Thunder and Lightning A Collection of Autobiographical Poems

Thunder and
Lightning:
A Collection of
Autobiographical
Poems
by
Rol-J Jalenn Eardley Williams

2017
Table of Contents
About to Give In 2
Wolf in Sheep Skin 3
Thinking of You 4
Sunday Mornings 6
Bounty on my Life 7
Hummingbird as an Eagle 8
Open Letter of Love 9
Childish Contemplations 10
A Bed of Stone 11
Quiet Contemplation 12
Pain 13
On My Way 14
Hell 15
When I Needed You 16
I realize 17
Relaxed Confusion 18
Obstructed View 19
Circled and Encompassed 20
Gentle Breeze on Friday Mornings 21
Open Letter to Nature 22
It is Finally Over 23
Longest Spirit 24
I Dont Know 26
Conflicting Assignments 27
Dark Days 29
Cough 30
Hibiscus 31
A Poetic Understanding 32
About the Poet 33
Rol-J Jalenn Eardley Williams:
Thunder and Lightning: A Collection of Autobiographical Poems
About to Give In
On the jetty I sat,
with a tsunami of gloom
a-washing my emotions.
As passers-by became never-minds
and as snickering folks became yellow as yolks,
hued by the sunset,
from a cracked egg of no shame,
I was about to give in.
On the cruise ship pier I sat,

in likeness to the boat that,
gave in to the waves of joy.
A-washed with the waters that have sunk many before,
I swayed my feet in an ebb and flow motion.
It was the day before,
but then again the Alzheimers
was telling me it was a month ago
my friends of steel betrayed me
and my investment of time, blood, sweat and tears,
became my moment of death.
With very little hesitation,
I took a leap of faith,
picked myself up and dusted off
the misery of yesterday
and became who, what and why I am today.
2
Wolf in Sheep Skin

The best disguise in life is the reality we see.
The coldness of your soul causes loved ones to flee.
Thy hatred to others living this life,
rings true against the success of a brethren.
If you are living life, dont take another.
But then again you never were taught to be good.
Your exit shall be my trophy.
You suffering pain.
For it shall be my timely gain.
I celebrate your life: I morph!
My friend, my enemy, why thou hate me so?

Why thou despise my reign when thou art servant?
The dregs must appreciate the king!
Appreciate the real wolves:
those who deserve their crowns.
Look up not down!
Look left not right!
Wear brown not purple!
Wear the cap that fits!
Wear the shirt with the holes!
The wolf, the wolf,
The sheep, the sheep.
But why have you come up like this?
Have you no morals; no values?
Have you no shame?
Look at disdain!
3
Thinking of You
I am thinking of you,
yes, you!
When I see those smooth red petals,
that wave you give when the wind blows.
the kiss of love you permeate at nights,
the aroma you grabbed my hearts desire with,
I was thinking of you,
yes, you,
I was thinking of you over there last night.
I am thinking of you,
No, not you,
but her.
When she caressed my emotions,
she manhandled them but I loved it.
That charm she presents when she speaks,
the hugs and kisses that float around her head,
the touch of her hand that makes you unconscious,
I was thinking of her,
not you, but her,
I was thinking of her over there last night.
I think of you,
yes, you,
each time I peer out the window
and see you in all your glory.
Going through your seasons
4
rubbing shoulders with bees and birds and wind.

Fighting death with vigour and hope,
hope that we have a future.
Sometimes when I get lonely,
I think of you.
I think of you every night.
I thought of you,
yes, you
when I used to see you smiling,
I sat idly by,
when I used to see you blossoming,
I sat idly by.
When I used to see you withering,
I sat idly by.
I sat idly by thinking of you.
But now you are gone,
I still think of you.
Yes, you.
You comfortably seated over there.
5
Sunday Mornings
The birds sing lustily,
with a pride that no lion can possess.
But human beings cry,
with a wail that signals distress.
The birds sing of the weekend,
a Friday of hope,
human beings sing of Sunday,
a sad, dark, dreary Sunday morning.
The wind blows with vigour.

