blogspot.com)
• Sound The Abeng! (consciouspen.blogspot.com)
• In My Own Words...Marie Nadine Pierre (geoffreyphilp.blogspot.com)
• Pan-african Hero of the Week *marcus Garvey* (oafworldwide.wordpress.com)

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.

Tweet

Related articles

• Floetry Friday ~ Longing For? - Kaya Omodele (jonellg.wordpress.com)

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

Tweet

Related articles

• Seeking Makeda I: (Journey into Sound) (consciouspen.blogspot.com)
• Seeking Makeda II: (Journey InSight) (consciouspen.blogspot.com)
• Ethiopia - Addis Ababa, Ethiopia (travelpod.com)

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

Tweet

Related articles

• Ca-thar-sis (When I Write...) (consciouspen.blogspot.com)
• Omodele: The Son Also Rises (consciouspen.blogspot.com)

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

Tweet

Related articles

• How to Write Your Own Caribbean Folktale: Anancy Festival, 2012

  ---

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

Tweet

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

Tweet

Related articles

• Winding: A History of Waisteline Gyration
• REVIEW: Reggae Sumfest Dancehall Night was Scorching!

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.

Tweet

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

Tweet

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

Tweet