Valley of the Beast
[Armageddon]

They were assembled for the feast, the feast of victory, in the Valley of the Beast, the Valley of Armageddon!

The vaults of Hell now, were opened, to assault the nations of the earth: hence, Hell spoke:

‘Cursed be to those who do not heed these words: join us in the valley of the beast, for war!’

And so the world sat waiting on war, with blood soaked knees, in the Valley of Beast. And they came from far and near: from bog, valley and woodlands; from the north, east; and far west—brother against brother (to fight for the Beast, in the Valley of Armageddon).

They came from Hell’s abyss, commanded by none other than, Agaliarept, Lucifer’s henchman; with hissing, clutching at the feet of nations, until they carried: “War, war, war…!” And there they stood with flaming swords, and many died caked with blood up to their thighs, as the fury roared—two billion died; and thus, the prince of darkness, was shackled for a season, but he will be back: by and by.

It was in this same hall a week later, the generals met with King Niobla, when he asked Florencia to come into the drinking hall, where all were feasting and wine and ale drinking and joking, and she did obey—un-cheerfully, and upon approaching the king said, “What is it that my sovereign ruler wants of me, that you would have me come to such a despicable place like this, and look at your drunken face, and your devil rats, that do your bidding?” She was not kind with her words, and the King looked smugly at her, his eyebrow went up.

“You insult me, and my generals, perhaps I should have one of them take you to bed and see if he can tame that wicked tongue of yours, they have done this in past times, and are quite good in tactical warfare, perhaps even better than I, which one would you choose,” he asked.

“Oh choose me,” said the old fat general, “I will give you male twins, “ and he laughed, and they all drank more wine.

“No,” said a tall thin general, “do not take the fat one, he will kill you with his belly in the way, take me, I will give you a strong male to rule the kingdom in time when you are old, he will protect you from your husband.” And they all held their bellies laughing and pouring down more wine and ale.

“So you see,” said King Niobla, “you have all these brave generals, although one remains quiet, and one of those killed your father, I have here in my hand, this silver tipped bone, with his name on it, Prince Dnumiunc, so who would you pick to be your new bed partner?”

“I have a child, but they would all be better than you, and I have my God, and would not soil my soul with such an answer.” Said the Queen.

“Here, take this bone and stir my wine,” and he held up his silver chalice, in one hand, the bone of her father in the other, “I said take it, or I will have your daughter removed from your presence, and taken to another outpost of our kingdom.” She hesitated but she knew he would do as he said.

Her heart was bleeding, and every inch of her wanted to murder him, but she took the bone, and stirred his wine, tears coming down her face, “I curse you, you will lay in Hell and beg the demons to let you glance through their magical mirror of water to see me, and I will be vomiting on your grave.”

“Be gone before I have the generals rape you on the table, for a show.” And she left, to see her daughter in her room.

It was two years later when the Queen could take no more, she was either to run, and hide from this mad king, or kill herself, or kill the king himself. He had now taken over the Southern Kingdom, and his plans were going quite well. And she knew it was just a matter of time before her mind would break with hate and revenge for his blood. Yet she was used to him, and there was something unknowing in her fiber that leered out for him, was it hate or a dead kind of lust, or something shielding, how could it be love, lest it be coated with worms, she told herself. She would miss him, if he was dead, so she assessed, but she would die with anger while he lived, and one can learn how to live with naught. And he had her father killed, and all the sins he put upon her house, and her: vengeance, the settling of scores, her mind could not rest until it was so, it was the only healer, and as she sat in her room she asked Adlitolca, her maid to come in.

“Is not your lover, the supreme guard in the kings throne room?” she asked.

Adlitolca was taken back a ting, she didn’t realize the Queen was aware of him as being her lover, and she said shyly, “Yes my Queen he is.”

“Why do you not marry?” asked the Queen.

“Oh, he says he is too young, and does not want to be burdened with a wife and child.” Said the Maid.

“Oh, I have a plan, tell him to come into your room at midnight, and I will be there, and persuade him to marry you, or be put to the sword.”

The maid was astounded to here such good tidings, and rejoiced, and kissed the hand of the queen. There perhaps was not a brighter day in her life. And she agreed eagerly to do as she was told. And at midnight, Suedereo came into her room, but on the bed said the queen.

The Queen whispered, and the room was pitch black, one could not see the others face, “Why, Adlitolca, do you have it so dark in here, I can’t even see my hands.” Said Adlitolca’s lover.

“Come over here,” said the queen, “you do not need your eyes only hands, feel by breasts, they wait for you.” And excitedly he came closer, and they lay together, and he was more haply than a schoolboy who won a priced sword.

Said the soldier, “You are more delightful than I have ever known you to be, more softer, you smell so great, and all is so perfect.” Then she lit a lamp, and Suedereo bellowed, “Queen Florencia…!”

