My~place Poem by RazonAnny Justin

It couldn’t be my Place
I’m rooted in a very peculiar Land
And my stump is buried in the valley of Palms
Where oil and nut, straw and husk, wine even
From the scaly trunk
Or coconut from the tubular palm with
Wavering fronds
Richly, is tapped from the same sad tree
Where madden gods in their hazy glee
Haul moulded pellets of helpless men at each other
In their mirth, create Joy and Pain, Chaos and Order


Or could it be my place?
Did you see the Southern Cross?
Did bells of dirty masquerades, cling- clatter
Ooze from shrines like magma from erupted craters
Sharper then life machetes, branded each member
Ran the tracks, blood draining through whip cracks,
Every leap December
Could it be my Place?
Did the crow-call scare men atop creaking straw-beds
Worse than scarecrows scare farm birds
Did restless daemons roam after dark?
And did owls incise sleeping mens’ back?


It sure must be my Place
If Nature and the Hills share a name
Wasn’t it Nature, who made the Hills: gave a name?
Shouldn’t Hills over- ride the humpy back of nature?
It sure must be my Place
If the Sculpture looks the Sculptor Eye to Eye
Sozzling with a boiling Cauldron of Ancestral Bile
Staggering as the sloughing wind whispers
Against his Clay Breast
“You are mine, and this surely is your Place”

@2011, Razon-Anny Justin's 'The Metamorphosis And Other Poems'.