With a push no Goliath can possess.
But human beings stagger,
with a drag that seeks redress.
The birds sing with glee and hope.
An outlook that is bright,
human beings peer out the window,
grasping on to the fading darkness,
thinking it is night,
when night has long gone,
with shame from the Sunday sun.
A cry for the dark rings out
but there is none.
For there is a Sunday morning in all its glory
that has already come
and is soon gone and done.
6
Bounty on my Life
Laser marks rest in concentric tandem on my temple.
Bullet holes soon to become part of my garb.
My bodyguards conspired and left the circle.
And now I fail to realise that I am vulnerable.
My comrades have given awaya my hideout,
behind the banana leaves.
I stand in the middle of a mental field,
conceptually butt naked.
With a bounty on my life.
It would be such a surprise

that the first hand I shook
will be the one who shakes the hand of the gunman
who delivers my fatal shot.
I duck into the awaiting vehicle,
thinking that I am safe
but the driver is my enemy
and I am being driven into oblivion.
I feel I am on the road to success
but the laser marks rest in concentric tandem on my
temple.
Bullet homes soon to become part of my garb.
I think I am alive but truly I am dead.
7
Hummingbird as an Eagle
Singing shamelessly on fences
with posts that pierce confidence
like sewing needles pierce to perfect.
Flying carelessly on winds

that signal hope, peace and love,
Predators beckon me to smile,
but I frown upon them
for I have no teeth to smile, to prosper.
Over the mountains I soar,

or so I think
but I am only able to move over a small promontory.
One by one, I wiggle my tail,
boastfully in the face of the smaller bird.
Fiercely I waddle as exhausting beings do.

I might swim if I were not discouraged.
I might sing more lustily if I were not thrown from the
choirs of life.
I may look like a battered hummingbird
but I am an eagle that has shattered,
every threshold that limits.
8
Open Letter of Love

Imagine how those unspoken words of love,
can make man ponder suicide
and make man say things of foolish nature.
A picture of his past shows his exterior struggle,
his ulterior motives to seek true love.
But rejection, extreme dejection
has forced him to be cocooned by the fact,
the harsh reality that he is and shall remain
disliked by virtue of external appearances
rather than his internal sense of spirituality,
his internal swank,
his wit, his known and unknown anguishes,
his outlook, whether negative or positive.
Imagine how man already has his rope

wrapped around to cut off the oxygen
that causes his demise.
Just take a moment to observe
that the very life he cherished
is the same life that will kill him.
Whatever the outcome may be,
the comfort in living and dying
is cest la vie,
Indeed.
9
Childish Contemplations
Infancy signals beauty in the eyes of the beholder.
Infancy characterizes the beauty of the beheld.
The way you so gracefully move on the tiles of doom,
the way you run into the arms of my heart,
much to societys gloom.
Blossoms bloom,
confined to a dark room.
You smile, you shirk,
or so I think.
You run and frolic
I stand over you,
you smile.
I stand over you,
you smile.
I watch you grow,
I lose my love for you.
I flog you,
you giggle excessively.
10
A Bed of Stone
I lie
in judgements hallowed bed.
I sing in tunes of dead singers
crazy and profitable thoughts.
The roses have withered,
and calcified into petals of bones
and stalks of no shame,
roots of no more glory
but of glorified disdain.
I arise
from judgements hallowed bed.
I peer at its antiquated clock
and see the gallows of humans,
lining up.
My time has come,
my time has come,
and as the wreaths are laid
and they water my grave,
and wait for the seasons turn.
I lie on a bed of stone.
No regrets;
I just wish I were not alone.
11
Quiet Contemplation
People come and go,
they say.
But shouldnt going be more glorified?
Should the departure of men
be celebrated in quietness?
Should not it be made global?
announced ubiquitously?
should not the arrival of the new
be done in quiet consideration?
Should not renaissance be sacred?
Should not we fear death
and admire new life?
As the wind of death blows.
we should not be cooled by its cold hands.
12
Pain
The greatest pain in life is emotional,
no, not physical, not mental, not social.
The tug of war that my mind experiences,
the harshness of the ropes synthetic material
is abrasive.
It pulls of my attitudes and behaviours,

