Leonard Scorpions

Leonard Scorpions


Does Anyone Know Where I Can Find These Poems ;?

The Poems Are ;
. Limbo by Edward Kamau Brathwaite
. Nothing's Changed by Tatamkhulu Afrika
. Island Man by Grace Nichols
. Blessing by Imtiaz Dharker
. Two Scavengers In a Truck by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
. Night Of The Scorpion by Nissim Ezekiel
. Vultures by Chinua Achebe
. What Were They Like by Denise Levertov
. (From) Search For My Tounge by Sujata Bhatt
. Love After Love by Derker Walcott
. This Room by Imtiaz Dharker
. (From) Unrelated Incidents by Tom Leonard
. Half - Caste by John Agard
. Not My Business by Niyi Osundare
. Presents From My Aunts ... by Monzia Alvi
. Hurricane Hits England by Grace Nichols

Thank You

I was like intrigued with this peoms but i didnt know that itll b this hard!!!.

I do just have an analysis of Old Father by Hugh Boatswain and Island Man by Grace Nichols.

heres the link - http://www.123helpme.com/view.asp?id=149151

The Poems Are ; I COULDNT FIND THESE ONES
. Limbo by Edward Kamau Brathwaite
. Nothing's Changed by Tatamkhulu Afrika
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. Island Man by Grace Nichols
Island Man

Morning
And the Island man wakes up
To the sound of blue surf
In his head
The steady breaking and wombing

Wild seabirds
And fisherman puling out to sea
The sun surfacing defiantly

From the east
Of his small emerald island
He always comes back groggily groggily

Comes back to sands
Of a grey metallic soar
To surge of wheels
To dull North Circular roar

Muffling muffling
His crumpled pillow waves
Island man heaves himself

Another London day

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. Blessing by Imtiaz DharkerBlessing
The skin cracks like a pod.
There never is enough water.

Imagine the drip of it,
the small splash, echo
in a tin mug,
the voice of a kindly god.

Sometimes, the sudden rush
of fortune. The municipal pipe bursts,
silver crashes to the ground
and the flow has found
a roar of tongues. From the huts,
a congregation : every man woman
child for streets around
butts in, with pots,
brass, copper, aluminium,
plastic buckets,
frantic hands,

and naked children
screaming in the liquid sun,
their highlights polished to perfection,
flashing light,
as the blessing sings
over their small bones.
Imtiaz Dharker
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*****Two Scavengers In a Truck by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Two Scavengers In A Truck,
Two Beautiful People In A Mercedes
By Lawrence Ferlinghetti
At the stoplight waiting for the light
Nine A.M. downtown San Francisco
a bright garbage truck
with two garbage men in red plastic blazers
standing on the back stoop
one on each side hanging one
and looking down into
an elegant open Mercedes
with an elegant couple in it
The man
In a hip three-piece linen suit
With shoulder-length blond hair & sunglasses
The young blond woman so casually coifed
with a short skirt and colored stocking
On his way to his architect's office
And the two scavengers up since Four A.M.
Grungy from their route
On the way home
The older of the two with grey iron hair
And hunched back
Looking like some
Gargoyle Quasimodo
And the younger of the two
Also with sunglasses and long hair
About the same age as the Mercedes driver
And both scavengers gazing down
As from a great distance
At the cool couple
As if they were watching some odorless TV ad
In which everything is possible

And the very red light for an instant
Holding all four close together
As if anything at all were possible
Between them
Across that great gulf
In the high seas
Of this democracy

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****Night Of The Scorpion by Nissim Ezekiel

Night of the Scorpion

"I remember the night my mother was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
of steady rain had driven him to crawl beneath a sack of rice.
Parting with his poison -- flash of diabolic tail in the dark room --
he risked the rain again. The peasants came like swarms of flies
and buzzed the Name of God a hundred times to paralyse the Evil One.
With candles and with lanterns throwing giant scorpion shadows
on the sun-baked walls they searched for him; he was not found.
They clicked their tongues. With every movement the scorpion made
his poison moved in Mother's blood, they said. May he sit still,
they said. May the sum of evil balanced in this unreal world
against the sum of good become diminished by your pain.
May the poison purify your flesh of desire, and your spirit of ambition,
they said, and they sat around on the floor with my mother in the centre.
the peace of understanding on each face. More candles, more lanterns,
more neighbours, more insects and the endless rain.
My mother twisted through and through groaning on a mat.
My father, sceptic, rationalist, trying every curse and blessing,
powder, mixture, herb, and hybrid. He even poured a little paraffin
upon the bitten toes and put a match to it.
I watched the flame feeding on my mother. I watched the holy man
perform his rites to tame the poison with incantation.
After twenty hours it lost its sting."

