Ayiti-Forgetting and Remembering

Ayiti-Forgetting and Remembrance
by D.G

Everyone now speaks of the earthquake which reduced Port-au-Prince to rubble,
yet no one remembers the earth shaking revolution in which the slaves freed themselves
and established the first black republic.
Media images of poverty and voodoo, are conjured in our minds, a poisonous magic
that distorts the truth,
of Haiti's rich culture and religious traditions.
The gods of Africa are demonized and despised ,
by those who serve the god of the slave masters.
We rage at the idiocy of one evangelist's words,
yet we still live in ignorance about this island,
the Europeans called Hispaniola, Saint Domingue, Santo Domingo,
once the richest jewel in the Caribbean now known for it's poor.
“discovered” by Columbus, but it is we who need to rediscover this island, where
gods and saints walk among men,
where the raga music of carnival plays,
the sensual rhythms of kompa,
the hard working mothers who keep a spotless house,
a land of vibrant color and beauty
whose true name is Ayiti,
land of mountains,
named by the first inhabitants
put to death by conquistadors' sword and cross,
enriched by the people of Africa who were enslaved
but had the strength to win their freedom.
We forget the exploitation of the isles resources, the occupation of U.S. Marines,
we choose to remember the negative,
and banish Haiti from history's narrative.
Rise Ayiti, from the ashes of history, from the ruins of defeat,
let us remember your glorious past and praise your future.
La Union Fait La Force!

Night Terrors at 3am

This is poem is part of the series, it should be the second in order which is Cinnamon Sunset, Night Terrors at 3am, Silence Before Sunrise and the 4th one is not yet written.

Night Terrors at 3am
by DG

This Voice whispers that you will die alone, unloved,
never to find success,
its tones drip with venom,
twisting and wrapping you into a fearful victim.

Maybe it originated with the taunt of a classmate,
the disapproving lecture of a parent,
the criticism of a boss, demeaning your performance,
the insult meant in jest by a friend,
the increasing bills that pile up, as finances drain dry.

Confidence withers away as wicked self deception becomes
ingrained to a belief.
The alarm clock reads 3 am and you dread going to work the next day,
where you toil for the advancement of others, in servitude to them, while your own soul
slowly dies and diminishes.

The dying embers of the candle flame flicker,
faith dwindling to a spark,
doubt creeps in as you think that he is apathetic to your love, your silent pleas to the gods unanswered
as you fear the very angels themselves turn away deaf to your prayerful supplications.

The very thought of the sunrise hurts you,
because you once basked in its glow of love,
now the memory of it lingers and festers.
In the vigil of insomnia you wait,
as terror and confusion cripple, slithering and snaking their way into your heart.
The dawn seems so far off and cannot be faced for fear that its light burns to bright.

Obstruction or Construction
by DG

Where once were pebbles on your road, minor annoyances,
now lie boulders,
that seem nigh impassable, a heavy load,
slumped in defeat, burdened shoulders.

Desire deferred,
dreams transferred
equation of persuasion,
relinquish what you hold most dear,
surrendering to the drama of fear.

In difficulties lie the seeds of hope
strengthening the will to cope, with the challenges of life,
seeking peace, an end to strife.

Not all is lost, no need to fight or wrangle.
Find a different route, approach from a different angle.
A new perspective made clear.
Many will laugh at you, jeer or silently sneer.

Other wills look up to you and follow in your wake,
marveling and praising the choices you make.
Keep walking forward, head held high.
Never looking down.
Victory is at hand-seize the crown!

Cinnamon Sunset

Cinnamon Sunset
by DG

The last rays of sunlight fade in the west, leaving an orange glimmering of day.
The New Moon rises in the sign of the Virgin, lauding a new era of possibility.
Anointed with oils of patchouli and cinnamon,
the fire of spice enters my veins,
boiling my blood to a simmering temperature,
igniting the fuses of desire,
furnace of passions fire,
which cannot be sated or satiated
until it meets its equal in flame.
Fire that meets measure for measure in brilliance,
heat that exudes will warm the house of my spirit.
The moon is the mirror which reflects the glory of the sun,
your brilliance is reflected in the wells of my eyes,
and the magnificence of my soul is spoken by your words of praise.
Two kings without a kingdom or a crown,
left to wander in the desert on this starry night.
I light the watch fires which will guard us till dawn.

Poem-Silence before Sunrise

Silence before Sunrise
by DG

Finger over lips,
silencing and locking the Mystery within.
The secrets of the soul protected from profanity.
The phantoms of the spirit world arise,
whispering their secrets in my ear,
I reply with a message to you,
relayed by the invisible across the Unseen World.
Hoping my love won't fade with the rising of the sun,
when the dream ends and the mask of moonlight slips off my face.
Will the parchment burn in the sunlight, will it all melt away or turn to ash?
Turning away, I light my torch and walk into the Darkness alone,
its faint glow holding the horrors of life at bay,
without sleep and its promise of rest
if I can win this battle on this side of Night,
as I wait for the day when I can face the sunrise with you.

Rythmn of the Saints

This is a poem I wrote way back in 2002 and was published in my book Battles of the Black Madonna.

Rythmn of the Saints
by DG

The rhythm of the drums play into the night,
calling the gods and goddesses of Africa to descend.
Shedding their Catholic masks to dance with their children.
The sly smile of Exu as he invites his fellow deities-
to leave their blissful heaven, the world of the invisible,
into our mortal realm.
Oxum, sweet goddess of love,
vainly admires her exquisite beauty,
skin the color of honey, love flows as a river to the ocean,
embracing Yemaya, Our Mother the Sea.
While the thunder of Xango echoes the beat of the drums,
and Oxossi leaves his primordial forest,
that has never known the touch of mortal man.
In this chorus of the saints,
we hear the hope of the slaves,
their faith sustaining their bondage.
The gods break our modern day chains,
filling us with grace.
Alafia! Motumba e Axe!!
Remember you must go to Mass the next day,
to receive the body and blood of Christ,
but even in church the saints stare with African eyes.
A veil of Christianity covers a pagan scene.
In this land of samba and carnival,
Magic is everywhere.
You do not need to look far to see the hand of God!
Olodumare Modupe! Thanks be to God! Axe!