“Yes, it is me, “ said the Queen.

“But why?” asked Suedereo, dumfounded.

“Do you not like what you had?” Asked the queen.

“Oh yes, it is above all I’ve expected. But why.”

“You will help me kill the king, or be killed by the king for taking me, and I shall scream for his supreme guards.”

“But how is a simple soldier like I to do such a great feat?” he asked.

“It will not be so great a feat, I will drug him, poison him, and he will be weak, and we will get Sihcimteh to assist you, he will put the sword across his neck, and slice it off.” Said the Queen.

The queen knew Sihcimteh had eyes for her, plus he had special privileges with the king, he could come and go where he pleased, he was one of three of his special guards that stood beside him most always, or behind him. Thus, he was called into the Queens chamber, when the king was off hunting.

“I have noticed,” said the queen, in a silk gown, the right portions of her body exposed, her long hair laying across her back and shoulders, “I say you have had eyes on me like a lion that was hungry these past years.”

“If I have,” said Sihcimteh, “it is because of your beauty, not that I would try and take you forcefully, lest I be a traitor to my king.”

“If I wished you to be a traitor to your king, would you?” Asked Florencia.

He hesitated, looked at her carefully, “Your beauty is beyond a mans dreams, and if I could be persuaded, it would be only if I had you by my side. I have adored you dearly, but knew you possibly prized the king; I would have killed him long ago, had I felt you would love me. But you accepted the king and have not left his side.”

“This is true, but not out of love, nor fear, but because of my child; I would have killed myself long ago to rid myself of this monster, but she has always brought me back to my senses, where would she be. Hence, my braver Supreme Soldier, it is not love you see, but a test of my devotion to my daughter. I have looked upon you as a mate; a fine fit for me, a love that could grow, a love that is somewhat. My heart would be grateful, should you take the sword to his head when he is asleep.”

“He is a brave soldier also you know, and no one to fool with.” Said Sihcimteh.

“Then you are scared, and weak and fear him.” Said the Queen.

“No, I do not fear him out of fear, but out of his skill to fight, he is equal to me, perhaps, but out of love for you, he will be dead if your desire is well planned, and from what I hear, your love for me can grow.”

“Suedereo, will assist, as I poison his wine, you and he will come into his bedchambers, and Suedereo will hold him, while you cut off his head.”

“And you will be my love forever?” asked Sihcimteh.

“Yes, yes, I will be your love, and love you as you please.” Replied Florencia.

It was the following night; Florencia went into the king’s bedroom, sat by him on the edge of his bed, gave him a cup of wine and stirred it willingly for him, with the silver tipped bone of her father.

“Why does the wild rat come in to see me, drink with me, have I tamed the witch in her?” asked the king.

“No, it is I, whom wishes to make love, I desire thee, and I have been lonely for touch.” Said Florencia and she handed him the wine stirred, and he drank it, and as she drank it, she hid his dagger under the bed, lest he use it on her, or who else may enter.

It was a moment later the king tried to sit up from his bed, he was a ting sick in his stomach, “What did you put in the wine?” he asked.

“Not a thing, just the bone of my father,” she replied.

“No it is not true,” and he sat up, looked for his knife, and hollered for his guards, and Suedereo and Sihcimteh came running in, Suedereo jumped on him, held him tight, but the king was strong, pushed him over his body, spotted the dagger under his bed, leaned over to get it, and took one glance at Florencia before he grasped its handle of ivory, and said “You devil’s witch …” and Sihcimteh’s sword sliced right through his neck, and his head fell to the floor with a thump, as his body laid jerking as if it was electrified, across the bed.

In heist the Queen filled up a small caravan with the kingdom’s treasure, and headed east, there was a new king in the Eastern Kingdom, and she felt conceivably she could ask for asylum there, buy asylum that is, with a portion of her treasure, providing that is what the king desired, and she knew all kings desired gold and silver, and whatever else may go with it. He was young, and perhaps he had interests in her likewise, and that could be to her advantage.

Upon her arrival, it was she hoped, the King was pleased with her beauty, and asked if the two soldiers that came along with her, had interest in her. She assured him they were only interested in the treasure, no more. And the king assured her, he would be interested in both her and her treasure; and her being a queen (a queen at one time that is), she perhaps could be a queen again. He seemed to understand her killing of the King, knowing the long story of her oppressed life by him, but asked if this was his fate equally, should he trust her. And having expressed all this, he asked her to think about how much of the treasure he’d leave the two soldiers.

It was that very day—forenoon, Sihcimteh came busting into her room, bellowing, “Your love has faded to nothingness, what is this I hear, whispers around the kingdom, you and the king will be one?”

