Well - here's my 2nd revision - I'm kinda liking the way it's coming along - Think I may even enter a contest with this revision - I think what was missing was a way to tie in the 1st stanza with the other stanzas - so I did a repetitive line
Anyway - let me know what you think about it!
Jacquii.
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Where Is The Joy?
Seven fields of golden-hewn wheat
graces the shoulder of this one dirt street
in Jackson, Tennessee. Seven sown fields
laden heavily whilst sitting heavenly
just above the rocky turmoil
of hell's unredeemed cotton. Those fields -
they yield
a various cacophony straight from the
daybed splendor of a soul-rich
soil. (Fields be damned.)
The labor and the toil
of harvests' birth is but blood of the dust:
unkempt and raggedy cells
holding the bones that were first
laid down to rest splendidly
like old Negro slaves
and their chil'ren of plantation daze;
all of 'em simply longing hard, working
for the zest of joy, of retribution, of restitution
and of life, whilst attentively serving foul folks;
the whole while their old Negro smiles
ironically frowned foully with strife.
They looked upon that ole o’ seer’s beaming face
and his beating-stick of ill-fated hate
with that same-old tired Negro smile, the one
full of knowing spiritual faith.
(Fields be damned!)
Could that ole "mista-massa sir"
have given a damn about any two Nigras
overcoming the slaving-fields day-after-day?
Those same Nigras
with bleeding hands that cultivated
the U.S. of A on death beds
splintered with broken hay -
Should "mista-massa sir" have cared?
Would he have known where is the joy,
where is the retribution,
the restitution,
the life?
Would he now tell for his safe-passage
through the fields of God? Would he?
Copyright © 2006 Jacquii Cooke