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I reminisce
I did not invoke them
But like poetry they come
Spontaneously, like flood
They engulf my mind.
The memories of the good old days
The days of the shinning sun
The nights of merry moon
The nocturnal soothing stories
The tom-toms of melody
The assembly of our naked hearts
Even the harmonious strength in our tears.
But one day revolution
Fatality, cruelty and hostility
All Heaped on my small shoulder
I surrendered I surrendered.
And now now, no more tom-toms,
The moon marred
The shining sun sick
And the story sour
Except that I envisage
Visualize a future,
Sunny and merry
Filled with with hope,
Hope hope hope.
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A look into a world I have no experience of, but feel through your words. I'm glad I chose your page to explore this morning.
Don't have any crits. Wonderful. Wonderful. |
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Comment by: Valerie - 2007-11-03 13:44
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Well written poetry! Great imagery that paints pictures on the mind. I particularly like, "tom-toms of melody"...original, especially on this side of the world.
Critique -
Verse 1, should "flood" be "floods"?
Verse 2, "shinning" should be "shining."
"merry moon" is on the border of cliche
Verses 4 and 5, is the repetition deliberate, so as to mimic tom-toms?
(4) now, now (5) with, with
Last...8 lines begin with "the." for a total of 12 "the"s. |
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Sweet heart, here.
I hate the violence, but sometimes the revolution is necessary. When we have failed (in our innocence, or our temporary weakness), then we must rise up with arms and resistance to recover what is lost. The wise man, some books says, will wait until the Spirit is strong before beginning the revolution ... for at the best times the conscience of even the worst men will awaken and we must educate and elevate them and no war will be required.
I don't have much to say in the way of critique.
I have failed. I have surrendered. I must stand and recover. I believe there are many like myself and the protagonist in your poem ... good people in a bad place.
Americans are overfed and content, sleeping like cattle in the concentration camps of cattle pens. The world of men (and women) calls for our aid, but we let poor leaders direct our attention elsewhere.
Hope. |
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I did not invoke them
But like poetry they come
Spontaneously, like flood
They engulf my mind.
You are a writer, no question about it... I'm wondering if you should consider adding a modifier or something about the flood. I tend to think of floods as something externally induced and a gradually happening. The adjective "spontaneous" speaks to something "happening or arising without apparent external cause."
And of, course, shining has an extra n in the poem.
The imagery you weave in it though is impressive. You've got a gift, kehinde.
The imagery with |
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| Without hope we perish. So I'm glad you have hope. My heart aches for the people in war-torn places. I can't begin to imagine the sorrow of being uprooted from everything you love, the loss of loved-ones and home, the pain and hunger. Here in America, we have soooooo much, and rarely stop to be thankful for our freedom, our tremendous provision. My prayers go with you and the people of your nation. Janet |
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