Florencia looked at him, unshaken, gave him a glass of wine, “My love,” she said, “the kingdom talks because they wish to talk, I sat with the king and told him I wanted safekeeping and I’d pay dearly for it, I have a daughter you know, and it is true, my life would only burden you, it has with all men, although I’ve only known a few, and the few I’ve known seem to love war and killing, is this what a man is made of? Take a fourth of the treasure and go South, or North.”

Said Sihcimteh angrily, “It was always you I wanted, no more, and I will not let you go for any king, be it of the East or the West, or any kingdom, we shall die together if we cannot live together, I will not be separated.” And then he started to sway, “You poisoned my drink, you little devil rat, come here.”

She hesitated, next, tried to flea, but he grabbed her by the hair, “You drink the rest,” he demanded, and she threw it to the ground. “No,” he said, “you will not escape me, I love you and we will die together, and he cut her throat, and she said, “Yes, yes…we will die together.” And they did.

Afterward

Florencia’s Heart

Who is to know another’s heart? Many think they do, only to find out they were mistaken. In the account at hand, perhaps the queen didn’t know men, nor the king women; once the old, had warn off, the King would grow on her—so he thought, and perhaps he was right, he did grown on her; on the other hand, perchance, he forgot her spirit—sweet looking, with a bitter heart that never had a chance to heal with his disposition; it couldn’t had been any other way, she was given a dreadful scar, and it never left, nor had it (I repeat) a chance to mend; he had forgotten all her despair, and abortive endeavor to nurse back to health the wounds between them, but he had mistaken them for challenges.

No, no indeed, he didn’t know her dark side, and by and large, he could no longer hurt her. It was as she once said, “When it is hot, the king never gives shade.” She said it in a hushed tone, to her maid, said it as if her life had become pointless; and through the sheer prevarication of events (state of affairs) she could not live the dream within herself, dreadfully disappointed; furthermore, he had forgot about a woman’s needs (or perhaps never knew them), to touch the heart, fill her dreams, and know her depth and limits; yet he gave only new sorrow on top of old sorrow; nor did he see her vessel sinking.

If she could have, she would have said something good to leave matters as they were, she wished to, something that would release her mind: something that said: I see a spark of hope in him. But she didn’t see this, what she saw was a snake, and there wasn’t any medicine for his bite, which is what she saw, thus, her mind became lost in the placid death of evening; an evening of planning, that would undo the harm he could cause in future time. She had come to the conclusion, she was not going to change humanity, but she could unburden her soul.

Florencia’s face was still beautiful after several years, yet you could see a rough and heavy appearance being molded here and there on that face, a light color to it, too light, for a healthy countenance; perhaps from years of troubling sadness. She had thought at one time (possible from a passionate desire, I would guess) to cling to something concrete; in a world of dark shadows, it seemed meaningful, but she was learning all men live under a self interested umbrella of sorts, it was their nature to war, as it was for a woman to love, and care take, or want to; in both cases, most always, anyways; hence, she had not found one that had not. And yes, at this point and time, she was bone dry, her marrow sucked out of its foundations, its roots severed.

We all wonder how our death will be, but Florencia had hers figured out, or at least she thought so, most details were looked at, each corner reviewed, and as we now know, she was not indecisive when it approached her.

11/16-18/2006 [Written in Lima, Peru] at the Café, and home.

Index of Characters and *Places:

Princess Florencia of Drabmol (Queen of Remora)
Also know as: Florencia of Drabmol (The North Kingdom)

Prince Niobla of Remora (the West Kingdom)

King Nitsuj, of the Eastern Kingdom

King Dnusirut, of Drabmol (Northern Kingdom, grandfather to Princess Florencia)

Prince Dnumiunc, of Drabmol (his brother slain by Prince Niobla of Remora)

Prince (became king) Niobla of Remora (Western Kingdom)

*St. Sebastian Church 1539 AD/San Jeronimo, Peru (Mantaro Valley)

Maid: Adlitolca

Boyfriend: Suedereo

Special Guard to the King: Sihcimteh

In creating a funny Mothers Day Poem, you’ll have a gift that is personal and expressive that will stir your Mom’s emotions through shared memory and laughter. More than that, during times when money is tight or you just do not want to add to the commercialism of holidays, giving a poem as a gift just makes sense.

For many people, writing a poem feels like a difficult task, but it doesn’t have to be. Start by writing down some thoughts that express how you feel about your mother and how she’s taken care of you. Next, write down some funny stories that have happened with the both of you involved. If you shorten some of the stories and thoughts, you’ll have the start of a poem. Then, keep editing and rewording to give some rhythm to the words. If you’re skilled enough, you can try to rhyme the ends of the lines, but it’s not necessary.

If you feel you’re not a great writer, that should not stop you. Think about a friend or family member that enjoys writing and ask that they write the poem for you. Remind them that they can use it for themselves as well. Alternatively, you can also hire someone to create the poem for you from Craigslist or from an online service like Elance.com or Guru.com.

