Ode to Lost Elders and Careless I-thiopians

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

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.

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. 
© MMXVII YANNICK PESSOA

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!

Speak Truth to Power!

Created with Kwote!

New Poems...

And since I can find no other outlet right now... seems no one is interested in my material at current... why not just toss them on the blog and make a vain hope that something germinates and catches and excites some literary type out there to gimmi a chapbook, or shudder... a full fledge publishing deal. Ha! This one is to wild dreams and aspirations...

Left Behind


...And it seems,
When it is you came to mind,
You'd moved on,
And I've been left behind.


Yannick Nesta Pessoa
Copyright ©2007 Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Run Away Thoughts on Love and Cost

What it is about you,
Sometimes I just can't tell,
Maybe it's your purple pheromone,
Or the fact that you wear it so well,
My favourite flavour of green,
My flavourite smell,
What it is,
I just can't tell.

Maybe it's how your scent,
Pricks my nostrils,
Until...
Memories arise and I am aroused,
Yet constrained by what time and space allows,
Dying to linger and to carouse.

Yes, yes, yes,
I must confess,
I am left...
Feeling like less,
Saddled with the still life images,
Of when I would sipple,
On impurpled neck, lip and nipple.

Maybe it the tip,
Yes the tip of your lip,
Or the convex curve of your hip,
That brings that moth in me fluttering to life,
Like being drawn to light,
Ending if only temporarily my turmoil and strife.

Yes, yes, yes,
I must confess,
I am left...
Feeling distress,
Saddled with the still life images,
Visions of us living in rural seaside villages,
Prisoner of passion in times passages.

Likkle Ms Red Riding Hood
 
Back to reality I said,
Fantasy worlds she explores instead.
So if you must go...
to the real world as it were...
Which of your fairy tales am I?

Cinderella, Rapunzel, Snow White...
And she names quite a few,
In a haste and in a rush she asks...
Which am I to you?

Hold on nuh, hold on nuh,
Stalling for time,
Ploughing and rooting through my mind,
Trying to get one through...

She had hurtled her questions,
With Matriarchal Supremecy,
She brimmed with a hubris of one certain of victory...
This I knew.

Hold on nuh, hold on nuh!
Now finding the one to get me through,
I found my stone,
Now in memory of father's face let my aim be true.

And like a shepherd boy and a giant,
I am that which you had not suspected,
The one she never knew,
In coy shy dry wry humility I sail one bullet,
Now let my aim be true.

And like a King before me,
I am the wolf in shepherd's clothing,
The big bad wolf,
And before she can finish hoisting another
which am I to you?

I respond...

You are...

My Likkle Red Riding Hood.

My Gospel

My dearest dear,
My fair-est fair,
It is you I invite to read my Gospel,
To be enchanted by my god-spell,
I'll be your Jesus,
And make you my dearest apostle,
My acolyte,
Secret place at night,
Cleave to me,
Let your thighs show belief,
And hold me tight,
I make miracles and set things right,
I am the golden child,
Brilliant and bright,
Touch the hem of my tattered garment,
And I'll undo yours.
 
Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Christmas

I had dream where Jesus turned in his grave,
Christmas consumes the souls he came to save,
Money and mammon are masters and many are slave,
Picking up their crosses and forgetting his cross and all he gave,
Neon signs on the road to future we pave,
Commerce and WWJD is all the rave.

The cock crows thrice on Christ's mas Eve,
Many celebrate not knowing what they believe,
Content with meager salaries and bonus the receive,
Merchants peddle and use fat red saints to deceive,
Tell strange and compelling stories about how a virgin did conceive,
Always forgetting the truth of how the King does grieve.


MY LOLITA

So, so, so...
I've be lulled by the way you loll,
By big bottoms and dimpled thighs,
Imperfect skin like mine and coy smile,
Unrevealing eyes.

Here I am in my secret place,
Cursed in the strangest of ways,
By you my Delores Haze,
Captivated, I simply look and gaze,
...And view,
You.

Sixteen,
Young fresh and not so green,
Black velveteen,
And me the Natty libertine.

Bubbler bubbling in...
Her Rapunzel room,
Her Board House Bordeaux,
Secret smiles,
With secrets in eyes,
Do you realize,
You are my Lolita.


