Poetry March 12, 2015





By Matenneh-Rose L. Dunbar

A count of twenty…and lots of grounds covered

A rugged walk from childhood to stateswomanship

A bright light that illuminates many dark crevices

A pillar rung deep in the earth that still towers firmly

A friendly wind that blows and lighten heavy loads

A tint of the golden setting sun through grey skies

Eight-six hearty cheers

A count of forty….and her leadership will struck

A child of potency build from timbers of fine wood

A patriot of heroism forged for a place of amazons

A tall hut set in the town center to bring us together

A bucket that draws wisdom in the wells of knowledge

A warmth once experienced creates endless yearning

Eighty-six hearty cheers

A count of sixty…and the platforms is loud for freedom

A walk with the ruthless for the sake of a people peace

A plead for the tears of mothers who stood on frontlines

A riot to feed hungry babies with eyes frail from hunger

A voice alone on the rocks of ducor for innocent blood

A sweet mother with a legacy which perfumes beautifully

Eighty-six hearty cheers

A count of eighty… and the songs are still being trumpeted

A happy great great grand with a smile that costs millions

A blessing to a younger root who roost near her galaxy

A presence of faithfulness to even the smallest of ideas

A purple velvet flown on the sails of our ship still in sail

A feminine fort for the rights of the girls to be born yet

By Matenneh-Rose L. Dunbar

On pathless steel grasped concrete slabs

Many busied to weep out grown loose grass

That sprouts notoriously in the cement beds

It is another day to sit and reflect out loss

Many souls fell in the wake of the evil plague

We decorate with tears

On roads we shall never see or know ever

Mansions watched as the sick were ferried

That in white suits all protected from harm

It is a story of pain as we shriveiled in fear

May the wounded find solace in Jesus

We decorate with tears

On dusty paths that leads to huge farms

Motorist fled for the lack of what was true

Turning dangerously at the sound of Ebola

Ice cold feeling entrapped communities daily

May we never come by this horror again

We decorate with tears

On heights of wood the die was cast

Mothers fathers sons daughters aunts uncles

Taken to a place not heard of before this death

Isolated far from the care of dear loved ones

May God save the land and have mercy


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