After you have the poem, purchase a card or some stationary. The card should not have any pre-printed words on it so that your funny Mothers Day poem gets all the attention. Carefully write your poem onto the card by hand and place it in an envelope addressed to your mother. In this digital age, a hand-written piece of prose is very rare and provides that all-so-necessary personal touch.

As a final touch, be sure to combine your poem with flowers, the most of all traditional Mothers Day gifts. Certainly red roses are recognized to express love, but any well-done bouquet of fragrant and colorful flowers will be a perfect complement to your poem. If you wish, take your mother out for dinner, or stay in and cook. It will cap a fantastic Mothers Day perfectly.

Long ago, ancient man (often called Ape),

Went from sub-Homo, to Homo, in one big leap;

There was this defining gene, with rapid wings,

And man reaped the benefits, from its seed—

And Intolerance, was maimed, and man gained,

A whooping, and romping, and stomping, enzyme,

Which broke down lactose (a main sugar it contained??)

Going through its brain, –all in all, man now,

Hand a survival rate, or advantage as they say:

And the population grew and changed; next

Came Adam and Eve, and a deadly seed: Caen!….

Commentary ‘Changing One’s Style’: One can call “Monkey Jump…” a lyric poem, if they wished to, and they’d be right, or perhaps, a short Ode, celebrating mankind from one point to the next, which is really an ode/Lyric poem in essence anyhow; or an Elegy, a poetic lament for the dead or absent, in this case, the missing link between them and us, or Man’s climb to whom he is. If indeed it was a climb. In two of my previous stories, one now in book form, “After Eve,” and one unpublished, thus far, called “The Fable of Big-chest (although on the internet)” I try to produce I suppose this missing link, in these stories, as in the poem “Monkey Jump…”one can see it transpire if they read both stories. The point being, poetic fiction can be divided up into historical novels, or stories to make novels, and different types or styles can be used. Poems come in many types of genres, and poets should take advantage of them I do believe, utilizing what they know the best, and not simple write what is expected, such as, and too often I believe confessional poetry, can be this draft of wind. As good as it can be, and I love reading it, poets get stuck in one mode, and every poem ends up reading like their others. An opinion.

The poem is characterized by complicated but captivating verse full of stretches of scornful and biting satire on the way of things in town. In the opinion of one of my students of Practical Criticism it also suggests the vulnerability of man to a force that is above human control but which remote-controlls him and even determines his destiny. At first the poem sounds like a dramatic monologue with the persona the only voice speaking throughout speaking quite passionately as if speaking directly to us. But then one gets the suggestion that he is talking to someone also directly involved in the situation of the poem. Through his use of language the persona suggests the presence of this passive listener whom he often and again orders to do things to which he seems to comply most times.

Open your mouth like you was gon’ say somethin

Close your eyes and remember what you saw and what it made you feel like

Now don’t you see something else

Something cold and ugly

But then it does not seem like being a dramatic monologue in the mould of Tennyson’s ‘Ullysses’ or Browning’s ‘My Last Duchess’ as other essential characteristics of the dramatic monologue like the occasion are not made clear. Besides, it lacks another characteristics known as undercutting wherein the persona exposes his flaws unknowingly as he speaks.

The title of the poem itself suggests obstacles standing in one’s way. One reader saw it as about the limitations and hindrances standing between man and his aspirations. The title could also mean that something is standing in the way of things in town in such a way that one is prevented from seeing these things clearly enough or even that those things are thus obstructed from easy movement.

A note of desperation and frustration marks the tone of the persona as he speaks prophetically to us, his audience, who seem lost to whatever could be happening to them or are just complacent or simply incapable of speaking of what is endangering their lives. The persona, though passionately presenting his prophecy, does not clearly state his vision. He, instead, presents series of situations which at first appear unrelated as they are not sequential thus leaving us the task to piece them together.

The sense of urgency and the ominous signals of imminent doom are unmistakable in the opening lines

In town

Something in the way of things

Something that will quit and won’t start

Something you know but can’t stand

Can’t know get along with

Like death

Riding on top of the car peering through the windshield for his cue

Something entirely fictitious and true

That creeps across your path hallowing your evil ways

Like they were yourself passing yourself not smiling

This urgency and feeling of imminent danger is reinforced by the repetition of ‘something’ and the paradoxical qualities it embodies in each line showing a thing that is unwieldy, unpredictable and even unreliable for even though you claim to know it you can’t possibly put up with it neither can you get along with it or him, for suddenly it seems more like someone than a thing. It will also quit but puzzlingly it would not start and even though fictitious it is all at the same time true.