Left Over Wine

I must have been forgot,
In his Majesty's schemes and plot,
For I am king too...
Am I not?

It seems in the grand design,
I was left behind,
For after lesser mortals do dine,
It is I who must suffer sipping the left over wine.


She Greaves

Some how...
I failed to expect such vulgar and hostile silence,
An uncommonly profound and intangible sort of violence.

She left and still leaves,
She grieves,
Because I deceive,
She couldn't believe,
In the web of lives and lies this dreamer weaves.

Was my presence so bitter and so vile...
Such a nuisance all the while,
That now...
Not even a smile.

And has my doubtful path,
My unwavering course of majestic disasters,
My penchant for being the dirtiest of pretty things...
Caused this harsh and parched and caustic... exile,
To the periphery of your embattled existence,
Have I compounded the blighted years,
Add green bottles of tears.

I don't know...
But I do understand...
That though she ...
I'll never See Moan or mourn,
I now know she Greaves.


Rahab: Into An Harlot's House

She has eyes like fire,
That dance and flitter with desire,
She had harlequin lips,
Soft subtle hips,
Coy postures and quirky quips,
She shimmers with the danger and legacy of hollow tips,
Black and comely,
She is a lovely... thing,
And oh how the crescent is alive with whispering,
Rumouring... that you might be inviting,
The neo libertine... The Herlequin King... in,
And oh isn't he tempted to prolong this legacy of sin.


Seekers of Dreams

Across the blank, white landscapes,
We battle the vapid and mundane,
Lexical mancing and lexical graphing,
To paint images to bland minds,
To link soul to art,
We make works of heart,
Searching the caverns of the brain,
Ever yearning for the pinnacle of the mind,
We battle on a deep, silent plain of white,
Spilling ink with ever slash,
We tie yesterday with memories,
Bound to honour beauty,
Love and art are our duty,
We are the seekers of dreams.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa


Turquoise Sea

…And I see it clear, 
It’s fluid, 
somewhere in here, 
whispering of something, 
I should know out there.

It’s the world I want,
it’s mellow, 
With the girl I want, 
supple and spirited,
I need to reach yet I can’t.

My eyes burn with clarity, 
As I am immersed in briny waters, 
Sky blue and teal,
Colour the world I can feel...

Yannick Nesta Pessoa


Silence On All Frequencies

I won't speak,
For to speak is to lie,
I won't listen,
For to listen is to be deceived,
I won't think,
For to think is to make belief,
I won't be touched,
For to be touched is to hurt,
I won't smell and taste,
For to smell and taste is to remember.

AM, FM, I'm dead on all frequencies,
I'll take it on mono,
I'll take radio silence,
Fly solo,
Its hard to determine,
Did I dream a belief,
Or was it that I believed a dream.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa


Middle of Nowhere Restaurant

…I sit amongst devils and a whore, 
Exactly where I’m not sure,
The Middle of Nowhere Restaurant most certainly.

The children of the damned scamper here at dawn,
The wretched of the earth stumble in,
Here is home and haven to sin,
The elderly are imps of darkness,
Bent and crooked and thin.

I’ve heard it said,
That the rapture must come,
The good ones must go,
While the rest will reap,
Hell in the evils we used to sow.

The light shines here,
But it’s still dark,
It mourns of a yesterday with a hope and spark,
But its all gone now,
The Beast has left its mark.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

The Wandering Jew

I wash the dried saliva from my face,
I hope the scent of sin will wash away too,
I look out the window and see the world by night,
Pastel designed in mellow moods and tragedies,
While stars, watchers, sing melodies of memories and maladies,
I search the sky for David's star on my way to my very own beloved Bethlehem,
And I wonder...
Are the stories true...
Is there really a long lost wandering Jew.


Ode to Idle Thinkers

For all those who stare out the window,
Beyond the mountain and beyond the tree,
This poem connects all those who think like me.

Holding on to all those... though,
Shackled by people's alleged reality,
Still manage to look pass the ocean and deep into the see.


