Moon on the Caribbean

As the moon sheds her countenance on
the pleated skirts of El Caribe, rolling
shoulders break older forces into white
froth, rolling up on shores like the dead
shells of Ozymandias, Bolivarian waves
forming where foreign-flagged ships,
once heavy with sugar, copper and gold
left southern shores to “plow the seas.”
 
As hearty suns and rains bless the tropics,
casava, pepino, tomate, papas, arroz,
zanahoria, berenjena, cebolla and maiz
sing canciones robust  to steel-blue skies
from soil once fatigued by cane, pressed
in the trapiche for bourgeois rummies or
poured white into gringo sugar bowls,
topping sick-sweet Kellogg cereal in Kansas.

Misión Agro-Venezuela delivering life
to “real people” singing grace in sweet
Alí Primera lyrics at the table to
Bolívar, Zamora, Fidel, Che, and
Chávez, “El Corazón de mi Patria!”
 
As the moon gives way to El Sol on
the pleated skirts of El Caribe, tankers
sail from her ports with petro-ballast
feeding energy to addicted oligarchies,
jealous to take back what once they thought
… was theirs. But parents remind the little
ones of Caracazo. Mothers nurse their babies,
muscled men remember the trapiches.
 
As the moon returns to shed her countenance
on the 8 stars of the pleated folds of El Caribe
the people wave their bandera, sing songs of
revolution … educated, empowered, democratic,
walking in the path of their heroes.

- by Les Blough, September 9, 2012