Marley's Ghost

Marley's Ghost

A Poem by Ken e Bujold

Ruddy bauxite brow

scoured scarp

of dark end

rocks top the Blue

Mahoe hillock


the hard scrabble of dirt labor

sun bent hunger

mouths more

plentiful than spoons


Give me the food and let me grow

Let the Roots Man take a blow


the stone dry-

lands shadow

mystical road

sharp sadness of

a prophet departed


Burning pollution illusion


Ken e Bujold

© 2022

© 2022 Ken e Bujold


Author's Note

Ken e Bujold
another of suite "Islands in the Sun"
italics are from Bob Marley's "Burnin and Lootin"

My Review

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Reviews

Marley was buried with his guitar. It was part of him. You know, now that I think of it, I miss the physical connection of writing with my favorite pen.
I love Bob Marley's music, love innovation and fusion of arts and he was unique. I remember my kids were all about ska at one point, and that was part of his magic. My father loved the Heptones and most rocksteady (a break from cool jazz, west coast jazz). You can hear all of that but the whole is unique.
You must be a huge fan to write with such loving respect of him.
All that being said, the poem is so good. All of the excess has been eliminated. What is left is enough to invoke vivid images but still leave the back door open. It gives the reader wiggle room. To me it seems like each and every word is carefully chosen and precise.

Posted 2 Years Ago


softlyfall

2 Years Ago

That is very very cool. Amazing, really. If I'm honest, I can hear my poems just right in my head bu.. read more
Ken e Bujold

2 Years Ago

one of the most important aspects of good free verse which too many inexperienced poets overlook, or.. read more
softlyfall

2 Years Ago

Thank you and please do correct me if you see mistakes
Marley was a pretty damn good philosopher and poet. One can't go wrong with absorbing his art into their souls. His songs are a force of nature that calms an angered heart. CLE

Posted 2 Years Ago



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Added on October 17, 2022
Last Updated on October 17, 2022

Author

Ken e Bujold
Ken e Bujold

Somewhere in Ontario, Canada



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Writers write, it's what we do. Fish swim, woodpeckers peck... writers scribble (inside and outside the lines). more..

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A Poem by Ken e Bujold