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Precious Pristine Potpourri Poetry

Updated on March 6, 2016

VISIONS OF VALHALLA (the poem)

For KAY-DEAN MORGAN & MARCUS GARVEY


I wonder if we could make Heaven right here,

Of course it would mean the resources we’d share.

And education and advancement would have to be fair

So everybody’s ass could afford a chair.

The president and I would have to be the same,

No hunting me with dogs as if I’m game.

And every bloody one would have to share the blame

Plus those wild-for-life idiots would have to turn tame


We would work on love, you know? Spread that shit,

So that even under duress, we wouldn't call it quits.

And we would have to be committed to development,

So as to avoid the destructive judgment.


Our children and elderly would have to be secure,

As it was in times before, but there is more –

It’s not enough to banish Poor, If Ignorance is still

Singing on the shore. And darkness has no easy cure

For one thing, our character has to be completely pure.

Economics is a problem because it tells us to store,

The shit that should be spread from mantle to core

And we need open-mindedness for sure

Since some can’t stand it when the Lion roars.


Now, how is it possible to for me to rape my wife?

When she promised me before God, sex for life?

There are many other things to get rid of or make clear,

If we want to make Heaven right here.


Contributed by: Seano-Paula Hitchmann Wright

aka Seano (Spirit of Temporal Intelligence)

About feelings

For Sophia


You arouse my passion, in flames my mind.

I have a thing for stunning sexy soft lotioned skin.

I just want to kiss, y’know, worship what I miss

I want to say I love you with my hands, my lips,

My tongue.

So what? Some say so with whips

What do you like my love?

Show me how to make you move.


You are beautiful beyond bare words to express

How was the world without you I can hardly guess

I crave your love as the eagle craves the dove.

I love to watch your angelic face when reposed,

Every wish and desire completely exposed.

No privacy: This is my idea of bliss,

Just with you, like an eternal kiss.

I would strive to make real your tiniest wish.


I was young with you but older

I wish I was smarter and bolder

Then. But naught before the time is what they say,

There is a road to happiness, let me show you the way.

There is plenty of time before comes the night

To bask and play in everlasting sunlight.


I circle around what I feel for you inside

Because I am scared to cry again.

Cause scars feel better than new disdain,

And love can leave you open wide

For capricious Fate your way to decide

And pain your soul to stain.


One thing I have to tell you though

If you want to know what’s true

Despite how well the pretty words blow

For all time, know that I love you.


jAbo.

My cute friend Measha

She is pretty, progressive and YOUNG! I tried to get involved with her, but she surely has far better prospects than I. Anyway, I composed the following verses in her honor.
She is pretty, progressive and YOUNG! I tried to get involved with her, but she surely has far better prospects than I. Anyway, I composed the following verses in her honor.

Coming out (for my baby…Measha)

By Cammy

Soft, sibilant, sensuous like a snake, sexy…

I disagree with you sounds like

I want have tea with you; I romance the stone.

I build your belief in me with a gentle, moderate tone.

I see you relief when we hold each other alone,

The weight of our love would make castles groan.


No! Never angry if anger would mean you’re scared,

I can be forever jolly even if you think me weird,

At nights I could make you laugh before we sleep,

At births or funerals I would watch you weep wet,

Sometimes I might encourage you, teach you how not to fret.

Other times I will let you be with your fear and regret.


Pretty hair and sweet smells are all very good,

But have you been learning and thinking as you should?

I want a soul survivor to stand strong by my side…

I see an empress in you; I want her for my bride

So come my precious lamb, raise me a Sun,

Then relax and relate your adventures to everyone.


Do you dream my love? Of a double sun, of red skies?

Can you see beyond the limits of what we call eyes?

Do you know the difference ‘twixt actual and real?

Can you break the illusion your skin says it feels?

Can you partake of Love and still respect its bounds?

Or must the Judge still roar while She makes Her rounds?


But back to reality you beauty, the sky remains blue.

And within us all lays an ambition to draw us to.

The bright light shining in its brilliance—snow white,

Out of the darkness of nothing, where wrong is right.

You can remain forever young, through this changing day,

Here where the jinni dwell, and where the mages play.

They all have moved on...R.I.P. gentlemen!

My three grandfathers: Allan G. Palmer, Astley Hitchmann and Bertram O. Jobson have all contributed to my health, wealth and knowledge. Well done guys, thank you.
My three grandfathers: Allan G. Palmer, Astley Hitchmann and Bertram O. Jobson have all contributed to my health, wealth and knowledge. Well done guys, thank you.

Ere we are

(backway assonance SECTION II) For My Three Grandfathers

Quotidian responses shine

No light into a dark dank

Dungeon of a day.

Barely an hour old, but without

Any hope of hope.


Quietly I watch the sleep vortex into

White shrouded pipes.

