Book Cover Image of Warrior Carrying Water Anthology by Jason Lawrence Moore

Warrior Carrying Water Anthology
by Jason Lawrence Moore

    Publication Date: Aug 02, 2022
    List Price: $70.00
    Format: Paperback, 546 pages
    Classification: Poetry
    ISBN13: 9798842814565
    Imprint: Independently Published
    Publisher: Independently Published
    Parent Company: Independently Published

    Paperback Description:

    I’ve been writing one page poems over the past decade, about everything from history, life, politics, racism, daily observations, and more. From my experiences growing up in Indianapolis to traveling around the world while serving in the US Navy, and working in corporate America, I’ve written about my experiences and opinions about nearly everything. My journey (so far) is here for you to read.

    Three Poems form the Book

    #1 Good grief

    I’ve only been to a handful of funerals
    So I don’t have much experience with grief
    Dreading sorrow, from life lost to time’s thief
    A friend described a sad scene that hit me like a rock
    At a cemetery, on Mother’s Day, four spaces from his mother’s plot
    He arrived with flowers, to pay his respects
    And saw a toddler with a tea set, dressed in her Sunday best
    She cried, ‘I miss you mommy, so I made you some tea’
    I felt heartbroken for her, and embarrassed by my trivial ‘woe is me’
    A few yards away stood her father, with a tearful and watchful eye
    As his daughter asked to be alone by the grave, all he could do was cry
    My friend left, so that the father and daughter could grieve
    I said a prayer for the unknown family, as a chill ran up my sleeve
    What if we were the bereaved?
    Could my daughter process my loss with such grace?
    If my daughter lost her mom, could I give her time and space?

    #2 Middle Passage Martyr

    Trapped, hot, and nauseous, eight weeks at sea
    Naked, chained, unbearable shame, no longer free
    Blood, shit, tears, vomit, and pee
    Everywhere around me
    Arms, legs, hands, and heads, writhing in pain
    Curses, prayers, nonsense, going insane!
    Will they beat me?
    Will they eat me?
    Deathly smell
    This… Is… hell…
    Why have we all been cursed?
    Life or death, uncertain which is worse
    Bruised, branded, and whipped, I can’t stand it!
    The skin on my back, got cracked by the devil’s whip
    After the third hit
    I caught the tip, with a desperate grip!
    We outnumber them - let’s take over the ship!
    Put them below in chains, to lie in our shit!
    Most ignored my plea and call to revolt
    Too petrified to push, too broken to hope
    Heads bowed and eyes darted down to the deck
    As the sole mutineer, my fate was set
    Still chained to bodies to my left and right
    I pushed them behind me, with all of my might
    As fire and smoke spewed from a cannon, I wasn’t too surprised
    A flurry of rocks and metal was my untimely demise.

    #3 I’m my ancestors’ wildest dream

    I’m my ancestors’ wildest dream
    Slaves who survived by any means
    Necessary, freedom was a sweet blessing
    Angels cheering for me, down from heaven

    We can’t imagine living each other’s life
    I can’t fathom their daily pain, struggle, and strife
    So every class, test, event and game
    I work hard and smart so that I can claim
    Success for them, me and my family
    Their survival and sacrifice is what made us free

    So I make a daily vow
    To make them proud
    Me, a rookie on my family’s team
    I’m my forefathers’ wildest dream
    I’m my ancestors’ wildest dream

    Middle class, but my great grands think I’m a king!
    Slaves made this country great every beyond measure
    Died broke but gave all us invaluable treasure
    I share their hopes, blood, dreams, and genes
    What didn’t kill them all, made them sing
    Spirituals of low sweet chariots
    They slept on the floor, now we stay at the Marriotts!
    I thank them daily for their sacrifice
    They all paid the ultimate price

    I time travelled back into the distant past
    150 or so years ago if you do the math
    To see my great grandfather* who was born a slave
    An asset, his second Master’s $1,500 mortgage paid

    He died free, so they put a different name on his grave
    Than the one that his cruel captors and masters gave
    Branded, bought and sold with a bank approved mortgage
    Then discarded like lost goods, for years left in storage
    The ‘land of the free’ was a Ponzi scheme
    But it’s okay and why I say that I’m their wildest dream.

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