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Poetry March 12, 2015

first_imgEIGHTY-SIX HEARTY CHEERSA BIRTHDAY WISH FOR“THE GRANDE MOTHER MARY NEMA BROWNELL”By Matenneh-Rose L. DunbarA count of twenty…and lots of grounds coveredA rugged walk from childhood to stateswomanshipA bright light that illuminates many dark crevicesA pillar rung deep in the earth that still towers firmlyA friendly wind that blows and lighten heavy loadsA tint of the golden setting sun through grey skiesEight-six hearty cheersA count of forty….and her leadership will struckA child of potency build from timbers of fine woodA patriot of heroism forged for a place of amazonsA tall hut set in the town center to bring us togetherA bucket that draws wisdom in the wells of knowledgeA warmth once experienced creates endless yearningEighty-six hearty cheersA count of sixty…and the platforms is loud for freedomA walk with the ruthless for the sake of a people peaceA plead for the tears of mothers who stood on frontlinesA riot to feed hungry babies with eyes frail from hungerA voice alone on the rocks of ducor for innocent bloodA sweet mother with a legacy which perfumes beautifullyEighty-six hearty cheersA count of eighty… and the songs are still being trumpetedA happy great great grand with a smile that costs millionsA blessing to a younger root who roost near her galaxyA presence of faithfulness to even the smallest of ideasA purple velvet flown on the sails of our ship still in sailA feminine fort for the rights of the girls to be born yetWE DECORATE WITH TEARSBy Matenneh-Rose L. DunbarOn pathless steel grasped concrete slabsMany busied to weep out grown loose grassThat sprouts notoriously in the cement bedsIt is another day to sit and reflect out lossMany souls fell in the wake of the evil plagueWe decorate with tearsOn roads we shall never see or know everMansions watched as the sick were ferriedThat in white suits all protected from harmIt is a story of pain as we shriveiled in fearMay the wounded find solace in JesusWe decorate with tearsOn dusty paths that leads to huge farmsMotorist fled for the lack of what was trueTurning dangerously at the sound of EbolaIce cold feeling entrapped communities dailyMay we never come by this horror againWe decorate with tearsOn heights of wood the die was castMothers fathers sons daughters aunts unclesTaken to a place not heard of before this deathIsolated far from the care of dear loved onesMay God save the land and have mercyShare this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)last_img read more