Oh Christian Nation

Oh Christian Nation

Take up your bibles

You mighty people of God

Wage war against the murderers

That are slitting the throat of our land

Rise up with the swords and zeal you wield

Against the homosexual and gender agenda

Rid our dreams of the rapists that plunder our

Women and children with speechless impunity

Gird your loins

You great pulpiteering men of the cloth

Destroy the robbers (and their lairs)

Who lay waste to the table and the crumbs

Who drink the sweat from the brows of innocents

And laugh at the fierce fears that flow in the blood of citizens

Wipe away the ceaseless tears of the saints that are drowning in oceans

Of do-nothingness and sinister simple sins

Call out to the Master you prayer warriors

Wail for strength to prevail against the wicked wall

Of thieves, slanderers, and slouchy dimwits that

Encase the hearts and minds of our future

Weep in the spirit for that glorious black light to shine bright and

Banish the deep sleep from our constitution

You guardians of the commonwealth

You valiant soldiers of the everliving Lord

Shout from the roofs of your powerful mouths

The unforgettable infallible words to soothe our splayed conscience

Lead unforgiving endless no-no-no campaigns against the yes supporters of rampant crime

Plunge double edged know campaigns into the high hearts of ignorance

Plead for the salvation of our sovereign soul

Pour out of your tents and cathedrals and sacred hallowed spaces to

Relentlessly wrestle your neighboring highways and byways 

And parks and parking lots and yards and courtyards

To deliver from evils the lame the deaf the dumb the least the lost 
The taxed the laxed the rich the poor the widows the orphans the strangers in our gates

You chosen children of God initiate and activate your divine birthright to

Leave us in a lovefull fearless place

Where sea and land and lives bask in harmony righteousness freedom progress and peace

Blisca O’Cof

2016-06-14

Upendo Ni Fedha Kwa Ilex Aquifolium Na Utuliva

love is

currency

you can buy

time

with it

you can put

life

on the table

with it

you can create

universes of pure

joy

with it

you can be

fearless

with it

you can make

forever

with it

you can

love

with

it

Blisca O’Cof

2016-01-08

6:40 sun rise prayer

The lord may be a shepherd
(There are lords and shepherds)
but I am not sheep 
I am not asleep in the sun
I am not one unknowing of
the light and the night
I am not afraid of fear
I am not lost
whatever the wilderness
chaos does not cost me
to veer from journey
to stare from vision
to steer from purpose
I find truth in all things
truth finds me through love
truth soaks the soul
encases the heart
grows the spirit
with love
I know the maker and master
of my footprints
I know the marker of my way
in my silence I hear my voice say
stay in peace
stay in motion
even in the mists and midst of commotion
where there be a shepherd
I am not sheep

Blisca O'Cof
20150507

Full

You

had your

silver spoon

I

had my

flared finger

everyone

would scorn and say

it was the work of the devil…

not the spoon

mind you

but

my God-given finger

Blisca O’Cof

Note to Kelly: A Present Bright Light to The Future

…In the main though, I am impressed that our country is on the precipice of dismissing yet another generation of its young people. And, burying yet another generation of capacity, capability, ideas, ideologies, creativity, progress, vigor, and intelligence. 

I am counting on you to ensure that does not happen.

I truly believe that it is the responsibility of today’s generation to seize their country and its opportunities, to stand tall above the giants of the past, to boldly leap on their shoulders (or on their heads), and walk and talk fearlessly in a land that is actually now more the young’s future than it is that of the giants that understandably purport to run things; and purport to be engrossed in designing and building a future.

When the future is obviously a place where only you can inhabit, you are incredibly foolish to let those from the past absolutely control your present.

You should, though, be appreciative that those from the past may vehemently seek to control the present, and ostensibly the future. One reason is that the present is actually their future. They have dreamt it, built it; and now it is here. 

Even if it is not exactly what they had foreseen, their future is here in your present. 

But what is detrimental in this conundrum, and what is often overlooked, is that you need to have this present so that you can have your future. Sadly, if you have no place, or too little space in your present, your future will be severely jeopardized. There is no compromise for you here. If you do not find the ways to make significant contributions to your present, your future will be out of your hands. In fact, you may find yourself, in the future, pretty much where some of our present leaders fall: trying to use the present to build a future that is not theirs to build. They are embroiled in that futile attempt simply because they had previously failed to build their own future; they largely succumbed to the strangle in the struggle that sang them to sleep with a series of serial songs: 

• Sit Down and Shut Up, 
• Wait Weight on Your Turn,
• Sit Small Y'all,
• You Mus'-'e Smell Ya-self,
• Hang In There and Learn The Ropes (aka, We Pulling The Rope Tighter Round Your Neck),
• You Soon Get Your Chance (to the little or nothing we forget and leave behind to your hapless hopeless behind),
• Who You Think You Is?,
•  Let's Take You Under Our Wings (for some good smothering),

Never listen to those songs. They contain the words and souls of boneless none-sense draped in a flag of propaganda, promises, and pointless pain.

