DEFEAT ON CRETE
A folktale from which we have been recreated
Remember that fight I’m quite sure you hated
For this rematch, many centuries I have waited
So keen and strong, now I’ve been resuscitated
But this time I’ll win, as many anticipated
Such an encounter set Greek history ablaze
But this second time extends into future days
I may even emerge blinking, in the sun’s rays
And your dead body left to rot in the maze
Then back to Pasiphae, a hybrid family to raise
So Theseus, for you I have a surprise in store
As you’ll no longer follow that thread, I’m sure
This time, it is me reborn, to settle the score
From the labyrinth, where we once met before
Behold, I’m back, it’s me, the Minotaur!
Dear, there’s a folktale so I’ve heard.
It’s about a flower and a bird.
The story’s blossom is a rose,
The most beautiful mankind knows.
The star bird in this unknown tale
Is the melodious nightingale.
Who’d not cast this singer, given choice?
He has the most enchanting voice!
Two halves make a poem of love -
The poet and the gal he writes of.
Someone must make the poet sing,
And he must make his lyrics ring.
The best love story, don’t you suppose,
Is when a nightingale sings to a rose?
What I’m trying to say, as old we grow,
Is, “I’m sorry, dear, I sound like a crow.”
“Let’s do it. Let’s settle this mano a mano.”
“Well, you asked for it and you’ll get it,
What do you want to know, woman?”
“Man, O man, always the cocky ones, aren’t we?
I say, women are better than men.”
“Not even by a long shot. Men are better!”
“Oh, really!”
“Of course, you can’t even crack a walnut without men.
And God made man first,
Woman was an after-thought… there I said it!”
“Say, what! Says who?
“Says God, dummy!”
“Uhhh … what?’
“Yeah, you heard me.”
“No, no, no …
It’s nothing but myth and folktale,
without women, you men don’t stand a chance;
Without us, you have no identity
You don’t even come to exist
if we keep our doors shut…
you know what I mean, don’t ya!”
~11/20/22
~Contest: Dialogue Proficiency Poem
~Sponsor: Matt Caliri
Poetic Existence
Poetry is emotion,
Poetry is thought,
Poetry is perspective,
Poetry is all that I can see,
Every word,
Every place,
Every era,
Everything, everytime, everywhere,
By every mean all I see is a poetic,
Vibrant and gracious side,
Of all that I see when I turn my eye,
From a sword’s epic,
To a folktale in ballad,
From love in sonnets,
To the water in free verse,
There is a poem in all that I can see,
For even the uniVERSE,
Is but ONE VERSE!
STORIES TO LIVE BY
Oh! tell me tales that lift the spirit, energise the soul
Inspire a faith that gives the strength to drive toward a goal
Let not the story of the nation be a book of shame
That current generations may seek solace couched in blame
Though there may be dark chapters of our history beset
With episodes of evil we now view with deep regret
True annals yet tell stories of bold quests by those of daring
Who ventured forth with courage, thought of self-preserve foreswearing
To conquer craggy peak, cross frozen continent and sea
And some of grace faced tyranny, risked life to set us free
Let victimhood and pointed accusation not prevail
Nor guilt and self abasement write a gloomy new folktale
As every day a page is turned to quicken and advance
Our lives, should we not be the author of our own romance
Then one day hence we may recount in parable or fable
A legend that all may embrace to hearten and enable
Vast and lush,
With a hint of blush,
Beneath the sky of violet blue,
She hums a hymn as on a bamboo flute,
Across the fields capped in a million dews,
Painting words of wisdom - worldly hues.
Gathering her children over bowers of corn,
She clothes and feeds, even the bitty stillborn.
In courage she'll enroot until she stands up tall,
On well earned praises and folktale songs,
She sews in love from gloom to dawn,
By answering aid to all who call,
Not a matter to win or drawing a loss,
She'll fasten her sons for a better cause.
To bring about a world untouched,
Round and about, she'll proceed as such.
History of folklore in T & T
Influence by West African and Creole Spirituality
Narrated and told around kerosene lamps, our folklore
Characters, deities in ancient tribes before
Legend and stories fused with intricate mythology
Still inhabit conscious vulnerability
PAPA BOIS, the protector of forest, master of animal
DOUEN, child like entity lure children into the supernatural
LA DIABLESSE, the seductress temptress symbol of lust
MAMA D’LEAU the river fairy-maid with long hair, beautiful and lush
Bloodsucking ball of fire SOUCOYANT
Shape changing LAGAHOO phenomenon
Mischievous trouble makers are JUMBIES
Night roaming Ghost afraid of salt, called DUPPIES
The Folkloric tradition preserved by our ancestors
Be it your imagination of half man-half bird atop a car
We’ll always hear stories of all kinds of Folklore and folktale
La! La! La!
©Copyright February 25, 2019 by Brian Pierre-Alexander
© All Rights Reserved
A folktale
There is a small country sharing part of its border
to a giant country, both have been friends for
over 300 years during world war two they came
helped the small country to get rid of the enemy.
