Sons Poems

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
...

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, 'Speak to us of Children.'

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
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I would not exchange the sorrows of my heart
For the joys of the multitude.
And I would not have the tears that sadness makes
To flow from my every part turn into laughter.
...

When these graven lines you see,
Traveller, do not pity me;
Though I be among the dead,
Let no mournful word be said.
...

A woman waits for me- she contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the
right man were lacking.
...

I ask not that my bed of death
From bands of greedy heirs be free;
For these besiege the latest breath
Of fortune's favoured sons, not me.
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You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
...

Already I am no longer looked at with lechery or love.
My daughters and sons have put me away with marbles and dolls,
Are gone from the house.
My husband and lovers are pleasant or somewhat polite
...

Part One


The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.
...

Did the people of Viet Nam
use lanterns of stone?
Did they hold ceremonies
to reverence the opening of buds?
...

We Black men of England
Too proud to cry for shame,
Let's cry a sea
Cry publicly,
...

To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
...

Oh, but it is dirty!
--this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
...

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night—
Ten to make and the match to win—
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
...

I love thy music, mellow bell,
I love thine iron chime,
To life or death, to heaven or hell,
Which calls the sons of Time.
...

Down from the purple mist of trees on the mountain,
lurching through forests of white spruce and cedar,
stumbling through tamarack swamps,
came the bull moose
...

A green and silent spot, amid the hills,
A small and silent dell ! O'er stiller place
No singing sky-lark ever poised himself.
...

January 1912, Mzansi brought forth a child 
In a harsh political climate 
Destined to free her people
Bound to cruel Fate
...

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
...

TO get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning early;
Here's a good place at the corner--I must stand and see the show.

...

Sons and Lovers a record of impressions, subjective impressions
Into the footsteps if the stream of consciousness line,
The psychoanalytic trend
Telling of class conflict, squalid and squalor,
...

It was January 4th 1778, and once again the General had not slept well. He rose before dawn and as was his practice, he wandered down to the southern banks of the Schuylkill River. Valley Forge had been particularly cold since New Year's Day, and he was awaiting any word about new supplies being smuggled out from the friends his Army still had in Philadelphia.

The Congress had recently been moved and sheltered in York which was about seventy miles due West of his current position in Valley Forge. The British had taken Philadelphia and were rumored to be encamped in the heart of the city. Many residents had fled the Capitol just before the British arrived. Fresh off their success at the Battle of Brandywine, they did not receive the warm welcome that they were expecting when they entered the city. According to European standards, when you capture the capitol city of your enemy, the war is then over. The problem with Philadelphia however was that this was not Europe — and Washington was no ordinary General.
...

The sea that took my sons away,
Was once a source of hope and play,
But now it's where my heart doth lay,
With my dear sons who couldn't stay.
...

rebellious sons wanted to migrate,
across land and oceans with no fright,
leaving parents and loved ones distraught,
to create Nations and wonders of world.
...

Is Jesus God?


A logical and comprehensive method to unleash the truth
...

September 16,2002; Monday afternoon, April 15,2019

- for my sons Devin and Shawn
...

II
On the mother's mad smiles the raindrops
patter down. On their beloved
mad faces the lanterns tap
their yellow fingers.
Swaying. Pure.
Pure raindrops and lanterns. And the mothers
draw near, blowing on their cold fingers,
moving their bodies
through filial bones, tendons,
submerged organs.
And the intrinsic mothers calmly sit down
inside filial heads.
They sit there in slow and urgent silence,
seeing everything
and burning the images, fuelling the images,
while love keeps getting stronger.
Showering them in the face. Tender love.
Fierce love.
And the mothers are ever more beautiful.
Think the sons whom the mothers levitate.
Violent flowers strike their eyelids.
Above and below they breathe
in silence,
theirs faces gleaming in the spray
of raindrops,
around the lanterns. In the continuous
pourring down of sons.
Mothers are the loftiest things
created by sons, since they dwell
in their sons' deflagration, since
sons are like dandelion invaders
in their mothers' terrain.
And mothers are oil wells in the speech of their sons,
spurting through them
from out of the earth.
And the sons dive, in rubber suits, into the depths
of myriad waters
with the mothers wrapped like octopi around their hands
and around their tenderest nerves.
And the son sits with his mother at the head of the table.
Through him the mother fiddles
with the teacups and the forks,
and through her he thinks
no dead is possible, and the waters
are connected
through his hand touching the mad face
of his mother who can sense his touch
and through love, in love, until it's only possible
to love everything
and it's possible to rediscover everything through love.
...

The Thousand Years of Peace

Revelation 20: 1-6 Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven with the key to the bottomless pit and a heavy chain in his hand.2 He seized the dragon—that old serpent, who is the devil, Satan—and bound him in chains for a thousand years.3 The angel threw him into the bottomless pit, which he then shut and locked so Satan could not deceive the nations anymore until the thousand years were finished. Afterward he must be released for a little while.4 Then I saw thrones, and the people sitting on them had been given the authority to judge. And I saw the souls of those who had been beheaded for their testimony about Jesus and for proclaiming the word of God. They had not worshiped the beast or his statue, nor accepted his mark on their foreheads or their hands. They all came to life again, and they reigned with Christ for a thousand years.5 This is the first resurrection. (The rest of the dead did not come back to life until the thousand years had ended.) 6 Blessed and holy are those who share in the first resurrection. For them the second death holds no power, but they will be priests of God and of Christ and will reign with him a thousand years.
Table of the Lord preaches the thousand of years of peace spoken of in the Book of Revelation chapter 20 as being real; it is not allegory, metaphor or symbolism for the church age experiencing a prosperous blessed time.
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