770900
8
(Apropos Of A Sage Griot’s Tale Of Life)
I
Birth cord sepulchered—entombed
along Brazos banks and Gulf Coast
shores—tombstone set on a hill.
Muddy Mississippi erupted
spewing out a dream deferred
flowing to an Ozark plateau
polluted with bigotry festering
with the seeded waters of the times.
Injustice seeds itself in fertile fields
fertilized with political cow chips
aping cargo sailed of ships of old
to ports of new-time urban plantations.
Ironically, ships became cruises
to freedom; sailing the seas
or the skies thereof. Yet the legacy
lingers on—ballooning.
Civil Rights and Neo-Colonialism wed
at the altar of political deception:
From seas to shining sea, stagnation
celebrates; the journey goes off course:
Breathe baby; breathe the journey—
II
Out of the darkness of night,
crept the dawn; steaming with thirst,
the dry mouth sun rose—inebriating its self
with the morning dew—leaving empty blades
of grass scattered across the landscape.
The lazy old sea, urged on by quiet winds
laboriously spat out lethargic waves.
Lethargic waves whimpering tears of fickle-frothed
faces repeatedly slapped at the shores.
In the distant cosmic sky, lonely seagulls
sliced through the salt-laden air
leaving a pasty white trail—an umbilical
reminder of the perilous journey.
Laying in a verandah hammock of a roped womb,
a cracked smile sped
across the face of memory and whispers
to the Creator sang praises for another birth of day.
III
The smell of fresh boiling crabs saturated
the salt watered air; and the clinking bottle
caps signaled the gathering of Pokeno players.
Seasoned domino players slap table tops
with rhythms that rival Babatunde Olatunji
on full-moon Gold Coast nights.
Shrimp boats moored themselves
along the muddy banks of the river—
the pregnant river teeming
with a seafood feast in the making.
The eerie tormenting buzz of mosquitoes
broke the stillness of the night
as they hovered in sexy sways over puddles
pooled between tall blades of salt grass.
Echoes of howling dogs slowly faded
into canine whispers
as the river breeze blew bittersweet
memories of tamarind years.
IV
Ah—what a strange entity—the sea
inanimate, yet teeming with life.
What stories it has to tell. No less
a graveyard of history—replete
with the remains of those only time
records memories of.
Save her echoing waves, her ripples
are as silent as fallen forest trees
in the absence of people around to hear.
Yet, at her shore, in dreams of memory,
I hear the ghost voices of Ancestors.
Ghost voices of Ancestors
bubbling up out of her dark depths—
ballooning the warm moonlit night—
with echoes of laughter issuing
from the buccal cavities of the jumpers.
At the next full moon, I shall paddle out;
paddle out and thread the wetness
of this vast watered graveyard; and
anchor a wreath of purple African Violets,
whispering aged prayers to the Ancestors.
V
Lowering my boat into the waiting water,
I paddled out to sea. Midway the horizon
I anchored—a fisherman of memories
that I am—once more baited my mind’s fishing
line with pages of ancestral truths, and then
waited for the reeling in of ghost voices.
At sunset—mental basket satisfied—
I paddled back to shore and built a fire
and gathered the children to savor
and share the day’s hefty catch.
Beneath the glowing moonlight
exited orbs reflected the fire of knowledge
as we sat and sang songs praising
ancestral fishermen of great Nubian empires…
Beneath the glowing moonlight
we sat and sang songs
praising those ancestral fishermen
of the transatlantic journey…
Beneath the glowing moonlight
We sat and sang songs
Praising those ancestral fishermen
of waters still teeming with injustice:-
Tomorrow I shall again lower the oars and
paddle out into the sea of freedom waters;
baiting my mind’s fishing line with reflections.
VI
Today the teasing sea sends waves to shore
like Sisyphus’s children—the froth dissipating
as its carriers are pulled back into the wet womb
of their watered beginning—
Likewise, we’ve been to the shores
of justice to be pulled back
by the gravity of its nemesis—
Its pompous nemesis riding high tides
of deception magnetized by moonlight
of the mockery seen; festering
under the bangle stars of lost liberty:-
Forward—we must—the day dawns.
The full sea of the watered beginning
of our wet womb and bannered waves
will splash upon the shores and anchor us
in the liberation of a moored permanency.
VII
Saturated with fish fry smell,
Bar-B-Que smoke, rodeo dust,
and sounds of deep water blues—
with teasing frothing lace spread on shores,
Gulf Coast birth breeze blew winds in sails
to the Caribbean Sea, Blue Mountain berries,
banana walk trails, yam hills—
To kiwi seed raindrops tapping reggae beats
on zinc rooftops on cool verandah nights,
in herb-scented air—curling roast breadfruit smoke.
The tarrying there tested the tired soul;
matured the spirit, fulfilled
long-tried attainments of deferred dreams;
then the sea recruited its journeyman again.
VIII
Pacific Coast pleaded an adopted native son home;
home to new seashore sands
dusted in smog self-negation of urbane destruction
and self-nullification of the community—
caught in the veiled nightmare—
lurking in the promised land.
Hence, were lessons learned
from a gospel tower—a tall gospel tower
that never knew a church; yet gave
life-lived sermons that put homiletics to shame—
crucifying pipe dream pie-in-the-sky nuances
on crosses of realities.
Atlantic waves, undulating like rhythmic buttocks,
frothed a scent of magnetism greater than
the tightening hold of gravity; attracting an uneasy soul,
searching spiritual solaced sands; only to discover
that the seas all share the same shored design:-
Yes, the same shared sorrowful savage slave story!
likewise do the rivers—from the James to the Brazos;
Different seas: same sand; different rivers: same banks:-
IX
Now awaits Guinea Coast sunsets and Cape of Good Hope
Cul-de-sac early morning sunrises.
Then on to the sands of heaven: Regrets are for those who fail
to chase their dreams into reality.
Thus, even in the waning years of earthly life, despite the trials
and tribulations, continue to chase;
Indeed, come what may as we journey this earthly life, let it be
our fervent desire to chase liberation:-
