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Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Comments on "Terror Go to France"

Terror Go To France

About Isis
And Al Qaeda
The news says this: 
Paris attack
These townspeople
Office ransack

They killed twelve men
Charlie Hebdo
Holding his pen 
Written lampoons
These brothers two
Hate their cartoons

Dress in war gear
These two baboons
Spread dread and fear 
With Yemen skill
And Allah chants
They maim and kill

Each infidel
From western world
Blast them to hell 
Please hear our call
Al Qaeda foal
Love conquers all

                                 (January 9, 2015)

Special Notes on Poem:

 Form: Fixed                                         Genre:  Narrative                 Style:  Gothic      Meter:  Iambic Dimeter

 Classification: Dark Poem                   Stanza: Sexain                     Rhyme scheme:   abacdc

In a poem, Content houses the meaning or message in the poem which is a creative work and must be looked upon as distinct from the poem’s appearance, poem’s form and the poem’s style. The message is extrapolated from all the words in each verse and the imagery the words convey as they are spoken by speaker the poet has designated to speak. So since Content is the meaning or message contained in the poem, as distinct from its appearance, form or style.


What is the Content in Poem, “Terror Go to France”?  In a reflective mode, the persona in this poem has responded in verse to the attack on the people in the Capitol of France who on January 8, 2015 were besieged by terrorist who kowtow to the dictates of Al Qaeda in Yemen in the Arabian Peninsula and Isis. As activities revealed, their goal is the utter destruction of Western Civilization and way of life and set up their caliphate in the name of their god as their behavior reveals. What an impossible goal? Do they think the Western World will lie down and be intimidated by their intolerant behavior? They have got to be delusional. Human beings were created free moral agents not slaves. In an enlightened and tolerant world, terror will never reign supreme.


Thursday, January 1, 2015

Comments on poem "Censorship"

Censorship

At break Chambers Dailey  enters front gate holding
important journalized  ketchup laced manuscripts
numbering objections;  political questions
risen several times ukuleles' voices
with xenophobia yelling  zoophobia.

The poem “Censorship” is a structured Abecedarian in Iambic Hexameter. The Abecedarian should not be confused with the German sect of Anabaptists, called Abecedarians who in the 16th century claimed that they were God’s chosen ones.  They placed human knowledge on the back burner, as they believed true knowledge could only come from visions and ecstasies, a whelm beyond that of  humans and rejected every means of instruction; and that in order to be saved, one must ignore learning via the alphabet. Thus came about the name A-B-C-darians.  They frowned on the study of theology as idolatry, and regarded educated people who preached as falsifiers of God’s word.  Nicholas Storch their leader preached that teaching of the Holy Spirit was all that was necessary for humankind to live the good life.

The Abecedarian is a very old poetic form directed by the alphabetic arrangement.  In Geoffrey Chaucer’s poem, “An ABC” also known as “La Priere De Nostre Dame” is an excellent medieval example of the Abecedarian.  He created this translation of a French prayer into twenty-three octet pentameter stanzas.  However, he left out the letters j, u and w for some reason know perhaps only to him.  I suppose though that if you look into the cultural issues of his day perhaps the omission had to do with some myth hanging over those omitted letters, juw. The full text of Chaucer’s poem showing all twenty-three stanzas is shown below. Chaucer’s form of arranging the Abecedarian begins with the first word of each stanza with letters of the alphabet in sequential pattern as shown in Tables 24, 25 and 26 below.

Table 24

An ABC
Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1375)

La Prier de Notre Dame
(The Prayer of Our Lady)
Incipit Carmen seconded ordinal litter arum alphabetic.


Almighty and al merciable queene,
To whom that al this world fleeth for socour,
To have relees of sinne, of sorwe, and teene,
Glorious virgine, of alle floures flour,
To thee I flee, confounded in errour.
Help and releeve, thou mighti debonayre,
Have mercy on my perilous langour.
Venquisshed me hath my cruel adversaire.

Bountee so fix hath in thin herte his tente
That wel I wot thou wolt my socour bee;
Thou canst not warne him that with good entente
Axeth thin helpe, thin herte is ay so free.
Thou art largesse of pleyn felicitee,
Haven of refut, of quiete, and of reste.
Loo, how that theeves sevene chasen mee.
Help, lady bright, er that my ship tobreste.

