The Yard Man: An Election Poem - Lorna Goodison

 

When bullet wood trees bear

the whole yard dreads fallout

from lethal yellow stone fruit, 

and the yard man will press 

the steel blade of a machete 

to the trunk in effort to control 

its furious firing. He will dash 

coarse salt at its roots to cut 

the boil of leaves, try slashing 

the bark so it will bleed itself 

to stillness, and yet it will shoot 

until the groundcover is acrid 

coffin color, the branches dry bones. 

Under the leaves it lives, 

poverty’s turned-down image 

blind, naked, one hand behind 

one before. The yard’s first busha

was overseer who could afford 

to cultivate poverty’s lean image, 

but good yard man says since we 

are already poor in spirit, fire for it. 

http://bombmagazine.org/article/2533/four-poems 

Stress

 

Stress is a killer, It can take your breath away. It can make you feel like you're drowning, And there's no way out.

But there is a way out, You just have to find it. You have to find something that makes you happy, Something that takes your mind off of your troubles.

It could be anything, It could be a hobby, It could be spending time with loved ones, Or it could just be taking a walk in nature.

Whatever it is, Find it and hold on to it. Let it be your escape from stress, And let it help you find peace.

Stress is a part of life, But it doesn't have to control you. You can control it, If you just find the right way to deal with it.

-cocoatea.poetry

Montage - Mervyn Morris

 

England, autumn, dusk –  

so different from the quarter-hour 

at home when darkness drops: 

there’s no flamboyant fireball 

laughing a promise to return; 

only a muted, lingering farewell, 

and day has passed to evening.

I been there, sort of: New and Selected Poems – Mervyn Morris  

The Sleeping Serengeti

 

The serengeti sleeps

harmony between predator and prey

except for the night prowlers, maw open

tip toeing through darkness

unseen, unheard, unknown

by the sleeping serengeti

-cocoatea.poetry

10.2.25