Her stern copper face looks down on me,
Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi’s mother?
On closer inspection, can’t help but feel
That this is the Frenchman’s mad brother.
Bearing the torch and tabula ansata,
He invokes the chain of a broken law.
I am enlightened today –
Libertas is male: in shock but not awe.
in this grade 2
dank and musty
forget the imagery
I’ll devise this poem
a full stop
Someone told me
are not written
but fester in the mind
until spewed out
onto the blank canvas.
are given away
so the poet
the craft of letting go.
before you and I –
recited by ancients
to vast public crowds
or in the King’s court.
scratched as hieroglyphs,
paint vivid pictures
that lures the reader
away from didactic
are the responsibility
of the writer
so when criticized
the author should not complain
or even worse curl up
in the fetus position
feeling blue for days.
do not have to rhyme
but can projectively
free verse all the way
can be be exchanged
but nowadays many
say poetry is a dying art –
long live the poem.
a tall charred tower
parades for eyes who wish to view
though I wasn’t there
people burnt in their rooms
while others scampered
some sought relief
jumping high balconies –
children, mothers, fathers, friends
as a rabid fire uproots
a community and shines
a spotlight on a nation
(the richest will not cater for it’s poor).
the cladding on the Tower,
and a Hotpoint fridge
stirring this nightmare.
imprints on the psyche
but Brexit and May
storm back on the agenda.
the media complies
wistfully reporting failed safety checks
but others want to know who’s missing?
though I wasn’t there
a resident said
“we are not angry –
we are traumatized.”
No final Grenfell Tower death toll ‘this year’
committed to root out funding extremists,
emboldened by Donald Trump’s war dance,
Saudis and allies blockade Qatar,
shining light on a tiny nation.
Harrods, the Shard and Chelsea Barracks,
she bathes in swathes of capital.
but isolated, naked, critical investments
prompts London to ogle possibilities.
Golden leaves colour the grey cold floor I walk on pondering. Born of Jamaicans plundered. My patois perplexes & my complexion: milk chocolate brown under the jaded sun. Perfectly bespoke – broken. I seethe on remembering my ancestor chanting a frantic Wolof song. He bashed his drum cementing his tongue to the roots. On the grainy pale beach lined by baobabs – I and I stood by but couldn’t understand the lingua. You know wa mi bloodclart mean?
it throws her campaign off guard – again
so she does not measure the drapes of the White House –
yet transparency lacks when it comes to Hillary
almost falling off her plane as FBI probe
release of damning new emails? New Hampshire roars
that once in high office a “criminal may be indicted.”
the cryptic announcement blinds the people –
Republicans rejoice as God wearily peers down.
If China has a stake in Heathrow Airport Holdings
Then I surmise the third runway authorized
Would be granted by Theresa May, naturally.
I am surprised that
Thousands of people die every year – air polluted:
I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe in central London
But who cares?
Ferrovial S.A., Qatar Holding LLC,
Caisse de dépôt et placement du Québec,
Government of Singapore Investment Corporation,
Alinda Capital Partners, China Investment Corporation
and Universities Superannuation Scheme (USS).
Brexit? I can hardly pronounce those investors.
Plus 25% extra for bulldozing homes?
I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.