“It is from pipes like this that

We die,” I speak to nothing in

Particular. “From such pipes come

Our slow sick demise”.

“Then be glad for them”. Replies

Nothing in particular.


Spawns of Creation’s only

Mistake we remain, yet sill in

The abyss of nothingness ….

“Tomorrow is a long way off

At this point”, says coffee to my throat,

“Wish hard! Maybe you won’t make it”.


Easy to say, but know that

Man should not die from hard times if

Only to provide inspired lives

To those that follow.

Nothing is free, but for the love of

Oneself.


“Bye friend”, smiles my house, “we

Hope you

Die”. Not surprising,

Walls will wail death at those

Who climb, this is after all, their purpose.

“Me too!” laughs my voice.


Quotidian stimuli elicit

Responses of the same. No

Smiles

No songs, no sobs

No sighs, simply…

A long boring wait for death.

jAbo.

Aleya and Jordan

Jordan C.O. Jobson is my paramount achievement. No matter what else I do in my life I don't believe that I can do better. To put it mildly, the kid is a super genius! I am blessed with brilliant kids. Thank you GOD!
Jordan C.O. Jobson is my paramount achievement. No matter what else I do in my life I don't believe that I can do better. To put it mildly, the kid is a super genius! I am blessed with brilliant kids. Thank you GOD!

Discussing Self-Determination

(For Jordan Christopher Oliver Jobson) Congratulations Talib Kweli… 100%!


Be sure of who you are and who you want to be, ambition is never ever out of fashion.

Make sure that you define yourself totally, when it comes to oneself, one needs passion.

Creativity is mandatory, it’s absolutely necessary, if your backside wants to rest in mansion,

Whenever we observe your resolution to be free, we will acknowledge your self-determination.


This concept called self-determination, is overwhelmingly essential, it is a key virtue,

Most times people fail to consider this action, in this way they short-change their crew.

In this way they enrich the competing faction, and their friends don’t receive what they’re due

Poverty becomes a permanent station, and depressing, desperate days always continue


There is no future for the foundling nation, without the knowledge of self-determination

If YOU don’t know what you are, then how can you emit and evolve an effective creation?

You will end up copying things from people who have developed strategies irrelevant to you.

Devastation and frustration awaits the society that fails to learn something new.


Every person, community, society and country, has the right to determine its own destiny,

The Deity who coined this crucial concept was known to us as Robert Nesta Marley.

The life he led was like a sample, it seems to me to be the supreme example,

Of how to convert an inheritance of poverty into an experience of copious, abundant prosperity.


The fundamental activity is arriving at a decision. Then through positivity, fund the vision.

Although there will be criticism and derision, one should not tolerate derailment of the mission.

Upon arriving at successful stages, we deny the urge to parade our achievement in our haters’ faces.

This bit is the greatest lesson of self-determination, to be great and yet be filled with the highest graces.


So my son, I do hope you understand; self-determination does not breed a heavy hand.

Prejudice is wrong, oppression is against the law, pride is destructive, and hate is contraband.

The virtues include zeal, courage, courtesy, discipline, tolerance, scholarship and moderation.

And these are not all; indeed, there are many more things that you can enact to encourage elation.

This has been a treatise on positive action, a strategy to arrive at satisfaction.

It is a thing that is scarce in this our life, filled as it is with competition and strife

If you concentrate and focus on the good, then you will find, realize and conclude:

There is definitely and absolutely no substitution, for the knowledge of self-determination.


Contributed by: Aliam I aka Prof Fit aka Khadijah aka Tributiol aka Memnoch aka Cammy aka Corey S.

Fire

For the Prophet and King – Shango

By: Cammy


If you want to be burnished, then you must go through flame

Being bronze, burnished is a desire, necessary even,

So show me to the fire!


Who said getting it easy is getting it best?

Sometimes the smooth road is so boring

There is no place to rest. Fighting Daemon is all there is to do

So says the crew. I would rather work up a hot lather

Through the hills, with a couple of warriors

And a bard to spread the thrills


Yes man, fire keeps me warm, and warm means I’m good.

If I get then too hot then H2O hits the spot, but if I’m cold there’s not

A lot that that I can’t do to become warmer… true?

“More fire!” The DJ sings, “more fire and a blistering rhythm”.

“More fire!” says the preacher on the corner, “more fire and

From Heaven, manna”.

“More fire!” growls the Security Minister, “more fire for

Thieves and murderers!”


Everyone agrees, fire must be free

So who is me to advocate to the contrary

Plus fire is good for my health and wealth, it’s just hard on those

Who want to accomplish things with their devil self.

So fire my brother!

Fire to the death.