Comfort is noon but in yow, ladi deere;
For loo, my sinne and my confusioun,
Which oughten not in thi presence appeere,
Han take on me a greevous accioun
Of verrey right and desperacioun;
And as hi right thei mighten wel susteene
That I were wurthi my dampnacioun,
Nere merci of you, blisful hevene queene.

Dowte is ther noon, thou queen of misericorde,
That thou n’art cause of grace and merci heere;
God vouched sauf thurgh thee with us to accorde.
For certes, Crystes blisful mooder deere,
Were now the bowe bent in swich maneere
As it was first of justice and of ire,
The rightful God nolde of no mercy heere;
But thurgh thee han we grace as we desire.




Evere hath myn hope of refut been in thee,
For heer-biforn ful ofte in many a wyse
Hast thou to misericorde receyved me.
But merci, ladi, at the grete assyse
Whan we shule come bifore the hye justyse.
So litel fruit shal thanne in me be founde
That, but thou er that day correcte me,
Of verrey right my werk wol me confounde

Fleeinge, I flee for socour to thi tente
Me for to hide from tempeste ful of dreede,
Biseeching yow that ye you not absente
Thouh I be wikke. O, help yit at this neede!
Al have I ben a beste in wil and deede,
Yit, ladi, thou me clothe with thi grace.
Thin enemy and myn— ladi, tak heede—
Unto my deth in poynt is me to chace!

Glorious mayde and mooder, which that nevere
Were bitter, neither in erthe nor in see,
But ful of swetnesse and of merci evere,
Help that my Fader be not wroth with me.
Spek thou, for I ne dar not him ysee,
So have I doon in erthe, allas the while,
That certes, but if thou my socour bee,
To stink eterne he wole my gost exile.

He vouched sauf, tel him, as was his wille,
Bicome a man, to have oure alliaunce,
And with his precious blood he wrot the bille
Upon the crois as general acquitaunce
To every penitent in ful creaunce;
And therfore, ladi bright, thou for us praye.
Thanne shalt thou bothe stinte al his grevaunce,
And make oure foo to failen of his praye.
Table 25

I wot it wel, thou wolt ben oure socour,
Thou art so ful of bowntee, in certeyn,
For whan a soule falleth in errour
Thi pitee goth and haleth him ayein.
Thanne makest thou his pees with his sovereyn
And bringest him out of the crooked strete.
Whoso thee loveth, he shal not love in veyn,
That shal he fynde as he the lyf shal lete.

Kalenderes enlumyned ben thei
That in this world ben lighted with thi name,
And whoso goth to yow the righte wey,
Him thar not drede in soule to be lame.
Now, queen of comfort, sith thou art that same
To whom I seeche for my medicyne,
Lat not my foo no more my wounde entame;
Myn hele into thin hand al I resygne.

Ladi, thi sorwe kan I not portreye
Under the cros, ne his greevous penaunce;
But for youre bothes peynes I yow preye,
Lat not oure alder foo make his bobaunce
That he hath in his lystes of mischaunce
Convict that ye bothe have bought so deere.
As I seide erst, thou ground of oure substaunce,
Continue on us thi pitous eyen cleere!

Moises, that saugh the bush with flawmes rede
Brenninge, of which ther never a stikke brende,
Was signe of thin unwemmed maidenhede.
Thou art the bush on which ther gan descende
The Holi Gost, the which that Moyses wende
Had ben a-fyr, and this was in figure.
Now, ladi, from the fyr thou us defende
Which that in helle eternalli shal dure.

Noble princesse, that nevere haddest peere,
Certes if any comfort in us bee,
That cometh of thee, thou Cristes mooder deere.
We han noon oother melodye or glee
Us to rejoyse in oure adversitee,
Ne advocat noon that wole and dar so preye
For us, and that for litel hire as yee
That helpen for an Ave-Marie or tweye.

O verrey light of eyen that ben blynde,
O verrey lust of labour and distresse,
O tresoreere of bountee to mankynde,
Thee whom God ches to mooder for humblesse!
From his ancille he made the maistresse
Of hevene and erthe, oure bille up for to beede.
This world awaiteth evere on thi goodnesse
For thou ne failest nevere wight at neede.