Unleaded

The sunsets and the evening sky is period red,
Simon Garfunkel's Cecelia is playing in my head,
I unhear all the things she said,
I only wish the succubus were dead,
She said she liked me cause I was unleaded.

Writing on...

Well this silly season will soon be upon us and "here we are princes of the universe, here we are fighting for survival(9to5:pon the slave) in a war with the darkest powers(Babylon & Rome: The system)"... So all you happy troopers who will be looking forward to X-mas bonus and Pardna draws, all who ketch the red ball inna Cashpot... don't forget the friendly neighborhood Rasta Man...

Haven't you noticed as of late... the ants are still out... when it should be cold season, butterflies are less, flies are in while the fruit seasons are out, hmmmm nature may have gone haywire, maybe this the global disaster our last warnings. Global warming is upon us!!! Yup, the meek shall inherit the Earth... gee I feel so heartened to know its this big toxic dump that we are inheriting meekly from our predecessors. Oil junkies... Aye check it seen. My granny was born in 1921 seen and she had only seen two hurricanes from then till 2000, those were Charley and Gilbert... after that Emily, Dennis, Ivan, Dean and a string of close encounters. Hmmmm something seems odd wouldn't you say. Ding ding ding... you guessed it right Global Warming... and you can see it live here in the Caribbean twenty four seven... just watch the world.

Aye shudder to think... does the government have plans to address the drastic changes to life that Global warming will bring. We see the sudden rapid and expansive road deterioration... extended rain seasons and hurricane seasons, can our economy manage this... dom dom duuuuuuum (u know that mystery show scary puzzling question sound)... Anyway enough of my anecdotes lez just see wah mi write seh this month... aye a buildback mi gwaan build back the blog vibes and energy suh whapp'm unnu support mi nuh... leff a comment or post nuh... Chu!

“What!” he said. “Do you not realize that there are souls
in endless torment? They are craving for dreams and
action, the purest passions, the wildest pleasures, and
thus they cast into all kinds of fantasies, and foolishness.”
Then she looked at him just as you gaze upon a
traveler come from a far-away land…
“Look at us, for instance,” he said, “why did we
meet? By what decree of Fate? It must be because,
across the void, like two rivers irresistibly converging, our unique inclinations are pushing us towards one another.” And now he took her hand; she didn’t take it back again. --Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

I shut my eyes so I can see. --artist Paul Gauguin

Happiness is not a destination. It is a method of life. --Burton Hills



GRAND POETRY FIESTA

First I'd like to kick off this poetry cue that I have here with a poem a young Miss Shannon Smith did in response to a poem of mine published in the Bookends Segment of the Sunday Observer... called The Whore... its posted in the post before this one I think so check it out an get up to speed after you read hers below eh... the others are all mine so feast and dine...




Tonight I Whore
by Shannon Smith

Tonight i strip of
ribbons and lace
of lipgloss and makeup
my second face

for tonight
for him once more
tonight i am his dream
his whore

Tonight i lose all gentile demeanor no remnants of the Lady the daywalker For tonight i am for him not his lady but creature of the night tonight the apple is in reach for him, my Tantalus which was once only in sight Tonight he finds a warm embrace not in my arms but where my labia part ways So tonight no giggles no girlish guise just the raunch of a woman with fire between her thighs For his feindish desires I am the cure and so tonight once more for him tonight I whore.



Christmas

I had dream where Jesus turned in his grave,
Christmas consumes the souls he came to save,
Money and mammon are masters and many are slave,
Picking up their crosses and forgetting his cross and all he gave,
Neon signs on the road to future we pave,
Commerce and WWJD is all the rave.

The cock crows thrice on Christ's mas Eve,
Many celebrate not knowing what they believe,
Content with meager salaries and bonus the receive,
Merchants peddle and use fat red saints to deceive,
Tell strange and compelling stories about how a virgin did conceive,
Always forgetting the truth of how the King does grieve.

One Night In December

The sky is in her deepest blue,
While stars glow bold in the cool of night,
Ackee trees rock as the breeze comes through,
All is peace even the mongrels cease to fight.

Children frolic through the street with sparkles in hand,
And old reggae rhythms softly and wistfully scampers across the air,
The spirit... no ghost of nativity captures the land,
The weary soul can rest without fear.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

She's Gone

She left me,
For the beast, for mammon and his money,
I laugh myself to sleep at night,
But really... it isn't funny.

