POETRY
PEACE
Peace is with thee
You have seen war and turn it into love
My heart is my temple, as humble as a dove
Deeply I cried because those barbaric deeds,
How long shall we wait to help the weak? Lets be love because love is great
It’s what makes us healthy.
My heart is my temple filled with good deeds and truth.
Full of care and not of fear.
Be prepare because we are here to shear that which is good; Peace.
By Kirkland Clarke
BLACK THOUGHT
We live for peace
We lived with ease
Through rough times and sad times
We dine and remember those dreadful days.
Days of pain, bloodshed and stain
Still, we find it in our loving heart to forgive
We are for peace.
We are black, we are comely but believe or not we are far too humble
We were not born to be criticize, victimize nor to be ostracize!
We were born free.
As black as good
As black as purple love, and as good as gold
Believe or not we are genuinely special.
Kirkland Clarke
A CHANGE OF HEART
Worth more than you could ever know.
Through days of darkness we tow the boat.
On the turbulent sea we glide and float.
In moon lit night our eyes illuminates.
Devastated by a story that erases hate.
Faith went walking on the treacherous mountain, and as it
Lingered a sweet melodious voice echoed in the distance valley below
My heart shivered as I started to pore.
The door of love was open, through it flew more
Turn by the wind, shattered and yet smooth to the core.
There is life no longer boring no more
Four eyes made one
Two delicate hearts combine as the flow through the
Somewhat treacherous and somewhat ominous sea of love.
Your voluptuous body entwine through the troubled time. Life went on with love in mind
The sun shines on with rays of hope.
The pink delicate petals slowly pop opens.
Welcoming a bee that appreciates its token
No one, Yes no one was sorry because no heart was broken.
Kirkland Clarke
SOME DAY
Sometimes this place
is like somewhere
Sometimes this place
is like no where
Sometimes that place
is like this place
Sometimes that place
is like that place
Sometimes my mind is
like a book
Sometimes my mind is
like a library
Sometimes my mind is
like sponge
Sometimes my mind is
like a bag
Sometimes my mind is
like a basket
Sometimes my brain is
like rain
Sometimes my brain is
like the weather
Sometimes my brain is
like a desert
Sometimes my brain is
like a river
Sometimes my brain is
like a sea
Sometimes my brain is
like an ocean
Sometimes there is
some
Sometimes some seems
like nothing
Sometimes there is no
fear nor bravery
Sometimes there is no
love nor haterege
Sometimes this time
is like no other
By Kirkland Clarke
BLACK LOVE
Oh let be me your
light in time of darkness
Oh let me be your
rain in time of drought
Oh let me be your
oasis in that deserted land
Oh let me be your
blanket in those cold and lonely nights
Oh let me be the
gentle wind that caresses your
Delicate cheeks on
those warm summer nights
Oh let be the cure to
your loving heart
Oh let me be the
blood that runs through ever living
Fibre of you precious
body
Oh let me be the menu
for you every dish
And the panacea for
your every illness
Oh let me be that
precious thing
Your diamond your
rubies and your gold
Oh let me be ….
By Kirkland Clarke
ARROGANCE
Through love and war from near and far
In a house or in a car. They that see both near
And far and they that see near but never far. Your feelings is important
As your thought, what is important to you now?
May not be important tomorrow
Sweet is joy but bitter is sorrow
Arrogance is not cute and even worst, ignorance is not fashionable
It is a state of mind that leaves you mindless and dark.
Preach in your coat of many colours the richness of
The lack of knowledge and the wisdom of foolishness.
Show the illiterate few that you can use might to beat right
Highlight you achievements with pompous words and a slippery tongue.
Walk your flashy walk and parade your air of pride, not knowing
That is because of you and your beliefs and policies why the world in the state that it is in.
It is not your beautiful grammar, superb diction nor your egotistic ways
That give us analytical minds and a vision of hope.
Arrogance is arrogance
Arrogance is that part of naked ignorance when properly clothed badly!
By Kirkland Clarke
BLACK SISTERS
Value yourself! You
mean so much more to me.
Value yourself! You
are a wonderful being
Far more to me than
just a voluptuous figure, a curvy thing, a pair
of mouth-watering
breast and silky smooth thighs.
Value yourself, you
were precious and wonderfully made, because it was with
Tender care and
precise craftsmanship you were superbly designed.
You were not place on
this earth to be debased by that careless thing of a man. Nor were you place
here to be miserable and lost
There is far more to
life than skimpy clothes, high heels and foul language.
Value yourself my
special black sisters.
Your sensuous
chocolate body is beautiful and priceless, you worth far more than a one night
stand or a few dollars in a hand.
Value yourself
because your ambition should be such it causes the sun to dim.
Let it not be
That it is your rear
that gets you there.
Value yourself my
sisters because you are from a line of ancestors
Bold, confident and
strong.
Value yourself
because you are an asset to society and a blessing to the human race.
It is you who
nurtured life and chant the path of continuity
Value yourself your
every thoughts and emotions should speak volume.
Legs may cry hoping
to die second and more so third, pathetic and treacherous
So take heed
By Kirkland Clarke
TROUBLED SOUL
She walked the lonely road of life lost in thought
And shaken with fright
Her heart beat troubled rhythms of sad delight
A day that was is now lost from light
An innocent child she was yesterday until
Her innocence was drag away
Black and blue yet all is new
A world of pain a world of shame
Tattered name and battered soul a heart that’s beats
And yet so cold
A body that was the epitome of perfection
Is now an empty shell
She has been to hell and that’s not swell
Far from peace devour by the beast
Lost that thing that cannot be regain
What is dignity?
What is pride?
What is the purpose of bride?
