Wednesday, 27 September 2017

tail of the gatekeeper



set the captives free
set the captives free
unchain their steel cuffs and collars

un-key the iron trap doors
and let them go…
in rows of three

but how could they, be free…
lamed, though untamed
broken apart though toughened

limbs seek warmth and rest
in a bitter place, once home
a busy cold now has step

where to would they, could they, go…
rendered landless, though indigent
dispossessed though much more to give

spirits rejoice in opportunity
to bring care to raw memories
impossible for cruelty or liquor to erase

what memory
what may have occupied the mind
what may have filled the bones

what may have inspired a soul
so completely denied by conditions
at a hand so utterly inhuman

what aspiration
when freedom’s the length of restrain
and heaven’s as high as a look

if to dare look god up in the eye
if only to ask why
why the land a question
which generation
able bodies crumble in cross-hairs
cold-bloodedly eliminated in study

in plain sight of nothing
women and children interned
none spared but the dead

who could not feel the kick
that toppled the tombstone
who could not feel the thud

that ended a child’s life
who did not scream when
a mother lost a tongue

what punishment, what fear
what incentive, what reward
for the unchained man, un-caged

but to un-question his land
to un-do what keeps him hooked
to release the sharpened spike

from the tender knowledge of his flesh
and from the ghost of his ancestor’s neck
forthwith unravel what keeps him ensnared

entangled to a line and sinker
encouraged to squirm as bait
in new-fangled missions of despair

to un-do that deafening silence
that biting of lip that reigns
when questions hurt and eyes cannot but see

that noiselessness that hangs dirtily on the public ear
like soiled bedding waving in the wind
just don’t ask what imagination

have you not seen the rock art
how the aged pigment still moves the figure
of shadows falling in shape

how the etching perfect the stone
how chiselled chips fall like bone
how the rock gong rings with the bow
- !gda

Wednesday, 13 September 2017

Monk

"I don't know where jazz is going. Maybe it's going to hell. You can't make anything go anywhere. It just happens."
Thelonious Sphere Monk