Purpos I have sum time for to enquere
Wherfore and whi the Holi Gost thee soughte
Whan Gabrielles vois cam to thin ere.
He not to werre us swich a wonder wroughte,
But for to save us that he sithen boughte.
Thanne needeth us no wepen us for to save,
But oonly ther we dide not, as us oughte,
Doo penitence, and merci axe and have.

Queen of comfort, yit whan I me bithinke
That I agilt have bothe him and thee,
And that my soule is worthi for to sinke,
Allas, I caityf, whider may I flee?
Who shal unto thi Sone my mene bee?
Who, but thiself, that art of pitee welle?
Thou hast more reuthe on oure adversitee
Than in this world might any tonge telle.

Redresse me, mooder, and me chastise,
For certeynly my Faderes chastisinge,
That dar I nouht abiden in no wise,
So hidous is his rightful rekenynge.
Mooder, of whom oure merci gan to springe,
Beth ye my juge and eek my soules leche;
For evere in you is pitee haboundinge
To ech that wole of pitee you biseeche.

Soth is that God ne granteth no pitee
Withoute thee; for God of his goodnesse
Foryiveth noon, but it like unto thee.
He hath thee maked vicaire and maistresse
Of al this world, and eek governouresse
Of hevene, and he represseth his justise
After thi wil; and therfore in witnesse
He hath thee corowned in so rial wise.

Temple devout, ther God hath his woninge,
Fro which these misbileeved deprived been,
To you my soule penitent I bringe.
Receyve me— I can no ferther fleen.
With thornes venymous, O hevene queen,
For which the eerthe acursed was ful yore,
I am so wounded, as ye may wel seen,
That I am lost almost, it smert so sore.

Virgine, that art so noble of apparaile,
And ledest us into the hye tour
Of Paradys, thou me wisse and counsaile
How I may have thi grace and thi socour,
All have I ben in filthe and in errour.
Ladi, unto that court thou me ajourne
That cleped is thi bench, O freshe flour,
Ther as that merci evere shal sojourne.







Table 26

Xristus, thi sone, that in this world alighte
Upon the cros to suffre his passioun,
And eek that Longius his herte pighte
And made his herte blood to renne adoun,
And al was this for my salvacioun;
And I to him am fals and eek unkynde,
And yit he wole not my dampnacioun—
This thanke I yow, socour of al mankynde!

Ysaac was figure of his deth, certeyn,
That so fer forth his fader wolde obeye
That him ne roughte nothing to be slayn;
Right soo thi Sone list as a lamb to deye.
Now, ladi ful of merci, I yow preye,
Sith he his merci mesured so large,
Be ye not skant, for alle we singe and seye
That ye ben from vengeaunce ay oure targe. 


Zacharie yow clepeth the open welle
To wasshe sinful soule out of his gilt.
Therfore this lessoun oughte I wel to telle,
That, nere thi tender herte, we were spilt.
Now, ladi bryghte, sith thou canst and wilt
Ben to the seed of Adam merciable,
Bring us to that palais that is bilt
To penitentes that ben to merci able. Amen.


Poetry is the manifestation of Literature written in meter.  Poetry is a genre of Literature.  Literature is the body of works recognized for having merit artistically.  The poem is the product that emerges out of poetry. Form usually catches the eyes when a poem is seen. Form is the structural characteristics upon which poems are organized. When form conforms to conventional poetic dictates we have what is known as Fixed Form, other names used are Closed Form, Classical Form and Traditional Form.  All Classical Forms of poetry are made up of metered verses and stanzas, as is evident in Chaucer’s poem “An ABC”.

When poetic forms break all the rules that govern Fixed Form poetry we have what is known as Non-Compliant Form, other terms used are Non-Classical, Unstructured Poetry, Open Form Poetry and Free Verse.  All Non-Compliant Forms of poetry are made up of Lines (not verses) and Units (not stanzas). Let’s see how verse, line, stanza and unit are defined.

