I was born when I was forty-seven Into a life or death fight Loved ones all dead and I hope in heaven Down here it was always night It was sink or swim it was me or him Some told me I had lived before I would rather not remember Another life another war Everyone died in November They left me here and were no more
Left as an outsider a stranger man This is the way my poetry began
As soon as I got good And people knew my name I got misunderstood Mean people pounced to blame They were just like Uncle Jack Who sank as I learned to swim Men like him on the attack But it was me and not him In that life or death fight I won With a pen while he held a gun
I consulted the lords of poetry They said not to worry but just be me
That I was doing well Had aroused jealousy Let the nuts go to hell That I had the right stuff Keep on and I would see I was pretty damned tough I would make the big leagues if by and by Because all my words are true Lie down contented when I come to die So that is what I will do
I always find it hard enough to be myself, I cannot even imagine how hard it would be to try and maintain a facade of someone else. Besides, you are great. I might not be a goddess of poetry, but I like to think of myself as connoisseur of sorts. And you my friend have got it. Now kick those demons, like Uncle Jack, back to the hell that birthed them. And what better time than All Hallow's Eve.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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~ Sara
Keep them poems coming my friend!!
Love Tinka