I have been deliberately ponderous with this deliberation. Hopefully, its depth engages you to dig and unbury the bodies of knowledge that always lay await among the rush of words.

I implore you to remain steadfast to the great human and the present leader that you are. 

I implore you to ignore the sapping lullabies from the mist that rain from the booming tongues of the great giant singers in our midst. 

I implore you to explore your destiny through your own vision. 

I implore you to begin to become, now.

All The Best 

Blisca O'Cof

2014-11-15

DOWN AND UP

young

people

mus’-‘e

not people who

could think in

who could talk in

who could walk in

the land

with head in high sky…

…that mus’-‘e why

the man them what mus’-‘e more man

than man

say

sit down and shut up

young people

mus’-‘e

a part of people who

just not smart enough people

to start a long sentence

to throw a bad ask question

what could land tough

in the hand

of the man them what mus’-‘e more man

than man

the one them who could stand

on bold bald crotches and say

sit down and shut up

young people

mus’-‘e

not people

who could be stink and

make newspaper ink

like the man them what mus’-‘e more man than man

the one them that does frown even when they

face down and they grace upside down

and they drop back pace renown

the one them that does sound

like the town is all about them...

...but young people is the problem

the one them that does drown dreams

the one them that does clown and stroke

while

young people

have to crawl up slippery slope

have to bawl at jokes

have to bolt they own eye ball

have to play dumb and stay broke

and

sit down

and

shut up

  

Blisca O’Cof

2014-10-01

murder he rose

the earth
done
gone
to hell
man taking out man
like
daylight does douse lamplighter fire

now
who just murder
that warm smiling
hot
blooded
dashiki wearing
man

why
in heaven’s name
should that man have to scream
his way into heaven
when
we need
more
good men
here
on earth
to deliver us from this
hell

eye

In the land of the
one-eye king
the two-eye man pretends to be
blind
for there could be no vision
greater than the king's
no tolerance for such things in this land
for there can be no sight the king has not seen
no right the king has not gleaned.

In the land of the
one-eye king
the two-eye man pretends to be
blind
finds safety in the darkness of structured ignorance
climbs under shallow beds of cowardice
and binds his potentials with thick yellow ropes of
forgetfulness
white-lies
hope
promises
discretion
deceit
he sits in defeat at the feet of the one-eye king
afraid
self-conquered
practicing passive resistance
hiding from light
downplaying insight.

In the land of the
one-eye king
the two-eye man
lives and dies
blinder than blind

homesick

This is about the 15th anniversary of the creation of these words. It was written in between night and day, sleep and wake, love and loss. It was the pre-email era; so I wrote it quickly on something that I stuffed into an envelope and mailed to an amazingly kindred spirit in another island thousands of miles away. We: the words, the recipient, and I, lost connection. Although I will not forget the person, I immediately forgot the words and that they even existed. This year, 15 years later we reconnected. The words and I and the kindred spirit that had kept guard over those words all these years. I received them by email, in a scan of the original document. I read them as if for the first time. I could scarcely remember the event of writing them; and definitely could not remember the words. My signature and handwriting, and the feeling of internal memory evoked assured me that I made those words: LAMENTATION OF THE HOMESICK. It is a testament to the indelible spirituality and interconnectedness of TIME and the power of receiving that which one has given.

lamentation of the homesick

GET THEE OUT OF THINE OWN COUNTRY AND FROM THY KINSMEN, AND FROM THY FATHER'S HOUSE AND GO ONTO A LAND THAT I WILL SHOW YOU

(Genesis 12:1)

My tears. My tears are empty for

the spirits of the fathers of my fathers,

the breasts and wombs of the mothers of my mothers buried

in the wounds of the Mediterranean

sieved sheaved

through the Northwest Passage and hidden

by the shimmering shaggy white beard of the mono-divinity

that omnipotent that soul-less heartless timeless God

that signed no B’rith with me

My tears. My tears are empty like

Judea’s sperm seeping from the buttocks of Olympus

pouring down to the banished graves of my history

burning crosses in the sand

Dancing to the sound of an orgy of thieves...