All Classical Forms of poetry come with verses and stanzas and, according to their specific lengths suitable names are applied.  Verse is the term used for words on a horizontal plane in poetry having a common pattern of meter measuring one foot or more.  A stanza is the division in a poem composed of two or more verses with a common pattern of meter, rhyme and number of verses.

All Non-Compliant Forms of poetry come with lines and units and of variable length.  Line is used for words on a horizontal plane in poetry without any kind of measurement assigned to them.  Unit is the division in a poem composed of one word or more without any common pattern of meter and rhyme scheme.

Thursday, October 30, 2014

Planted Hero of Trafalgar Square

This square within a square
So many times those things
Before us, we don't see;
The changing tide we fight,
It with all our might...
Globalization is
The crust that holds firmly,
The economic pie
And nothing is the same;
When the day has ended...


Do you stop to wonder?
Why, sometimes tears do fall
Simultaneously, when
Those kisses are planted?
Why good memories are
Made of bliss? The bad ones
Flow from those teary eyes,
And terror everywhere;
How many times do we
See square within a square?


How many times we see,
People squatting out there?
In the air and the rain,
Around Trafalgar Square,
Heroes’ Square, the swing bridge,
The Central Bank and pier;
In this symbolism,
Competing images,
In mind appearing
Taxing overstressed brain.


And those opposing views
We hear and read in news.
Now Folks for crying out,
All over the island;
There stands a Navy man
In Trafalgar Square in
Independence Square with
Limestone eyes at Barrow,
Our national hero;
This sailor from Britain;


Square within a square,
No pun intended, but
This foreign Admiral
Of the high seas fought for
The British monarchy;
This Lord towers high in
The middle of the square,
Faced Broad Street; backs Broad Street
Close to those buildings for
 Parliamentarians;


This foreign sentinel
Guards, prominent site in
Barbados, this sailor
With a gun at his side
Near the boardwalk that
Hugs the ebbing tide,
And this man with one-eye,
One hand sailed many storms
Swirling the seven seas
And Caribbean lands.


He looked at hurricanes
In their destructive eyes
On the sea and the land;
Yet he stands steadfastly,
Like the stately Royal
Palms near the bay, with their
Feet in sandy clay in
The porous coral ground.
This Norfolk Admiral
Gazes in full command;


Over harbor, the land,
The careenage and the
Tranquil estuary
Laden with all types of
Vessels mariners keep.
He watches ocean deep;
Wishes amid the stars
That he could again sail,
Blue Caribbean Sea
And mingle with Pringle.


At him everyone stares
But, their gazes are looks
Of admiration mixed
With condemnation at
His stance, demanding
So much more than a glance;
Tourists from near and far
Have come to pay homage
To noble Englishman
In bronzed-like body wear;


With flashing cameras,
On this their Libra knight;
His stony face shines in
The hot tropical sun,
As he bemoans the bell
That chimes loudly in his
Ears like Big Ben every
Hour and the hovering
Birds that shit on his head
And "ladies of the night"; 


Colonial Bajans
Worshiped this Admiral,
'Cause at forty-seven
This Lord, a rector's son
Showed extreme bravery
In Battle Trafalgar,
Eighteen hundred and five,
Bajans adopted Englishman
As their new found hero
In their "Little England";


Eight years after his death,
Westmacott’s bronze statue
Of this rector’s son was
Place on Barbados' soil
In Trafalgar Square and
His memory lives on;
In colonial breeze
But discontent surfaced
Concerning his placement
In the Trident nation;


Patriotic Bajans
Aired their discontentment
For this British hero,
Lord Nelson in their square,
Heroes Square, with Barrow,
Father of their nation
Their hero, who gave them
Independence in the
Year, nineteen sixty-six,
And sent back Union Jack;


To quell the discontent
That brewed on the island,
Trafalgar Square renamed,
The Independence Square;
Discontentment remained;
Nelson's relocation
Aired, across the island;
Barrow must take his spot,
He is our true hero;
No foreigner will do.


Appeasement back on board
Because they want the votes;
So the Square was renamed
Heroes Square but still the
Controversy remains
On the land, because the
People want Nelson move
From Heroes' Square, a place
For National Heroes;
Not Foreign Heroes


The jury is still out;
Lord Nelson still usurps;
Politicians silent; 
The Trident people still
Waiting for the day, when
Admiral Lord Nelson,
This British hero is
Relocated to a
Place at the Garrison;
His final resting place...