Its character becomes most unidentifiable and slippery if not downright dangerous and life-threatening. Its being compared to death in a sinister way ‘Riding on top of the car’ and as if that is not frightening enough, ‘peering through the windshield for his cue. These lines are so much invested with drama, suspense and puzzles that it inevitably arouses the curiosity if not anxiety of the reader who is thus compelled to read on to untangle the mystery and the puzzles.

The rest of the lines in that first stanza portray the persona desperately trying to create awareness in his audience ‘Something entirely fictitious and true/That creeps across your path hallowing your evil ways..’ suggests sychophancy for one could only hallow or revere another’s evil ways out of ignorance or sycophancy or perhaps as an extreme case of being compelled to praise what is unpraiseworthy out of being terrorized into it.

A difficult and puzzling part of the poem are these two lines:

The dead guy you saw me talking to is your boss

I tried to put a spell on him but his spirit is illiterate

If the guy is dead, one wonders, how then could he be spoken to? Is he a literarily dead man or a figuratively dead one? But then if his spirit is said to be illiterate it suggests that it’s his spirit that is dead. But then one could recall our common traditional knowledge that the dead are survived by their spirit. But then if this dead guys’ spirit which should survive him is associated with illiteracy then his affliction to a death-like pit is doubled. This is why the persona’s effort to cast a spell on him is futile, for he fails to respond. One even wonders whether he was consciously participating in the conversation. But then this dead guy has been given the onerous duty of leading an organization. How well he does it could well be imagined.

The ‘something’ Baraka is talking about so much seems omni-present, omni-powerful, affecting everybody and even greeting everybody like the good humour man whose good humour seems forced and suspect.

The second stanza emits real steam with the speaker talking about people he is talking across their heads into houses whilst he is unaware of the people gathering around him with ice-picks which seems like another signal of danger. For whilst the people over and across whose heads he is talking to others in their houses are aware of the crowds of ice-pick-wielding men closing in menacingly on him, he is totally blind to their presence. But yet the persona goes on to paint a picture of how they look like, possibly in the audience’s eyes, thus further accentuating the ominous signaling of doom and despair.

But they looked like important Negroes on the way to your funeral

Looked like important jiggaboos on the way to your auction

And let them chant the number and use an ivory pointer to count your teeth

These lines further build upon the idea brought in earlier of the dead man who though being spoken to remains unresponsive. This further emphasizes that the people are like corpses whose burial has been postponed. They are in a sense dehumanized and denied of any sense of being alive.

The third stanza brings the poem to an intensity clearly marked by the repetition of the same line at the start of the stanza.

I can see something in the way of our selves

I can see something in the way of our selves

This repetition I find significant in its emphasizing the ominous nature of what the persona knows, as revealed in the repeated lines which he reveals has bestowed on him much understanding of men and things, thus enabling him to say with much insight and wisdom ‘the things I do’ which the audience knows but completely disregards or underestimates. The persona therefore seems desperate to create awareness in an audience that seems insensitive to what is happening around them.

The idea of life-denial is further reinforced with specific reference to ‘that niggga’ that the machines in the factory are sadistically yearning ‘to come and give up his life/Standin’ there bein’ dissed and broke and troubled.’ The last three verbs ‘dissed’, ‘broke’ and ‘troubled’ sum up the nigga’s lost condition being a receptacle for rejection,disrespect, insults, humiliation and disorientation. In effect his life no longer belongs to him, that is if he manages to survive certain death for the odds seem so much against him with the ravenous machines yearning so much for his life than he seems eager to preserve. The machine which seems more alive than he the human, aware of the inferior and rejected position of the black man in society is longingly waiting to absorb his strength if not his life into its system. African-Americans are thus seen as perpetual victims of a harsh and exploitative capitalistic system which only values them for the labour and energy they expend in the factories which are presented as virtual death traps. Another student described them as being hopelessly manipulated and rejected. As such, he goes on, the something the poet might be visualizing or better still visioning is the unstoppable rebound of the blacks. For when pushed too far against the wall there is certainly going to be a backlash.of untold consequences.

In the fourth stanza, the persona concludes that the foregoing gives proof that God didn’t exist. But then his interlocutor is quick to emphasize that it is rather an affirmation that it’s the devil that reigns. This explains the prevalence of evil. Racial prejudice, an evil in itself, is given hint to in the fourth to last line where the white boy wears rather provocatively a t-shirt celebrating his poverty and frustration which in actual fact is the Black’s identity that is being mocked for only if you are thick in the skull enough would you readily fall for those lies and accept him as your soul mate. But his affliction is different from the Blacks since it is not drawn from racism. The lying rag which might be what the white boy wears bearing inscriptions showing that he is going to die poor and frustrated and that ‘them dreams walk which you cross town might give the Blacks false hopes that their suffering is shared and identified with by the other race and therefore could be addressed without their own active intervention. That could be what Baraka dismisses as ‘garbage’ telling you you ain’t shit which you accept as being the case inspite of your affliction with perennial pain.