And the music rides the waves of the winds

“Judea’s Son is the Shepherd of the Lamb-like Beast!”

And the music descends to the depths of my blood

“You are the son

Judea’s son

He is your Brother your Friend

He is your Father

He is the King of your Kingdom.”

No! The kins of my kins once were gods; gods

that lived in the light of every star

They

are

the greenness of the trees and the wetness of the waters

My tears. My tears are empty for

the swords of the prostrate headless horsemen that lay

praying for the rising sun to ride its blade of blood

to my fathers house now strangled by thirsty turbans

You

who would slit Judea’s throat and drink the bile of

his son— your brother

remove

the sands from the orifices of mine own country remove

your pegged canvas from the carcasses of my kinsmen

Deliver

me from the shackles of your desert promises

Let me return to my fathers’ house

Let me return to time

Goddess1&2

Goddess1 & Goddess2 predate the year 2000. I am time challanged right now and have been laxed in writing poems into this weblog as much as I would like. Although they are not true to my goal of creating new unedited poetic expressions directly into this weblog, Goddess1 & Goddess2 somewhat qualify as they were both typed directly into separate emails, then summarily dispatched at the click of an electronic mouse never to be written down on paper with pen: Words afloat in cyberspace. I am happy to have re-encountered them after such a long time.

Goddess1

Today is for you.

Like so many days when my hot blood churns

over the rocks of our story

Like so many days when my sweetest thoughts flow

down to see you in every thing I touch

Like so many days when my heart wanders

along your lush banks and yearns to sip from

your cup that sits between the fragrance of your Mount Venus and

the smooth luscious moon-splashed peeks of Dyo Psomi Lofos.

