The Song of the Pick

By socialeaf

Tue, 27 May 2014
  • 1910 reads
5 comments
 
A wave of strong African men
Prisoners exploding with color and song
Their picks raised harmoniously
Their ankles shackled
 
Prisoners exploding with color and song
Their rage and longing in lyrics
the withering warden dismisses
as the pleasant nothings of natives at work
 
Their picks raised harmoniously
high above the hatted head of their emaciated oppressor 
Oblivious to their power 
over him, the earth and the shackles
 
Their ankles shackled
The earth bleeds in anticipation
For the picks to strike down hard
For the picks to sing their song 
 
Certificate U
Poem
Leafnotes

Comments

Submitted by Tom Brown on

shaw-sholo-oza!

 

Submitted by scratch on

Well done.  I think this is really good.

 

Submitted by Bee on

Hi socialeaf. 

In my mind, I can see it, hear it, and feel the power. It's only my opinion, but I think the fist stanza might not be needed, and that the poem would be stronger starting with the second. But as I said, that's only my feeling on it. I really liked this piece.

Bee

Submitted by socialeaf on

Thank you all for reading and commenting on this. I shall give your suggestion some thought Bee. 

Cheers

Roy 

 

Submitted by Ray Schaufeld on

Socialeaf, your poem captures the chaingang's trapped force very well indeed.                   Elsie