John Sensele Poems

A song of the peasant farmer who grows maize
Cultivating loam soils, planting sorghum seeds under the glaze
Of the tropical sun, cattle draught power harnessed
Bold backs blessed, hands hassled, breath stressed.
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No bed, no bed, no bed
No pillow for my head
Sprawling on polythene bags
No roof over our hut. June tags
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Black lives flatter
All lives matter
When a demagogue pits American against American
Shoving value and decency into a cantakerous can.
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Fritters frolicking in my basin
Fritters frying my medicine
Fritters mouth masticate
Money spinner I domesticate.
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Two rooms, a mansion to behold
Floor space, a treasure we hold
Sisters here, brothers there
Family won whispers of welfare.
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I defy the irascibility of gravity
I nullify the irritability of depravity
When pins of the world spin from right to wrong
And the pendulum of credit swings to vagaries of the strong
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Echoes of empire
Freckles and heckles on pyre
Groan and moan for truth
To redress stresses swinging uncouth
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The dribbled dead teetering on a thread
Wondering whether to don a dread
Shred shame or shiver in the rancid river
Where by volition despite fever they quiver
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An invisible hand switched off my light
My path fell into a frenzy flight
My hands and glands groped for a way
To restore normalcy if my neurons could pray
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Janet slapped fate on the jetset planet
No cash, no hash, no bash for the internet
Where love leapt out, greed your feet swept
Distended dreams in stranded streams crept and wept
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