She left me,
Headed to Virginia and Cleveland,
While I'll try to nobly toil,
In my hectic homeland.

She left me,
Not to follow a dream,
But for the coveted green dollar,
And a white collar H2Worker scheme.



MY LOLITA

So, so, so...
I've be lulled by the way you loll,
By big bottoms and dimpled thighs,
Imperfect skin like mine and coy smile,
Unrevealing eyes.

Here I am in my secret place,
Cursed in the strangest of ways,
By you my Delores Haze,
Captivated, I simply look and gaze,
...And view,
You.

Sixteen,
Young fresh and not so green,
Black velveteen,
And me the Natty libertine.

Bubbler bubbling in...
Her Rapunzel room,
Her Board House Bordeaux,
Secret smiles,
With secrets in eyes,
Do you realize,
You are my Lolita.


Left Over Wine

I must have been forgot,
In his Majesty's schemes and plot,
For I am king too...
Am I not?

It seems in the grand design,
I was left behind,
For after lesser mortals do dine,
It is I who must suffer sipping the left over wine.



She Greaves

Some how...
I failed to expect such vulgar and hostile silence,
An uncommonly profound and intangible sort of violence.

She left and still leaves,
She grieves,
Because I deceive,
She couldn't believe,
In the web of lives and lies this dreamer weaves.

Was my presence so bitter and so vile...
Such a nuisance all the while,
That now...
Not even a smile.

And has my doubtful path,
My unwavering course of majestic disasters,
My penchant for being the dirtiest of pretty things...
Caused this harsh and parched and caustic... exile,
To the periphery of your embattled existence,
Have I compounded the blighted years,
Add green bottles of tears.

I don't know...
But I do understand...
That though she ...
I'll never See Moan or mourn,
I now know she Greaves.



Rahab: Into An Harlot's House

She has eyes like fire,
That dance and flitter with desire,
She had harlequin lips,
Soft subtle hips,
Coy postures and quirky quips,
She shimmers with the danger and legacy of hollow tips,
Black and comely,
She is a lovely... thing,
And oh how the crescent is alive with whispering,
Rumouring... that you might be inviting,
The neo libertine... The Herlequin King... in,
And oh isn't he tempted to prolong this legacy of sin.

Seekers of Dreams

Across the blank, white landscapes,
We battle the vapid and mundane,
Lexical mancing and lexical graphing,
To paint images to bland minds,
To link soul to art,
We make works of heart,
Searching the caverns of the brain,
Ever yearning for the pinnacle of the mind,
We battle on a deep, silent plain of white,
Spilling ink with ever slash,
We tie yesterday with memories,
Bound to honour beauty,
Love and art are our duty,
We are the seekers of dreams.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Untitled

Immersion,
How I would like to be in you.

Emulsion,
How it is that I would like to cover you.

Emission,
The star that radiates from the mind of such a wunderkind.

Emersion,
Your reappearance after many moons.

Eversion,
How I undo your soul.

Aversion,
How you cast your gaze when mine becomes intent.

Revision,
How I try to recast this love.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa


Monochrome/MonaKhroma

She looks out the window,
She is monochrome true.
Her speech is song,
Her soul glows blue.

Her hair frizzles and it frazzles,
She knows and I don't know.
As the sun burns the morning cold,
I must come and I must go.

Zygote of a pregnant miracle
Was, is, she will always be.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Turquoise Sea

…And I see it clear,
It’s fluid,
somewhere in here,
whispering of something,
I should know out there.

It’s the world I want,
it’s mellow,
With the girl I want,
supple and spirited,
I need to reach yet I can’t.

My eyes burn with clarity,
As I am immersed in briny waters,
Sky blue and teal,
Colour the world I can feel...

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Silence On All Frequencies

I won't speak,
For to speak is to lie,
I won't listen,
For to listen is to be deceived,
I won't think,
For to think is to make belief,
I won't be touched,
For to be touched is to hurt,
I won't smell and taste,
For to smell and taste is to remember.