These are some of the sentiments they as blacks swallow which renders them complacent about their situation. The negro thus becomes synonymous with poverty and frustration because a white-dominated and racist society has denied him his rights as a human being. He has therefore come to the bitter realization that his dreams can never be realized for he is only fit to be overworked Even the garbage in the street seems to have more significance.

In stanza five, something is shown as stalking the Blackman thus debarring his progress.’Like an ugly thing floating at our back calling us names’.thus becoming a perpetual nuisance and humbug trailing and mocking one. This people could see and hear. But then the irony is that even though it presents such a menace to him he justifies it as having a right to exist because ‘God made it ‘ he himself thus contributing to his denigration. Whatever he says or does results in his being classified as wrong.

Broke and mistaken all the time

You know some of the words but they ain’t the right ones

The nigga thus becomes in the persona’s words: ‘addicted to sadness’ The persona stands out as exceptional, being the only one bold and forthright enough to give voice to the things that threaten their existence. The nigga’s entrapped position is imaged as that of a bird locked up in a cage. He is thus not free to speak out against the ills of his society.

Remember the Negro squinting at us through the cage

You seen what I see too?

The smile that ain’t a smile but teeth flying against our necks

You see something too but can’t call its name

The last two lines bring out suggestions of treachery and hypocrisy of both races. The injustices suffered by negro youths is then brought out. They are seen as suffering for crimes for which they are innocent but for which they still have to answer and suffer, for being black. But then again the inability to raise a voice over such abuses is once more bemoaned in the refrain ‘you see something too but can’t call its name’.

The sixth stanza brings us the plight of a nice boy who was always too kind to his mother and was always greeting people on his way to work but then whose cheerful and pleasant mood was suddenly changed perhaps in expectation of his confrontation with the harsh and cruel justice system.

But that last time before he got locked up and hurt, real bad

I seen him walkin’ toward his house and he wasn’t smiling

And he didn’t even say hello

This just shows the power injustice expends in eroding humanity. A humane person thus suddenly becomes morose and embittered contrary to his true nature before. Sadly, his geniality and civility does not enable him to escape the brutalities and injustices of this heartless world. And the persona comes on with his world-wise explanation as to what brought about the transformation in the disposition of the boy.

But I knew he’d seen something

Something in the way of things that it worked on him like it do in will

Baraka now comes with the most intense moment in the poem with the coalescing of the images of the various victims with a plea for us to take a closer look at ourselves to see what we see in these objects of oppression and how those images could be seen in our very selves.

And he

kept marching faster and faster away from us

And never even muttered a word

Then the next day he was gone

You wanna know what

You wanna know what I’m talkin’ about

Sayin’ “I seen something in the way of things”

And how the boys face looked that day just before they took him away

The is? in that face and remember now, remember all them other faces

And all the many places you’ve seen him or the sister with his child

Wandering up the street

Remember what you seen in your own mirror and didn’t for a second recognize

The face, your own face

Straining to get out from behind the glass

Open your mouth like you was gon’ say somethin’

Close your eyes and remember what you saw and what it made you feel like

Now, don’t you see something else

Something cold and ugly

Not invisible but blended with the shadow criss-crossing the old man

Squatting by the drug store at the corner

With is head resting uneasily on his

folded arms

And the boy that smiled and the girl he went with

And in my eyes too

A waving craziness splitting them into the jet stream of a black bird

Wit his ass on fire

Or the solomNOTness of where we go to know we gonna be happy

I seen something

I SEEN something

And you seen it too

You seen it too

You just can’t call it’s name

NOTE: This is the first part of a series of articles throwing light on various aspects of the content and artistry of Baraka in his recent poems. I am indebted to Rudolph Lewis of CHICKENBONES for initially mailing me the poem and the link to Baraka’s site and for his subsequent piece musing on the general significance of the poem and our initial inability to respond. That jolted me into thoughtful action. I threw the poem for discussion in my Practical Criticism and American Literature classes and that stimulated much of my thoughts on the poem.

Vicki as you know I am not there,

I am sorry, I am on some distant sand,

but I just wanted to say “I love you”,

and I think these are words you will understand.

Because I have been ‘Blued’ for 18 years,

and in that time, I have missed many a special event,

but having said that, you have been there for me,

and I should know, my angel has been heaven sent.

Because you have often taken the load on your own,

your selfless actions have kept the family strong,

and never with any regard to your health or well being,

you have kept the home stable, all along.

You sacrifice every minute of every day,

and always, you are firmly last in the queue,

and Vicki, I just wanted to say “thanks”,

yes, I am very proud of all that you do.

Some say it is the military way,

some have said it is just the military life,

but I know nothing could be further from the truth,

I am so very proud of my wonderful wife.