it tugs and grasps my patterns,
and re-shapes them into despair.
I suddenly sit in contemplation,
with the prospect of pain,
streaming down my face.
I try to move,
I try to appreciate,
but the pain is too much.
My emotions are entangled in controversy,
I wait for good news,
I laugh to ease the burden,
I want the pain to be over,
but surely Ill die before.
13
On My Way
Inspired by the greatness of hundreds,
destroyed by the hatred of millions,
I am on my way.
In spite of the lack of love,

the misery, the messed up modus operandi,
I am on my way.
They prevent absurd propositions,

I listen and smile and concur,
for I know that,
I am on my way.
I just dont know if Ill get there,

for I am still on my way.
14
Hell
Have you ever thought of Hell being cold?
Yes, indeed that place we go when we become old.
Does my weird view scare you?
Why worry?
What if Hell is a nice place?

What if Hell is Heaven
and as you guessed it,
Heaven is Hell?
The what-ifs are endless

but it depends on perspectives
which too often,
turn blind eyes.
Hell is right here on Earth.

The pain and burns we feel
are the devils burn and bores and pricks
but who is the devil?
Is it me,
is it you?
The devil on Earth is our blessed angel?
15
When I Needed You

The day came
and I needed you in my life.
You turned down my offer of love.
You chose others.
You chose not me but them.
The love I felt
became despair.
The hatred I had
became the love I wished for.
16
I realize
The work goes unrealized
and I am yet to realize.
I pour my heart out,
give of my time,
give of my advised spirit,
but you love me not, I realize.
Clichd or not, my roses are red.

their petals are white coloured canvasses pixel-ed with
the blood from the slashed and patterned cuts of my
hands.
The roots no longer spring eternal,
they no longer accept my presence,
you do not accept my presence either, I realize.
17
Relaxed Confusion
I smoke my pipe,
kick back and smile.
I drop my hands to the sides of the rocking chair.

I call out to my daughter who died last year.
She brings the usual drink:
whiskey, mixed with the vodka of death,
on the rocks too!
I call my divorced wife.

I tell her, fix me a plate right this minute
The food shows up and I eat.
She lives with me no more!
I feed the dog that ran away but I had no time to search
for.
He eats out of his plate and barks in satisfaction.
I pick up the phone and call my family,

even though the phones were cut last month.
I knew something was off the minute I came home to the

house I was evicted from last month.
I realized then and there that I was my own daughter,
my own wife, my own dog and my own house.
The flame on the pipe went out
and so did the lights.
18
Obstructed View
I hear the noise,
I know the noise,
It beckons me to peer,
It beckons me to ask.
I am in bed,
I am too lazy,
thoughts race through my mind,
I have no idea where I could be,
I have no idea who I should,
Who I would be if I look.
I get up finally,
I look out the window,
the noise is there but I see nothing,
the noise gets closer, louder, closer, louder,
then suddenly I am dead with a bullet in my head.
19
Circled and Encompassed

Maps have been charted and cheated at topography's
pleasure.
They are drafted to suit the begged rather than the
beggar.
They are drafted to suit the asked rather than the
asker.
They are drafted to suit the called upon rather than the
caller.
They are drafted to suit those who satisfied rather than
those who seek satisfaction.
Not by coincidence, but by innateness.
You already feel trapped don't you?
Navigators do nothing but lead us to destruction.