Then propaganda articles appeared in many papers
how bad the government in the big country was,
(Let us make it easy the small country we can call
Norway and big the country Russia) the Norwegian
took no notice, they visited Russia often to buy
vodka, cigarettes and other items that are expensive
in their little country; and some travelled to Moskva
which has a rich cultural heritage.
Then the Americans/NATO held a proxy war and
the American soldiers and tanks got in the way
of tour buses, needless to say, the soldiers were
confused that the people from the tiny country
we’re not afraid of the big bear this because of the
US combatants were victims of lying propaganda.
Well, the military nonsense ended their proxy war
the Norwegian continued to travel to Russia to do
their shopping and as always they were welcomed
and no one mentioned the silly manoeuvres by
the misguided military personnel were playing in the snow.
She was standing there lonely
That beautiful girl
Her shape was so lovely
Her silhouette could tell
She was made
Her mind-sizzling smile wasn’t a folktale
You could see that when you talk to her
Her body wasn’t for sell
She knew she was going somewhere
Her life was full of advice
And she refused none
She took every advice
And scrutinized them one by one
At thirty, she wanted marriage
And she did choose a good boy
A good boy with morals
Did she choose him at teen age?
That was only known by her boy
A wedding came her way
And people could say what they loved to say
Lobola was paid for her
And they all rejoiced
She respected her groom
Her groom also respected her
Because she had had learnt morals
Stay well Nelia
God loves you Nelia
"Tales of tales of giving reasons"
"A centipede under the bed,
Bring a stick to beat",
"All the sticks in feces"
"Go to river to wash",
"River remains full of fish",
"Bring a net to catch the fish",
"All the nets are torn"?
"Bring a needle to stitch the net",
"All the needles are broken",
"Go to a Gold Smith to repair the needle",
"The Gold Smith and Gold Smith,knocked down and died"!
(A folktale in circulation in Sri Lanka,generations after generations,in poetic order,in Tamil language)
BOLD
I made them majestic people from the land that formed.
Strength courageous in the way they have overcome.
Lack procrastination they continue their journey.
Today they are mystical when their history is the conversation.
Say what you want they will move forward.
Economical will be their glory.
Many suggest they will never be anything other than maritime people.
Life will show all they are the people from the sea.
They swam like whale and fought as a shark.
Whoever speak ill about them needs to shut-up.
This is their topography and their origin.
I wrote a verse of folktale and one to entice.
I told you to travel to their land and spend the night.
I said your endeavors are what you take on.
Spend more than one night stay all week long.
Go fishing, canoe, hunt deer, gather wood, and when night comes, light a fire and sleep good.
Defy your own knowledge of safe.
Be a daredevil take a risk.
When all is over and you ready to return home, reflect on the enrichment.
Be bold and beautiful!
Its time to tell the truth untold,
why do we have to fight?
must we shed blood?
ever wondered why able bodied men
go to war,and come back half,
or even dead,
the pity of war, the pity of war distilled
i was sworn in to handle the situation
am in the perfect position?
though courage was mine, and i had mystery
wisdom was mine, and i had mastery
days strolled,
weeks jogged,
months passed,
years flew,
finally it ended
yes!!! the war ended
oh no!!! i was attacked
i parried but i couldn't and i lost
when will this war end???
Now Let Us Sleep
Kind refreshing words,
like a soothing balm on wound,
make my long face beam.
sharp piercing words,
like great Esimuda's sword
twist my face to frown.
Esimuda was a legendary figure in my tribe's folktale. He was a warrior with a sharp two-edged sword.
I believe
I believe that true love will always prevail,
When soul mates reunite, it's much more than a folktale.
Once found, a love eternal that can never fail.
Chosen by angels before their birth.
Precious as jewels, an unfathomable worth.
Drawn to each other like moths to a flame.
Crossing time to meet again, our gift to reclaim.
It was an old crow medicine show
At the border of Louisiana
I was looking east toward savannah
Caught a train out of Jackson
Now I’m stranded somewhere near Atlanta
Sing me asleep, in a midnight hour
Sing me away, like a folktale crier
Sing me asleep, on the back of the bus
Sing me away, you’re the only one I trust
Back in Kansas City
Lost my shadow on the rails
Found myself no pity
In the land of poverty tales
Vouching for a pass
Last stop for the Jefferson bus line
Bed time stories
Were nothing more than lies
Found a trail of tears
Collecting my wildflowers in spine
Sing me asleep, in a midnight hour
Sing me away, like a folktale crier
Sing me asleep, on the back of the bus
Sing me away, you’re the only one I trust
Heard the banjo playing
Missed the band wagon
Trying to hear
What the old man was saying
Heard the last call for supper
Persimmons unripe with a pucker
Learned the art of resilience
From a west bound trucker
"Tales of a no one"
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