Now elders like to think themselves wise,
Which is no surprise,
But he says to me boy open your eyes,
The well behaved son never receives the prize,
Don't you realize?
No I said in my heart then,
And no I say again,
Even if I have to say it to an army of ten thousand men,
No again and again and again!
What of sons like Absolom and Solomon,
Power handed to which one,
Let the story then carry on,
Selassie is descended from which one,
And today elder I ask,
Why do you look like the children that sing the Ethiopian King's song,
And was he which son,
Akin to such one...
This is not my epistle,
But rather my Ecclesiastes,
A cosmological opus magnum...
A belief I use like an intellectual handgun,
Here am I, send me...
They will know I am which one!
Copyright © 2017 by Yannick Pessoa, All Rights Reserved.
© MMXVII YANNICK PESSOA
This unique blog is Jamaica's very first blog. It documents the work and thoughts of Jamaican Philpsopher, Yannick Nesta Pessoa. I am an Artist, Graphic Designer, Copywriter, Poet, Social Advocate, Community Activist, Western Mirror Columnist and Legal Student. Follow on Twitter & Instagram @yahnyk. Follow on Youtube @ and Reply to yannickpessoa@gmail.com
Showing posts with label poet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poet. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
Sunday, March 19, 2017
The Threnody of Angels
Sometime mi bumbo'ole,
More time mi a eediat,
If mi never have yute,
Mi gi miself gunshot,
😱Huh, no, don't say that!
A how mi feel an a fimi pain dat,
Come in like you love chat chat,
U know how life hot...
Mi nah talk suffer hungry or none a dat,
It's to feel your heartbreaking,
Caah some day yuh pickney heart will be aching,
To know you try self improvement and everything,
Never to be the King of Kings,
To give to the poor and never yet get of someone's offerings,
To give her your heart for safekeeping,
She take it tun play play ting,
To look like a saint,
When a demon is inside seething,
To lose teeth as a 35year old teething,
To sit amongst fraud as the realest thing,
To feel like half alien and angel born of a human being,
To have your shoulder blades flap phantom wings,
To hear the Cacophony of the Kakistocrasy in every meeting,
To seek the future and find possible sorrow,
As you see the scope of horror in the truth of tarot,
To have your messages of now only understood in tomorrow,
To sense the surrender to the nothing,
The hurt of practicing to lose loved ones as we all must,
The sick psycho rehearsal for tragedy and pain of losing family.
More time mi a eediat,
If mi never have yute,
Mi gi miself gunshot,
😱Huh, no, don't say that!
A how mi feel an a fimi pain dat,
Come in like you love chat chat,
U know how life hot...
Mi nah talk suffer hungry or none a dat,
It's to feel your heartbreaking,
Caah some day yuh pickney heart will be aching,
To know you try self improvement and everything,
Never to be the King of Kings,
To give to the poor and never yet get of someone's offerings,
To give her your heart for safekeeping,
She take it tun play play ting,
To look like a saint,
When a demon is inside seething,
To lose teeth as a 35year old teething,
To sit amongst fraud as the realest thing,
To feel like half alien and angel born of a human being,
To have your shoulder blades flap phantom wings,
To hear the Cacophony of the Kakistocrasy in every meeting,
To seek the future and find possible sorrow,
As you see the scope of horror in the truth of tarot,
To have your messages of now only understood in tomorrow,
To sense the surrender to the nothing,
The hurt of practicing to lose loved ones as we all must,
The sick psycho rehearsal for tragedy and pain of losing family.
No this is not the pain of being deprived,
Its the pain of living in the pain of those who went through pain to let you survive,
It's the pain of knowing Grandmothers can never be revived,
It's the pain of waiting for her to visit in dreams and not have it happen,
It's the pain of having to steer at children's innocence and naivety,
To remember your own innocence to harken your own naivety,
To look at everything that is and know all is vanity,
To know that modernity is absurdity and utter insanity,
It's the pain of having to see yourself in the youth,
The pain of watching them flail to find truth,
The ache of endless rejection and fatherly rebuke,
The pain of holding it in but still having to puke,
The sadness in being in a crowd and lonely,
The dull boredom of going out when you are homely,
The pain to see her beauty and realize she is not comely,
Pain of having to wait for those who will not appreciate the patient,
To swallow words because mama thinks them too potent...
To have moments splinter like fractals,
Scattered in the eternity of seconds,
The pain of not being her first choice,
Of not being her virgin breaker,
The sorrow when she loves you less each tomorrow,
The pain of knowing your imperfections,
The trauma in loving her flaws,
The drama in her corners and mental drawers,
To be a narcissist full of self hate,
To constantly self deprecate,
Even when your gut says I am great...
Copyright © 2017 by Yannick Pessoa, All Rights Reserved. Its the pain of living in the pain of those who went through pain to let you survive,
It's the pain of knowing Grandmothers can never be revived,
It's the pain of waiting for her to visit in dreams and not have it happen,
It's the pain of having to steer at children's innocence and naivety,
To remember your own innocence to harken your own naivety,
To look at everything that is and know all is vanity,
To know that modernity is absurdity and utter insanity,
It's the pain of having to see yourself in the youth,
The pain of watching them flail to find truth,
The ache of endless rejection and fatherly rebuke,
The pain of holding it in but still having to puke,
The sadness in being in a crowd and lonely,
The dull boredom of going out when you are homely,
The pain to see her beauty and realize she is not comely,
Pain of having to wait for those who will not appreciate the patient,
To swallow words because mama thinks them too potent...