Because you always put everyone ahead of you,

and all you ask is my love and respect in return,

but I am not sure I have expressed that so well,

so all my past efforts, I think I will burn.

Because you are so much more than a wife,

and I am going to tell you this before these lines end,

not only are you the love of my life,

yes indeed, Vicki, you are my very best friend.

I consider myself the luckiest man alive,

you and our daughter mean the very world to me,

and I just wanted to thank you for being you,

you have made my world a great place to be.

I want nothing more than to grow old with you,

I want you to see our love etched on my face,

because I am going to spend the rest of my life with you,

and I promise, for most of it, we’ll be in the same place.

But our bond is stronger than anything we know,

even though our relationship was a bit rocky in the start but Vicki,

I want you to know that you are here with me,

we’re always connected, no matter how many miles we’re apart.

But the longer we are together the more we become alike,

so I think you should give up and stop all the fuss,

come on! Get crazy, cross over to the dark side,

yes Vicki, it is time you became one of us!

But in the meantime, just know that I love you,

in truth, I love you with all my heart and soul,

for with you in my life, I am complete,

yes,you are the one that makes me completely whole.

And tonight, please go outside and look skywards,

and there you will see a twinkling star,

and that will be me, sending you my love,

telling you exactly just how wonderful you are.

So I will finish by saying Happy 17th Anniversary,

I guess that is really what these words are for,

s o here is to you Vicki, you are truly beautiful,

and here is to our everlasting love, for evermore.

I’m Sorry Mom!

I’m sorry for the troubles

And the worries I brought you.

I’m sorry for my mistakes,

I didn’t mean to make you blue.

When I was young and growing up,

Living in your home for so long,

I made many people sad,

I did many things wrong.

So I thought that I could show you now,

By moving away and being on my own,

That I was finally straightened out,

I wanted to prove to you I am finally maturely grown.

But I havn’t done to well at that,

I guess it goes to show,

You never really solved it all,

You never really know.

I’d like to show you now,

I need to take the time to say,

Thanks for accepting both the good and bad,

I hope you have a Wonderful Mother’s Day!

Copyright Laurie Meade 1989-2005 All Rights Reserved

PLEASE READ: About using this poem.
You have permission to use this poem,
on a personal card,
in a letter, or an email to your mom.
Please leave the links to my websites
at the bottom, so that the recipient can visit my site.
You may also use it in a scrapbook layout for personal use,
but not for commercial purposes.
If you do use it, I would appreciate an email with feedback!
You can use it on a website, but PLEASE email me and let me
know where you are publishing it!

Many cry and wonder why

And seek further insight

From big Daddy in the sky

Not knowing what’s going on

Having nobody upon whom to hold on

When the church service is over

And all have come and gone.

Once the offering has been given

All hands shaken

Smiles exchanged

A remembrance of a few names

Dreams unfulfilled continue to turn within

Waiting incessantly for Christ within

The hope of glory to arise

To burst the bonds

Remove the guise

Fulfill His Word

And all surprise.

This futile life

How can it be

That Christ above

Would lower Himself

To die for me!

Amazing love

Beyond comprehension

That upon the cross

Christ knew painful suspension

Brutal torment

The lashing of whips and tongues

The departure of the Holy Spirit

After which He Himself was numb

It’s in the silent moments

When defeat seems evident

That the seed of significance is sown

The power of the resurrection grown

The sufferings of Christ fully known

When you seemingly are left all alone

Many don’t understand

And are quick to judge

I however care not

Knowing the Judge above

Moreover I judge myself strictly

Examine myself wholeheartedly

Desiring to walk circumspectly

To be godly and live selflessly.

Nevertheless life’s circumstances can be hard

And your faculties they temporarily retard

Making you sluggish as lard

Dulling your senses

Troubling your soul

Effecting all areas of your life

Troubling and taking their toll

Thanks be to God however

The Son did arise

With power, strength and fire in His eyes

Though many did not initially realize

And Him they publicly despised

Yet when He bounced back from defeat

Many hid in fear

Others wondered in amazement

The victimized applauded happily

Counting His resurrection

Their personal victory

It is my urgent request

That you too personalize Christ’s triumph

Over death, hell and the grave

For you too He surely

Came to save

His death

Being your life

His breakthrough

Breaking chains for you today!

Liberating you in every way

No matter what you do or say

Christ’s victory personally appropriated

Can better your day

Illuminate your way

Reverse the curse

Remove the tendency to rehearse

Your personal pain and setbacks

Because in Christ

You too bounce back!

You too are blessed

And can boldly express

His more over your less

His loving-kindness

His mercies countless

His joys boundless

His grace groundless

His Spirit measureless

So before you digress or regress

Consider God’s profoundness

To turn Christ’s sorrow

Into your joy

His pain

Into your gain

His minus

Into your plus

So why therefore all the fuss?