By Kirkland Clarke
THE LANGUAGE OF ARTS
The languages of the art so beautiful so pure.
An artist cry of joy and cure.
Precious deeds of thee so pure,
A world of peace and strong delight
Dominant stages with naked lights
Scenery so powerful they kill your mighty sight.
Eloquent palettes of paints of clothing.
Recording concepts, time and place astounding
Whistling brushes that dance with enigmatic emotions.
Transforming clay in endless beauty
Powerful sculptures that hold their duties.
Struggling artist that purge the soul
Aim for perfection saturated in gold.
By Kirkland Clarke
THE FORGOTTEN CHILD
No gift of love nor embrace that pure
No mother’s kiss nor touch to cure
No proper guidance of a father’s pore
A child that loss the thing so dear
A mother’s bosom of love to comfort and a fathers worth
Back and forth from home you go
Within a system weak in high and strong in low
Nobody seems to care, no time to grow
Tattered clothes and naked feet
Windy night starve of sleep.
One day your light will shine from above.
Powerfully lit and full of growth
A hand that is tender and full of hope
Shall guide your scope.
By Kirkland Clarke
TIME WASTERS
They sat on the wall and waste their time- unproductive element of society.
They plan to rob and murder.
They sat on the wall and watch Mary, Mas Tom and Paul.
They want this! They want that!
They want the ‘hottest’ shoes and the dearest pants. They want the largest car, the most expensive house.
They want and they want
They sat on the wall with the intention of extinction.
They sat on the wall, but that’s not all…
They sat on the wall dusk till dawn.
They sat for days, till days turn months and months to years.
They say on the wall because they own a PhD from the University of Waste Time.
They sat on the wall and discuss how Jane leave Paul.
How Paul have no balls and how Mary
Have waterfalls.
They sat on the wall smoking pot and all.
They sat on the wall until the wall changes color
They sat on the wall until the wall started to bawl
They got up off the wall
Oh my God everybody bawl!
By Kirkland Clarke
DEATH OF A ROSE
Where harvest lies within its glory
World of beautiful colors and rich fragrances alike
An arena of spontaneous bliss and vibrant rhythms.
A perfect parade of grace and poetic emotions.
The magnificent three that warm the hearts and placate the soul.
Burst from the heaven of creativity.
Flowing dress that sways exposing naked passion of a potent music
Through the midst of all this, the music stopped and that’s no fashion.
The feathery moment of silence march on
A stroke of a heart coated in contortion
Linger no more like the backwash on a shore.
By Kirkland Clarke
THEY CRIED WITH ONE VOICE
This world of ours may not be ours we here faced with the naked struggles,
A word so twisted and engulfed with a façade of democracy and equality,
A race that is always humiliated, always question even when their greatness
Spears volume the black voice that shattered hearts, soothe and torment
Souls. Their pain were not in vain mark my words
A pneumonic expression of blackness that is pure and true
Shall hit them when they least expect it. The nakedness of brutality and the miasmic touch of racism
Shall be challenge by they that suffered the most.
Many years has passed and many moons has cried the ever anguish of the black voice.
Injustice has woven the very fibre of the black fabric.
They are not the victim they, however are.
Society bleeds a world of obnoxious believe.
A belief that rest on ignorance and naked arrogance
Our ancestors stretch forth their trembling hands across the rugged seas
Desperate cries for support the black voice whispers
Echoing sounds that move mountains and shook oceans.
From Africa to the Americas and yes! Right in the heart of the Caribbean.
The voice that never dies but always piercing.
Greatness lies in every sound of that violet black voice
A month is not enough for the recognition of this voice
It is a voice that cannot be contain
A voice that bleeds the blood of brave powerful souls
They cried with one resounding voice
THE BLACK VOICE!
Kirkland Clarke
HUMAN TRAFFICKING
The vessel of life is more than a vessel when terrible deeds
And gross selfish desire overcome us.
Are you not your brothers’ or your sister’s keeper?
It is in the depth of the inner heart of evil men lies such gruesome deeds.
A pound of flesh is not worthy, you are like a thing.
A thing need to be pluck
Or butcher. Your blood means nothing.
They shall ravish your body until you are no longer
Capable of having feelings.
There are many types of trafficking however, the worst is this one.
Harpoon lances and target cried a victim of rape or slavery.
Heaven cried a voice of tormented soul and anguish.
Within this terrible traffic race has no exception
You are no longer of substance if substance is no more.
The thing that tears society apart and question the core of a value system.
Or is it a system that does not have any values?
You were told that you were cute so you were tricked
And robbed of your youth.
A body broken down and sold in parts.
A purple heart that with shattered spark
Ambition is no more because life is without meaning
A light that sparked is now without a glare
An innocent child suffers directly or indirectly
Modification of soul
Modification of spirit
Modification of body
A world of raining pain shall rain!
Kirkland Clarke
ESSENCE OF A BLACK WOMAN
Have you ever witness that pure potent chocolate of a figure
Miraculously sculpt and curvaceously pronounced.
A bosom that carries that stiffness that penetrate the law of gravity
Pearly white smile from a face so radiant.
Rich natural textured hair ferociously styled and displayed
Succulent bulbous lips that radiates with beauty
Intelligence that that encapsulates the depth of an ocean
Bold in stature and grounded in positivity
Having the sense on one being
And ferociously culturally aware
If you haven’t then you are missing out until you do
By Kirkland Clarke
Arrogance
HUNGER
A life of strong bread
A week of soulful hunger
Absence of soul food
LITTLE BAY
A day at Little Bay
Sunset walk below sea.
Sea gull long to play.
CONFUSION
She lay there day scared.
Confused with anger and tears
Oh what page of fear!
By Kirkland Clarke