Concrete Rose

Imagine being raised in the most unpleasant of environments,
Temperature humid,
Atmosphere far from being great.
Dons and guns reigning,
Showering bullets more than it  rains.
This inhumane climate,
Intensified by the adverse effects of global warming,
Is like a category 5 hurricane,
Which gave no sign of a warning.
Don’t expect help from your neighbours,
The citizens here aren’t that charming.
So please don’t find it alarming,
That these gunmen have a lot of corn,
And no they’re not meant for farming.
Criminals roam the streets,
Day and night,
Without concern for who they’re harming.
So while you sleep and hug your darling,
It’s a different story here
These are the injustices,
Law abiding citizens bear.
Sleepless nights filled with anguish and fear,
Hopelessly calling for help but no one hears.
Surrounded by lifeless souls
And countless carcasses,
Just waiting to be placed in holes,
Suffocating by lies,
While battling for the truth.
Dreams turn into nightmares,
Unpleasantries everywhere.
Amidst all this chaos,
A concrete rose thrives,
Though plagued with unsurmountable destruction,
Adorned with damaged petals,
Somehow,
It survives.

Destined For Success

They say if your from the bottom,
You’ve no right being at the top,
I’ve worked the soles off my feet,
I’ve work the clothes of my back
Just to make it this far,
Why the hell should I stop?
You’re privileged to be born with gold or silver spoon,
Yet you’d cheat me of my chance,
Of getting to the moon,
I am not a weed,
I am a seed with the proper nourishment I will bloom,
You’d be fascinated to know,
What I can do with my little wooden spoon.

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

Corner Poet

A tamarind tree provides the shade he needs,
Cooling the spot where he rests.
A tomb for his seat,
Leaves blowing in the wind.
Inspiration at ever turn like the sun as it illuminates the sky,
Still he’s not sure what to write.
Thoughts running through his mind,
Like a stream that runs for miles.
He’s barely known,
Not yet famous,
The words he writes are his own.
Many days he sits silently alone,
Pen in hand,
Book sprawled across his lap,
Waiting for a friend,
Perhaps a stranger to come along.
It brings him great pleasure to share the thoughts he conjures up,
He writes from a place that brings him solace and comfort,
so don’t take from him what you didn’t give.

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

Broken City

A place of misery,
The devil’s play ground.
Terrifying screams,
Of the unknown.
Shattered dreams,
Splashed across smashed mirrors.
Mutilated souls,
Carrying desecrated hearts.
Diminishing thoughts,
Vengeance for the broken.
Bodies filled with grief,
pain and guilt.
Sad faces aligned the walls,
Despaired shadows lurking
The lonely halls.
Monsters created,
In the dark they crawl.
Chalked victims,
Decorating pavements after a fall.
Blood drenched streets,
As sirens blare.
A Raven’s stare makes the
Faint minds cower in fear.
don’t get caught alone in the park
After twelve is midnight,
And
you know darkness walks.
Emotions died,
Killed on spot.
the purge continues,
None stop.
Trespassers are warned,
“Not to enter!”
for this broken city,
Is worst than deaths sorrow.
It’s a living horror!

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

Freedom Street

You can find friends and enemies
alike scurrying along these pothole filled streets,
With tired feet from the many years of mileage,
Though twisted and bumpy they are.
We share one common goal,
That we aim to accomplish before we get old.
To hurdle these obstacles is the hardest part,
But once we do we will be better off.
We are faced with poverty, tribulations and fear,
Almost impossible odds that bring about despair.
Generation after generation burdened by this weight,
The voices of heroes have been ignored.
The path to freedom has been neglected,
As the Great Marcus Mosiah Garvey once said “Emancipate yourself from mental slavery.”
History and time have proven that these words are true,
Then how is it that doubt still lies within me and you.
When he also said “if we have no confidence in self,
We are twice defeated in the race of life, but with confidence we’ve already won.”
Let’s be bold like our ancestors,
For Freedom Street is like a rainbow,
Shining like the sun.
It is the promise,
Of salvation to come.
Home to all,
Yet more important to some.
It is a testament of what we can become.
It is a hope longed for,
Even before slavery had begun.
The voices of our forefathers beckon still,
And thou at times we must chill.
We will not waste our time on corners and lanes,
For how could we be idle and still be sane.
with Garvey’s words carved within our hearts and etched deep in our brains
“Up you mighty race,
You can accomplish what you will!”
On freedom Street is where we all must meet.