They lead us to cliffs rather than safe ground.
They drive us to madness and we are yet to realise.
They are not problem solvers, heck they aren't problem
creators either.
They are life destroyers.
You already feel trapped don't you?
20
Gentle Breeze on Friday Mornings

Calypso, dialectal poetry, and all.
Satire, irony, form part too.
Gentle relaxation, a fool's surprise
Borrowed space and envy,
Don't ever compromise.
They think it is confusion

You believe it too,
You lost all you power and thoughts,
You don't have a clue.
Reclined Chairs, autumn breeze.

You know you are at peace
When you finally ease...
Up out of your reverie
And into reality.
21
Open Letter to Nature

Imagine how I admire your natural ways,
The way you so gracefully encircle man's destruction,
The way you open your arms and grasp onto fading
hope.
How cowardly of me to stamp you out with my steely
boots,
My blissful ignorance, my dear?
How unfortunate, how idiotic it is of me to close your
casket when you are yet to die?
A death I hope would speed up under the sun but still I
pray your existence is prolonged .
Oh nature my friend, how I long for you when I hate you
so much?
Is it because I want you to love me when I hate you so
much?
All I want you to do is leave but by grace you always
return.
Yours sincerely and desperately,

Your murderer.
22
IT IS FINALLY OVER
What started as a friendship,
Ended in the unwanted hatred,
We allowed the common man to interrupt,
Leaving me in huge despair,
It is not time to part ways,
Please, for me, give a chance,
I am a sad guy, showering in my tears,
Tears created by the act of man,
If my words mean nothing,
Then I simply say please forgive me.
23
Longest Spirit
It is unknown and beautiful.
It is cloaked in excellent spirit and charm.
It is bemoaned at the highest level,
As its flowers bloom through all seasons.
It is ugly by day and beautiful by night.
It is a fighter in good and submissive in plight.
His attitudes and behaviours are camouflaged in his
spirit.
His intentions unknown but beautiful.
His longest spirit is not by day nor by night but by
grace.
He moves with aristocratic smoothness.

He brightens any dark day with his smoothness.
He makes black smoke white,
And funeral garb into surplice.
His religious correctness exceeds biblical principles
and proportions in all but one area: sanctity.
His hallowed heart and chambers of comfort are no
longer comforted.
His place in praise is questioned and his chronic
dismemberment is unsalaried.
He has received his bursary to the school of thought.
But he is only being schooled into oblivious blasphemy.
His longest spirit is not by day nor by night but by
grace.
It is steeped in anger and steeped in fear.

It rises and falls.
It smiles and frowns.
24
It comes and goes.

But that is all interludial
Rather than intercession.
The clouds darken, and the water falls.
The roofs and roads moan and mourn at their plight.
It is not by day that the water settles,
Nor is it by night.
Nature commutes to its daily employ and the snow falls,
There is increased agony,
It is the perfect atonement.
For indeed his longest spirit is not by day nor by night
but by grace.
25
I dont know
I dont know if I have friends,
I dont know if I am a friend,
I dont know if friendships exist,
for those silly things are transient.
I dont know if I am alive,

I dont know if I should live,
I dont know if life exists,
for this silly thing is transient.
The confusion races as

uncertainty darts.
26
Conflicting Assignments
Why cant a woman be king
and a man a queen?
Why cant a child be an adult
and an adult a child?
Why cant fair weather be stormy
and sunny weather bad?
Why cant night be day
and day be night?
Why cant cold be hot
and hot be cold?
but then
I wonder why I cant be
who I really want to be.
I wonder
Why cant melody be harmony

and harmony be melody?
Why cant Spanish be French
and French be Spanish?
Why hard cant be soft
and soft be hard?
Why difficult cant be easy
and easy be difficult?
Why death cant be life
and life be death?
Why success cant be failure
27
and failure be success?