Like so many days when my flesh crave to soak up the wetness of your lips

Like so many days when I reach into my core and find you unfolded

Like so many days

Today

is for you

Goddess2

Arrows like stars

descend on my love for

you

not

one

to tolerate the proddings of

commercialized holiday sticks

I pluck the sensations out of the pieces

of scattered heart flesh

and prostrate my organs and limbs

under this quartermoon canopy

and pray

--Oh goddess, if

you would cover my skin, if

you would bless me with your eternal kiss

--Oh goddess,

I love you

no matter the day it is

Capsize

pour your contents into her cap

Bimini

she saw a chunk of you fall into Miami

into low buried water

she saw a vessel of your soul capsize

spilling beautiful lives

spilling kin and friend and blood into turquoise sea

spilling old times good times all times

she saw them going home to Bimini

gone to another home far far far from Bimini

and near to its endless heavenly heart

pour pour pour Bimini

pour

Careening Daze

Days ago

I wish I had not seen

You

I don’t know

How many miles there are between

Our lives

But I wish they’d disappear

bodypolitic

we who would so readily destroy

our leaders

crucify them

cannibalize their hearts

suck the dense marrow from their battered bones

we are the people

we are the party

of opportunists and fifth-columnists

and naysayer and gainsayers

we lift them up and exalt them

that they must die

that we must live

beyond our means

beyond our abilities

beyond our willingness

we who would beat our breasts

in triumph at their flailing promises

plot in dark corners and under

small secret tables

to plunder their fraying wings

to stick bloodied feathers in our head-pieces

we are the people

we are the party

of whisperers and screamers

of whimperers and whining wimps

we lather ourselves with greed and confusion and

a longing for selfish promotion

and we whip the air of uncertainty with our black and white tongues

we scratch at the scars of their faces

we dig deeper into the ditches we have pasted on their backs

and we spit venom and bile from near and there

we are the people

we are the party

of mutating ideologues

presumptuous righteousness and

condescending vigor

we

have severed the anchors

and slashed the sails and

we

have smashed the rudders

we have drenched the harbour fires

with our slop-buckets and

we have wrenched the green and red lights

from the ports and the starboards

heads and sterns are laden with obscurity

we revel in the wretched punch

of misfortune disinformation misinformation

we crush our cores and copulate

to conceive new leaders for our unending parties

new leaders

to be stifled by the stench of our partying

new leaders

to be bludgeoned by the parting of our own smudged fingers

we are the people

we are the party of people

that sacrifice time on the altars of expedience

we ensnare wisdom and alter friendship

and drag them through fields of foolishness with heavy chains

we are the people

we are the party of people

that deserve ourselves

we deserve

nothing

but

the best

the worst

of

we

…be told

I going tell story on you

Truth is if

I tell the truth

You going go straight to death row

And that Fox Hill Prison

That ain’t no place to be

Ain’t even no hill

Just high hell

elements

Poema est viva

footsteps

Every day has been a quest

searching

through the great hill of

complex passages and naked scenery

at this place where we built a castle

a safe-house, and a fortress for our passion and mutual adorations

and it’s in the rock-faced cottage near the beach

where I find your smile sitting on a bed of vanilla jasmines

in the middle of that secret hearth

near to your warm rapture filled heart

I’ve tried reaching through the window just to touch

the repressed unconditional love and the blissful times

when your desires murmured songs in the night

and rained sugared juices on my skin

It’s all rolled up now into a thick candle that’s lit

and lodged deep in the interior

And I go on learning to be blessed with what we have built

in a short space in this beautiful place

learning to contend to be pleased with the distant heat

And I go on contented to count my footsteps instead of the days.

Calypsogirl

Today
saw her
stretched
still seeming wet
her steaming joy releasing her skirt
from her thighs
her eyes releasing plight from purple earth

Today
wants to
touch the invisible garden floating
about her sweet brown skin
wants to
wash her veiled enticing rear with sunlight
wants to
kiss the sky onto
her smooth cheeks
her savvy forehead
her adroit shoulders
her succulent arroyos
her peaks and valleys

Today
lips become acrylic
and ache
for a brush
and wait
for her dance
and shake
with her music

ride

to ride

to roll

inside this place

to mark its hide with your black tracks

to blend muscle with machine

man with speed

to bend expedience with the need for motion

to ride wet

in sunshine wet

in rain

through puddles of emotions

to ride

to slide into destinations

hot blood gushing through a Junkanoo heart

sweat dripping through your open pores washing

your tight skin and perched on your eyebrows like a baby high-tide

to ride 

free

no space but for your iron board butt

free

full of books and pens and papers and words and ideas and poems

to ride

without issues of the day

without speedometers odometers and oil meters and thermometers 

and bitter gas station pumpers and seat belt laws

to ride

to put on breaks

and

breathe

thymoumai-time

Where art thou Art
You beautiful expanse
of beautiful spirit
in beautiful flesh
Where art thou Art
I see your name
written by the minute hand
of the silent clock on Bay Street
while the muffled mouths
of stray potcakes salivate
into a roaring sea
that tears
a question into the asphalt…

eerwh rta hout atr?

Nobel

your voice found

me on my deserted paradise

and in the hush between the words

I wanted to brush your eyebrows

I wanted to touch your quota

I wanted to hear rivers flow

I wanted you and I to come

together to make doom

and laughter

and warm whispers

and sweet talk

and

forever

joy

we

our city is dead
we
prop up the body
we
live with it
stinking
carcass
we
love with it

we
build a coffin around it
heap the concrete
steel asphalt into
our own image
our own imagination
our own imitation
of anti-ness

our city is dead
we
bury the being
with memories opportunities
we
bury the generous organs in Styrofoam cups
we
throw plastic petals at peace
we
toss bouquets of crepe paper into a rushing breeze
we
tug at the gown tail of
property hope togetherness serenity
we
sprinkle our stories dreams revelations
we
move on
dumb vacant thoughtless and defiantly dying

callipygian

Hormane is here
sucking a pleasant plum
always here
waiting for a fortuitous encounter with
callipygous moments

There are theories
of how juices flow to soft places
fly between volcanic embraces
it is the reason why buxom numbers spill
out of the economist’s cup
what we wouldn’t do for more, more, more
for a larger one, a grander heftier tool

We’ll make
a fool out of daylight
for sure

And in the spare time
Hormane unscrambles the letters
Spells out Z A F T I G
something big, something full
of possibilities full
of outpouring

Hormane is always there
sucking a plump pleasing sweetened
life
so take a bow, and
another and another, another and
Ahhhh
all the cracks in the theories reveal themselves spontaneously
and the crackpots grunt
for joy and the crackpots overwhelm Hormane with
a gush of empty doctrine
tenacious tenets that
fill the space with more, more, more

Nusic

My son used to call it nusic

And even though I corrected him

A thousand times he insisted

That it was I who had it wrong

He'd often suggest I asked

God the only one who knew more than me

For it couldn’t be music

If it sounded like that…

Cows said moo

fey

it is amazing how

you

tug their lives

through the drudgery of forgotten times

that pliable smile

you

never put down

can melt the cerebrum of demons

and mend the meandering days of

stray dogs

but it is that frown

they

never see

that lives in every drop of your sea

like magic

your lips curl

and revolution

covers the world