"My mother only said:
Thank God the scorpion picked on me and spared my children."

-- Nissim Ezekiel
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.***Vultures by Chinua Achebe
Chinua Achebe: Vultures

In the greyness and drizzle of one despondent
dawn unstirred by harbingers of sunbreak a vulture
perching high on broken bone of a dead tree nestled close to his mate his smooth bashed-in head, a pebble on a stem rooted in
a dump of gross feathers, inclined affectionately to hers. Yesterday they picked the eyes of a swollen corpse in a water-logged trench and ate the things in its bowel. Full gorged they chose their roost
keeping the hollowed remnant in easy range of cold telescopic eyes ... Strange indeed how love in other ways so particular will pick a corner
in that charnel-house tidy it and coil up there, perhaps even fall asleep - her face
turned to the wall! ...Thus the Commandant at Belsen Camp going home for the day with fumes of human roast clinging rebelliously to his hairy nostrils will stop at the wayside sweet-shop and pick up a chocolate for his tender offspring waiting at home for Daddy's return ... Praise bounteous providence if you will that grants even an ogre a tiny glow-worm tenderness encapsulated in icy caverns of a cruel heart or else despair
for in every germ of that kindred love is lodged the perpetuity of evil.
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Vocabulary
Words Description
charnel-house (line 26) A vault where dead bodies or bones are piled.
Belsen Camp (line 30) Bergen-Belsen was one of the most notorious concentration camps of the Second World War. It became a camp for those who were too weak or sick to work and many people died because of the terrible conditions. Anne Frank was interned there and died of typhus in 1945. The camp was liberated in 1945.
kindred (line 49) Related by blood, close family.
perpetuity (line 50) Going on forever.

What is Vultures about?
The poem begins with a graphic and unpleasant description of a pair of vultures who nestle lovingly together after feasting on a corpse. The poet remarks on the strangeness of love, existing in places one would not have thought possible. He goes on to consider the 'love' a concentration camp commander shows to his family - having spent his day burning human corpses, he buys them sweets on the way home.
The conclusion of the poem is ambiguous. On one hand, Achebe praises providence that even the cruelest of beings can show sparks of love, yet on

http://www.bbc.co.uk/schools/gcsebitesize/english/poemscult/acheberev2.shtml

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. ***What Were They Like by Denise Levertov
WHAT WERE THEY LIKE
-denise levertov
Did the people of Viet nam used lanterns of stone?
Did they hold ceremonies to reverence the opening of buds?
Were they inclined to rippling laughter?
Did they use bone and ivory, jade and silver for ornament?
Had they an epic peom?
Did they distinguish between speech and singing?
Sir, their light hearts turned to stone
It is not remembered whether in gardens
stone lantern's illumined pleasant ways
Perhaps they gathered once in delight
but after the children were killed there were no more buds.
Sir, laughter is bitter to the burned mouth.
A dream, perhaps.
Ornament is for joy.
All the bones were charred.
It is not remembered.
Remember most were peasants: their life was in rice and bamboo.
When peacefull clouds were reflected and the water buffalo stepped surely along terraces maybe fathers told their sons old tales
When bombs smashed the mirrors there was time only to scream.
There is an echo yet, it is said, of their speech was like a song
It is repeated their singing ensembled the flights of moths in moonlight.Who can say? It is silent now.

. (From) Search For My Tounge by Sujata Bhatt

. Love After Love by Derker Walcott
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Love After Love by Derker Walcott***DEREK WALCOTT

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Anonymous submission.
Derek Walcott

. This Room by Imtiaz Dharker
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This Room by Imtiaz Dharker***
'This Room' by Imtiaz Dharker.?
I am studying it for my GCSEs and do not understand it at all!
This is the poem
This Room by Imtiaz Dharker
This room is breaking out
of itself, cracking through
its own walls
in search of space, light,
5 empty air.
The bed is lifting out of
its nightmares.
From dark corners, chairs
are rising up to crash through clouds.
10 This is the time and place
to be alive:
when the daily furniture of our lives
stirs, when the improbable a