Remove your eyes from yourself

And look up to heaven

Where your help comes from

Get a proper perspective

And from your troubles

No more shall you run

Now is the time

For life to become fun

And like Christ our example

You too shall mightily overcome!

So arise and take your love

And all you dream of

Disburse it among the nations

Build dreams

And break limitations

Cause countless multitudes abroad

To be touched and transformed

Because of Christ’s crucifixion

And glorious resurrection!

In this pain you go

In this power you know

For love is no vain show

Though you try to deny it

It continues to grow

Despite months of neglect

It does not whither

In the face of cruelty and criticism

It remains alive

Though kill it

Or rationalize it away

You try

And outwardly lie

It nags at you within

Not rationalized away

By your psychoanalysis or spin

Christ the hope of glory

Always wins!

By reasoning against love

You cannot win

So this determine

Take this boundless, immeasurable love

And spread it throughout the nations

With it overtake the world

Turn it upside down

Take it beyond the head

Down deep into the heart

Ignite a fire within

From which no soul can depart

Magnify and multiply

This raging inferno in your heart

And erect a monument of love

An eternal work of art

From which even the hardest of hearts

Cannot depart

Let all humanity know

The glorious creation itself does fully show

That though winter may come

It does also go

And is followed by spring

A time to flourish

A time to sing

For Christ surely has arose

And for you will do a new thing.

Anna wanted to express what good, solid, loyal parents they are. Parents who love God, the church and their children. Their devotion and loyalty to their children are appreciated. That they are honest with their dealings with others; they do not take sides with anyone. They are, she believes, soul mates.

I Do There are good and bad parents in this world, a definition that, at times, is hard to make, but when you strike really great parents, well, that simply is the icing on the cake.

So, what defines greatness? I guess it comes from the very inside,and I know that I could not have picked finer parents, I could not – even if I had tried.

You see, I have good, solid, loyal parents, parents who love their God, their church and their own, and I am just so very grateful to them, I am very thankful for all the love that they have shown.

They have been my inspiration in life, They have been my guide, my shining light, They have steered us to tread on good grounds, and their love has shone so constant and bright.

Their love has shone through their patience, and at times, I will admit that I have put that to the test,their love has shone through their guidance, and some of their advice has proven to be the very best.

They have always taken the time to talk to us, for that we thank them with all our hearts, they have played such a significant role in our lives, and they have both played a mighty fine parts.

Dad was always a good provider, but also he provided his wisdom to share, he taught us morals and values for living,and that it was always important to care.

He is actually a very generous man, but does not believe in wasting anything,conservative in his nature,always cautious about what tomorrow may bring.

My mother is also my friend, and I am so proud to be her daughter, she has a warm gentle spirit, she is like streams of free flowing water.

I remember my sister and I racing to untie Daddy’s boots,He had be tired at the end of his working day, he would sit back and rest, and we, of course, would then go out to play.

I remember sitting at breakfast on a Sunday morning,and naturally, we would all say Grace, and I remember John running behind the truck, you should have seen the look upon his face.

And we have so many happy memories, too many to be individually told,but those memories will last many a lifetime, precious treasures that we will always hold.

Because, it is simply wonderful when two people live their lives, in a way that others notice and want to be like that,it is nothing to brag nor boast about, but rather, something to be thankful for, and that is a fact.

The mother to be goes to work to create the poem. She does not have to search far because she will be expressing her emotions from the heart. The internet is a good place to start. Read through the many poems that have been posted and get a feel of what baby shower thank you poems should be like. Newspapers and specialized magazines are also very inspiring. After one has been inspired, they can start to think of more personal poems that will do their job of pleasing the friends. The first thing you should consider when writing a baby shower thank you poem is the poetic language. If you write very catchy thank you words with no poetic flair, you have missed the point.

You do not have to be a Shakespeare to achieve this. Poetry is one of those natural things that flow without thinking too hard. Have rhyming words that are expressed in the simplest way possible. Play with words and add a touch of humor. Make it short and spicy. The content is pegged on showing appreciation. You can make them for yourself or have them custom made. Some people buy their desired baby shower thank you poems and send them directly to friends. It all depends on what you see fit and convenient. Making them personal is the best way to go. They must be written on a cute and trendy material, something that would amuse your friends.

Your colors are very important. Baby colors are great. Consider adding a splash of gold to the thank you poems. It ensures that you poems are original and fun. Your designs of choice should be tailor made to suit your theme or inspired idea. When you are pleased with the results, decide on when you are going to send them. If possible, the mother to be should read the poem out loud to a number of friends as she hands them their copy. Nowadays, such thank you poems can be designed and sent through email. It is a quick way to do it and it saves money. However, when done traditionally they make the best impression. Have fun getting or designing baby shower thank you poems. The key is to speak from your heart and on behalf of the unborn child. Your friends will cherish it.