AM, FM, I'm dead on all frequencies,
I'll take it on mono,
I'll take radio silence,
Fly solo,
Its hard to determine,
Did I dream a belief,
Or was it that I believed a dream.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Middle of Nowhere Restaurant

…I sit amongst devils and a whore,
Exactly where I’m not sure,
The Middle of Nowhere Restaurant most certainly.
The children of the damned scamper here at dawn,
The wretched of the earth stumble in,
Here is home and haven to sin,
The elderly are imps of darkness,
Bent and crooked and thin.

I’ve heard it said,
That the rapture must come,
The good ones must go,
While the rest will reap,
Hell in the evils we used to sow.

The light shines here,
But it’s still dark,
It mourns of a yesterday with a hope and spark,
But its all gone now,
The Beast has left its mark.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

The Wandering Jew

I wash the dried saliva from my face,
I hope the scent of sin will wash away too,
I look out the window and see the world by night,
Pastel designed in mellow moods and tragedies,
While stars, watchers, sing melodies of memories and maladies,
I search the sky for David's star on my way to my very own beloved Bethlehem,
And I wonder...
Are the stories true...
Is there really a long lost wandering Jew.

Ode to Idle Thinkers

For all those who stare out the window,
Beyond the mountain and beyond the tree,
This poem connects all those who think like me.

Holding on to all those... though,
Shackled by people's alleged reality,
Still manage to look pass the ocean and deep into the see.

Unleaded

The sunsets and the evening sky is period red,
Simon Garfunkel's Cecelia is playing in my head,
I unhear all the things she said,
I only wish the succubus were dead,
She said she liked me cause I was unleaded.















Mr. Marley wid the toolie...(Above)

Yannick Nesta Pessoa
(Writer / Graphic Designer / Cartoonist / Entrepeneur)

The Resume: http://www.geocities.com/cyber_yan/yannickresumeV2.htm

Heavy is the Head that wears the Crown

"How you a move so bitter 'gainst the king?"
-popular Montegonian phrase or quote

"The biggest artiste a Jamaica a the con-artiste, and the biggest ship a the Gynal-ship"
-Proverb picked up at Junior X shop (Paradise crescent)

"Some gyal seh dem Virginal, but dem just Very-Gynal..."
- (Johnny Blaze)-My Dancehall/Reggae artiste alter ego

"Jingle jingle jangle bell christmas come an yuh soul gone a hell"
-some poet at Edna Manley Sch. of Arts etc... 2000-2001

"Haunted season, people a fight wid out reason, see weak fence, and a hop true man nah no backative or defence, and den a hype up wid badman pretence..."
-- (Johnny Blaze)-My Dancehall/Reggae artiste alter ego

So here it is we're winding down to the end of 2006 a year I would calling fleeting at best... nothing monumental happened (thus far) time sailed by oh so swiftly... none-the-less it is a year of change... and so as I tread and trod in the muck we call life or existence... the prince of Paradise... bearing his cross, with a monkey on his back and an albatross around his neck...
Heavy is the Head that wears the Crown
















Secret Places

I am most high,
In my own secret places,
Which I go to,
Escape the lives,
I live between the hollow hallowed lies,
And most unholy thighs,
And through these vacant eyes,
I see my god,
Unhuman inhuman desperate and mad,
Dying from a perplexingly infinite life,
Dying to feel
To be amongst man,
To be real,
To understand.

Copyright ©2006 (mmvi) Yannick Nesta Pessoa














My Stairway to heaven...















Meet Pixie Girl of the Rocktops... Paradise Acres circa 2006... hahahaha

Don't mind me too much these are just random pix from my life...

Dying

And now Mr. Dylan, I know what you mean when you say, Mama take this badge offa me, Put my guns into the ground, 'Cause I'm knocking on heaven's door. I've reached my juvenile end, That point at which dreams die, And reality sets in, Where fantasy vanishes, And rigors of routine set in. I've flirted with success, Only to never be best, Condemned to rot, With my first glimpses... Of the vaguely dissatisfying nature of life.

Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Copyright ©2006(mmvi) Yannick Nesta Pessoa

Young virginal looking (note I said looking) likkle missy from off-a-di rocktop

Sunset out by Lagoons...

End of today's tale