Poetics of the occasion has its roots in history and much use is made of historical imagery.  Its focus is to delineate events of the past by incorporating elements of artful composition and poetic diction.  The poem “Planted Hero of Trafalgar Square” reflects scenes from Barbados colonial ties with Great Britain and the diplomatic battle for independence with Great Britain which Barbados won.

In writing a poem with historical imagery, poets have a slightly different responsibility than do historians.  A modern historian is expected to present factually correct narratives. The poet writing historical poems can adhere to this ideal, but often use poetic license to communicate ideas beyond mere facts, such as mythical or emotional truths.  Contemporary poet is also concern with keeping the voices of historical persons alive who have passed on. Also, I might add that an occasional poem serves various ulterior motives. One such motive might include informing the audience at the time of present events, often to draw parallels and make a political statement. Other motives might be personal, if poets feel a connection to the historical events they are recording. When history seems relevant to poets’ lives, occasional poetry can be a means for emotional expression just like any other type of poetry.


Sunday, September 21, 2014

Comments onThird Person Persona Omniscient





In poetry what does the term “Third Person Persona Omniscient” mean? This phase means that the poet is no longer the lead character in the poem, but rather has taken on the task of observer whose role now is to observe, follow the characters with great passion like those paparazzi and narrate own perspective, the innermost thoughts of those characters in the poem, from every conceivable angle. This shifting role from “First Person Persona” to “Third Person Persona Omniscient” is tactically achieved by making use of any of the following pronouns; “she”, “he”, “it”, “her”, “him”, “they” and “them” as shown in Flowchart below.

 

 


 










The poem “Rhyming for True” as shown below is an example of a poem written in Third Person Persona Omniscient.





Ryming for True
(Third Person Persona Omniscient)

 “Water, glycerin, oil or gel”, she yelled;
And thinks kids don’t have a clue how to spell;
Anxious boys rubbed their heads before the bell;
Today, the tap runs slow; she said “Oh well,
Drench them now before their skins burn like hell”.
In her mind’s eye she sees water abuse
This issue she likes to bring up with Bruce.



Lather every body part up and down
Face first; “What for?” he said “in front the clown”;
“Wash very well between those locks and curls”;
She said to him, “Get off my bloody nerves”.
“See now they all have eaten the hors d'oeuvres”.
Cleanliness is uppermost in Sue’s mind;
Thinks gluttony is a child of a swine.



“Hey, see those trees all dressed in coats of snow
On their trunks, leaves, limbs; Oh how well they glow;
Spring has come to wash them from head to toe,
Refreshed with food” she said, and so much more;
In her eyes she mused; spring is at man’s door;
She fancies prancing in crop-over band,
Sweet calypso vibes, with her toes in sand...



“Mom always sings in bathroom” said Michelle
“Then off she goes to work fields at Bakewell”;
She likes wearing shoes from Mademoiselle;
Holding noses they shouted as they ran
Must be thinking that skunks hide in bedpan,
In that house that is never spick-and-span;
To romp and roll with mahogany bird.




“Deadly tornado struck Oklahoma,
Wind speed has moved on to Arizona”
Said the storm chaser to the Governor;
Anderson Cooper from cable network
Said, “First responders’ knees deep, in hard work”;
A transvestite was seen fleeing the scene;
Ghastly faces say their fears are routine.









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Haiti Under Rubble from 7.0 Earthquake

Natural disasters whenever and wherever they occur impact on all of our lives. The Good Book says we are our brothers and sisters keepers lead by the Holy Spirit. Hence, we must do our part when disaster shows its ugly face. Any assistance, great or small, given from generous and loving hearts has equal weight. I'm passing on this information I received that Barbadians can go to First Caribbean Bank to donate to the Disaster Relief Fund for Haiti. The banking information is shown below:

First Caribbean Bank Account--2645374-- Cheques can be written to: HELP #2645374

For more information click on this link

My thoughts and prayers are with the people of Haiti.

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