Why internal cant be external
and external be internal?
Then we wonder why we live in
a world where we cant be
who we really want to be.
I wonder
Why dark cant be light

and light be dark?
Why different cant be same
and same be different?
Why religion cant be atheism
and atheism be religion?
Why evil cant be benevolence
and benevolence cant be evil?
Why poverty cant be wealth
and wealth be poverty?
Why hunger cant be thirst
and thirst be hunger?
Then we wonder why we live in
a world where we cant be
who we really want to be.
28
Dark Days
For in dark days we know not light,
but we find solace in darkness.
We befriend the absence of light,
so much so that we ourselves,
in all our glory,
in all that genuinely make us human,
become dark, evil and grossly impure.
Our blood runs red no more;
we are de-humanized
for indeed we shall seek vengeance
in these our dark days.
For in the absence of light,

our spirits glow and our eyes illuminate.
Our hands grow veiny and pounded,
our ears point north
our mouths glue shut
and the steamy anger protrudes every orifice at hand.
for indeed when our days are dark,
we seek not the light switch
but we become dark ourselves.
29
Cough
You know there is hatred in the air
when spiced aromas smell different,
when flowers no longer give that kiss of death
when you no longer cough the night away.
When skies are no longer what they used to be

and the atmosphere is so thick that you choke
and all you feel is the desire to give up,
remember to cough;
just cough.
30
Hibiscus
With petals bright and roots grown dark,
snowy drops of natures bloom,
pitter patter of morning sweat,
draw me near to a mid morning fret.
The presence of thy mind is what shows
but the hatred of thine heart is hidden.
Hidden beneath the wings of the dove
that you loved, love, like.
Summers bloom is my great gloom

and winters drear is fine.
But in the end, when I am dead,
Ill know, or I should know that
you are mine, now and forever,
but my love for you is dead.
31
A Poetic Understanding
Words written or spoken
possess a power of supernatural origin.
Oer ears implied,
they live on minds that bear,
the substance of a dream.
The residue of hope.
A hope that belongs to the painful rhymes,
the colourful assonances,
the dreadful similes,
the power metaphorical expression and understanding.
Stanzas that are born of intellectual thought,
through by and of a sad dream,
or of happy nightmares.
The understanding is and shall remain,
the feature of a poets anguish, his pain.
A poetic world, that no one can live in
but the poet himself.
His mind is set on
the rhetorical question that is answered in his mind
the rhyming words that sound ever so different
the sonnet that exceeds fourteen lines,
the world is left in confusion
for only a true poet will ever experience
the poetic understanding,
a poetic understanding,
the poets sacred cow.
32
About the Poet

Rol-J Williams is a 17-year-old student from the
Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis who has overcome
many challenges and has become a highly acclaimed
student, an internet blogger and publisher, Caribbean
Junior Minister of Tourism, an amateur photographer,
and most recently a Youth Parliamentarian.
33

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Thunder and

Rol-J Jalenn Eardley Williams

On the cruise ship pier I sat,

Wolf in Sheep Skin

My friend, my enemy, why thou hate me so?

rubbing shoulders with bees and birds and wind.

The wind blows with vigour.

It would be such a surprise

Flying carelessly on winds

Over the mountains I soar,

Fiercely I waddle as exhausting beings do.

Open Letter of Love

Imagine how man already has his rope

It pulls of my attitudes and behaviours,

In spite of the lack of love,

They prevent absurd propositions,

I just dont know if Ill get there,

What if Hell is a nice place?

The what-ifs are endless

Hell is right here on Earth.

When I Needed You

Clichd or not, my roses are red.

I drop my hands to the sides of the rocking chair.

I call my divorced wife.

I pick up the phone and call my family,

I knew something was off the minute I came home to the

Circled and Encompassed

Navigators do nothing but lead us to destruction.

Gentle Breeze on Friday Mornings

They think it is confusion

Reclined Chairs, autumn breeze.

Open Letter to Nature

Yours sincerely and desperately,

He moves with aristocratic smoothness.

It is steeped in anger and steeped in fear.

It comes and goes.

I dont know if I am alive,

The confusion races as

Why cant melody be harmony

and failure be success?

Why dark cant be light

For in the absence of light,

When skies are no longer what they used to be

Summers bloom is my great gloom

About the Poet

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