To have moments splinter like fractals,
Scattered in the eternity of seconds,
The pain of not being her first choice,
Of not being her virgin breaker,
The sorrow when she loves you less each tomorrow,
The pain of knowing your imperfections,
The trauma in loving her flaws,
The drama in her corners and mental drawers,
To be a narcissist full of self hate,
To constantly self deprecate,
Even when your gut says I am great...
© MMXVII YANNICK PESSOA
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Summer Lightning
It was a mango time,
That my stars aligned,
The Sol and Mercury were in my sign,
Season of Simeon and Levi,
Twins of the Gemini.
It was a time my reflection in the mirror,
Showed the future,
The past buried behind glass,
It was a month of moments,
When moths like Maat,
In Jamiekah they call them bats,
Flitter on uncertain paths,
From the bath... room
And round my bedroom.
I worry about them pointlessly,
The bother of croaking lizards,
And nibbled wings,
Oh where is my cat?
I miss my cat,
And not...
Because of the returned rats.
And sudden lightning landing,
Over head at Overton,
The alarm cannot be avoided,
But what joy to sit in the season,
And see overseas,
Dark clouds churning electricity.
As I count the remains of the day,
What can one say,
About the big gains,
Niggling nagging pains,
And alas...
The loss of little things,
The loss of so many things!
That my stars aligned,
The Sol and Mercury were in my sign,
Season of Simeon and Levi,
Twins of the Gemini.
It was a time my reflection in the mirror,
Showed the future,
The past buried behind glass,
It was a month of moments,
When moths like Maat,
In Jamiekah they call them bats,
Flitter on uncertain paths,
From the bath... room
And round my bedroom.
I worry about them pointlessly,
The bother of croaking lizards,
And nibbled wings,
Oh where is my cat?
I miss my cat,
And not...
Because of the returned rats.
And sudden lightning landing,
Over head at Overton,
The alarm cannot be avoided,
But what joy to sit in the season,
And see overseas,
Dark clouds churning electricity.
As I count the remains of the day,
What can one say,
About the big gains,
Niggling nagging pains,
And alas...
The loss of little things,
The loss of so many things!
Monday, March 07, 2016
Rubble and debris from everyday thoughts!
If you think I can be pigeon holed... meet the Indomitable Yannick Nesta Pessoa... even if mi nuh popular, even if a nuh 10 million likes, mi sure seh mi Mother, mi wife and mi dawta still love me (even if Keez never waan hold mi hand to skool this morn)... mi sure seh mi real and mi keep mi heart clean as is posible fi mi do... nah mean... whether you or Mr. Big Neck never see it... I wasn't marketing myself I was busy being real, and doing real stuff... without award or accolade... I was building community facebook pages... and being immersed in community life... Youth Club or Football Team or 6-A-Side or Residents Assoc. all the Senior Citizens Assoc. before mi reach old age... before Blog Awards and social media awards, I was blogging it and repping as JA's first blogger... Repping in the Western Mirror for Young working people every where as The Montegonian Friday evening to Friday evening... learning in the streetside University hot off the heels of learning all sort of philosophy from the UWI Mona... rolling through the years... poet... cartoonist, freelance journalist, entrepreneur, community resource person... now I find myself at Utech doing an LLB for a million reasons and continuing my fight for a better MoBay and a better community, so that Jamaica may under God, increase in beauty, fellowship and prosperity, and play her part in advancing the welfare of the whole human race... doesn't end with an election, it doesn't end or begin with politics, to nuh shrink wrap in red or green...
Now mi believe seh mi a genuinely a genuine decent beautiful human being... inside and out... and mi nah seh so from place of arrogance or ego... yeh mi feel like yeh mi might slightly edgy, slightly angry, slightly intense, slightly eccentric, rough round the edges yeh... and if you truly know me... then you know me electrifying.. illuminating and edifying, and when given the chance to speak my words make the cinema and theatre appear right where you are... almost every waking moment of life is an adventure to me and for the most part my heart and soul are always a glow... my mind always on fire and my conscience light... so yes I know I am beautiful human being... aren't you too?
Nah stop all when mi dead... mi have duppy and pickney and inspired ones fi do this... as an African domiciled in Xaymaca i seh this still without apology Jamaica land we love, and Africa Unite... I don't need any likes, feel free to like if you feel thus compelled mi nah be anti-social, but a nuh dat mi deh pon, caah Google Blogspot/Blogger never had like buttons when mi started writing and graffiti the internet and cyberspace...
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
![image[2]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHtdmnx_O7sYqCxXNsqnICVclGAwg-NWVDdQL-KhUbWvQoP-OLNtIMDNZ_gDgfznLMoIFcOdwNWAT6QhbLZsls87AzbsDfmx1oObG4UpcRXeEhOEIt0-935-Sn4xnAHK9tA2g/s1600-h/image%5B2%5D%5B3%5D.png "image[2]")
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