Man, a finger for those who wants the Ice Age to continue,

God comes full into those in my retinue. Yes watch the shoe fall

Now here is a New day for all; from those in the churches to

Those in the mall. All you have to do is call. The phone is on the

Wall, you may even speak in a drawl. Even if you are black as

Tar or as white as marl; grace is for Peter as well as for Paul.


Who says I lie because they are afraid to fly? Cause they won’t comply?

Yet this story will be told in the by and by. And the air is there

For those with fear. So if you find yourself shook then read the book!

But some don’t want to look, they name me a crook,

Well fire for them and their stupid outlook!

Fire in every cranny and

Fire in every nook.

A quick comment

Nicole is Jordan's Mother. She is a wonderful person, after fifteen years i still dream about her regularly. I THINK it is fitting that i include this poem in the same hub that has the one dedicated to jordan. of all my many relationships nicky and i cohabited the longest, and although i've had more stable relationships, i was never happier than with her...maybe that's why she still inhabits my dreams, lol! If you happen to read this J. natts, thanks for a hell of a ride and for jordan. blessings good and faithful wife!

Rhymes for Nicky

By Cammy


So many nights I wish you were here to hear me.

To make things clear to me

To warm the Sun. Life is bereft of fun

Without you, all smile done without you

When will you come around to break the

Ache, to make the fake shiver.

My judgment is NOT. All I have is red dots

And lead shots for those who approach.

The lion is aroused, where are the houses

For God to fresh. This life is a test. I fail

Not to be blessed; but without you I can

Not rest. Come to me my little bunny

Do not wire money, that shit is unfunny.


I dream every night of you in beige, bright

Even more than the Sun. There is not no

Need to front, you make Love come. I

Have it hard for you, the Jones in my bones

Rubs rigid and rampant ready to rip thin

Drawers or a hardy under pant. Watch me

Write a spell to make you smell my heat. Life

Is defeat without your presence here.

All in all I still care, still prepare meals

For two. Frustrated and alone I really

Miss you.


Do you reminisce on dank desolate days when there

Was no Sun? Do you tell those dread dark tales to

Anyone? I myself am relieved that you made

The new day come. You are a hero, an icon

You are number one.

I want to end your time here in bliss

For your actions these people should kiss

Your feet wet

Then dry them with the heat of their breath

You still don’t have to fret

Because you are set

Forever to dream the visions of an angelic queen

St. Nick is now completely on the scene

FUN DAY!

Of course I would include a picture of myself! When have I not?
Of course I would include a picture of myself! When have I not?

A Rude Awakening – November 1979

(For the political martyrs)


The staccato barks of an automatic assault rifle slit the serene silence of the rustic night

It’s my neighbors’ house! Sleepy birds are put to flight; my wife shivers violently with fright

“Who will we mourn in the morning?” Comes the contemplation to our distressed minds

I am noticing that death visits us more frequently with the passing of time,

More often now we are confronted with callous cruel crimes. Christine begins to pray.

I close my eyes; occasionally say “Amen.” But my trepidation and horror are not allayed


The crowds of concerned citizens congregate next door long before dawn.

Wails and weeping season the sunrise, cries for justice greet the blood red morn

“They murdered Mickey!” my wife Christine cries hysterically.

The cops are on the scene ‘investigating’, they confer and conclude that this deed

Had its origin in high places and was motivated politically, they seem so indifferent

Almost content! Like Mickey’s ripped and gaping chest, my heart begins to bleed.


“What will befall his children?” I wonder inwardly as I take in the pitiful painful scene,

I cringe with sorrow as I look at his eleven year old daughter Shayana’s tear stained face.

Mickey’s toddler Armand, gathers the hem of his inconsolable Mother’s mud flecked dress.

He is not crying, instead with wide wise eyes, surveys the action in an otherwise boring place.

But the damage done to Dorothy his wife, no amount of money can repair,

She screams her outrage to the Fates and the Gods, while squatting on the newly painted stairs.


“Oh Mickey, what did you do - to be lying on your back, empty eyes locked on Heaven?

A violent death I could have never predicted to be your ultimate reward

Your body destroyed, your skin cold in the morning heat at half past seven

For folly and foolishness your kids are fatherless, facing an existence that will be ice cold and hard.” The ambulance has arrived contributing its part to the loud, disturbing and mindless din

With practiced effortless, eager, efficiency — the paramedics lift, stash and remove him.


Now that the body has gone, with the excitement done, the onlookers begin to disperse,

They exit whispering and muttering, leaving Dorothy to rant rabidly, rage and curse.

I feel it for her, although I know that I can only imagine the depth and extent of her loss and Sorrow. Christine and I touch her gently; we say that her shock will recede soon

Between bear-like bawling Dor reminisces on the day that Mickey became her groom.

By the time I’ve realized that I can take it no more, she has denied the existence of tomorrow.

Corey S.

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