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

Thought Of It

As I make an attempt to write this piece the tears flow,
However it comes out its because am letting it go.
I am not sure about you but I am tired
Yes I am tired,
really tired.
As I sit deeply gazing at the night sky with teary eyes,
There’s so many questions puzzling my mind.
Why do we kill?
Why do we murder?
What happened to getting old and dying from natural illnesses?
I am tired of seeing the pain stricken faces of mothers and sisters,
As they weep for their brothers and sons that are shot dead in the streets.
What is the cause for all this senseless killing?
It makes me wonder if its a blood hunting season.
These killers show no remorse for they smile while being behind the gun,
They just take another life for fun.
I wonder what will happen when your time comes?
Just know your music will play one day
And,
When it does its not rhythm nor blues,
So you won’t be dancing to tunes.
What a rude awakening;
one that u can’t refuse
When u finally realise, that the way u chose,
Is filled with doom & woes.
Imagine being buried on Valentines Day,
Gifted with a wreath instead of a rose.

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

Literary War

I was taught that the pen is mightier than the sword,
So I forged my pen as if it was a formidable blade.
Like the ones used by the highlanders,
Each thrust creates metaphors,
similes and alliterations,
Sometimes a bit of analogy and repetition.
paper being my shield it protects my words,
For writers block is a disastrous monster that attacks from every corner.
I don’t fear for my ink spilled thoughts will tear it apart.

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

Love Letters (Part 1 of 2 part series)

My sweet Havio,

You must Forgive me for my late reply
But i found it simply quite difficult indeed to pen my feelings.
I wanted so desperately to tell you the depth of my love
How much you mean to me
and how your absence takes away any ray of sunshine from my day
Yesterday i stood in the garden and i saw the butterflies floating around the flowers
and it came to suddenly my dear
i thought this is how your love makes me feel
much like a delicate butterfly
light as air
with no hope of ever landing.
your love is like the sweet nectar from flowers
that i hungrily drink of
I smile ever so often when i think of you.
I wait with bated breath for your letters.

With all my love
Always and forever your butterfly
Fiona

This is a two part collaborated piece in between me and a beautiful Poetess Cadine Vernon, who’s a magnificent Jamaican writer. this is a two part series check out her blog for part 2.

Written by Cadine Vernon

geminikitty1876.wordpress.com

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

Sorry Is Foreign To Me

Sorry sorry sorry,
How many times have you heard that word?
Sorry keeps coming out of people’s mouth like unwanted saliva,
Sorry these days seems a bit overrated.
Overused like a cliché
And,
I could go on and on about it.
Sorry is like being annoyed over and over again,
By someone you dislike.
Sorry is like a broken record,
Constantly going.
Sorry is like getting a fresh cut
and your in need of a band aid,
Soothing moment.
Sorry is like getting a shove
And,
you expect an apology.
Sorry is so commonly used,
It’s like prescribed drug
for the flu.
Sorry is used so casually,
The value of it is lost.
Sorry has become a meaningless gesture,
Sorry isn’t genuine anymore.
At least to me it isn’t,
Sorry is just another word,
That is used frequently.
I don’t need your apologies
and
sympathies,
Go on about your business
And
leave me be.
I’ve deleted, excluded
and erased,
This word from my vocabulary.
sorry is an alien,
that means it’s foreign to me!

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.

Alive

Watching friends
As they frolic in water
Like a group of swans
In all their grace
Wind caressing my skin
Like the hand of an Angel
Waves rushing at my feet
As they meet the shore
Sigh’s of relief
As I stare at the rainbow in the distance
A promise remembered
No stress, no worries
for i am free
And
I smile as my heart beats within
Oxygen circulates through my lungs
Refreshing scent of the ocean breeze
While the sun penetrates my body
Providing earthly nourishment
No ailments,
No pain for I am alive.

Copyright © Xavier Frazer 2016

All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this poem, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this poem may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.