The Dance of Words: Soul Visions Iii

By K. G. Bell

This book of Epic poems gives meaning to every moment of our living as it uses language to meander through ideas and philosophies of peoples and cultures, effecting behaviors, visions and changes.

The Dance of Words, written with fire, reminds its readers of a time when integrity, honor and love were in flower, and lost moments of mankinds existence come vividly alive, with dramatic accounts of modern life, history, myths and fantasy.

The Poems emerge with power and passion showing the values that impact upon human development and forces us to look deeply into our humanity in order to embrace fully this Blast of Light called life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462830381

K. G. Bell

K.G. Bell is an educationist, US Army Veteran (Paratrooper), Writer and Poet who has explored many cultures to engage the truth and beauty expressed in the styles, substance, and passion of poetry. His inspirational insights have forced him to examine the social, historical, and spiritual behaviors of different peoples within the conditions of humanity. Mr. Bell believes that humanity should continuously strive to be better always rising to that higher realm. This belief is profoundly noted in his poetry that creatively displays a magical seriousness. His poems stir the imagination of his readers, taking them along a fantastic journey of curiosity that they may embrace diversity with peaceful hearts, and enter that divine awakening.

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Copyright © 2011 by K.G. Bell.

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CONTENTS

Foreword

Author’s Note

Solitudes

Part I

Part II

Sing Loudly Hallelujah

The Hallelujah Song

Oh Wonderful Love

Part 1

Part II

Beat of a Distant Drum

Mayhem Explodes into Our Dawn

(9/11/2001)

Part 1

Part 2

Exotica

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Mother Song

Trials of

Columbus

Part 1

Part 2

The Glory of Massinissa

In Her Father’s Name

Come Home Black Brother

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

The Mystical Land of Karamazam

Other Works

Dedication

This book is dedicated to: my wife, Terry; my daughter, Beth; my mother, Eutilda; and all who encouraged me on this journey, all who believed in me and inspired me to complete this book, in which the power of language is elevated.

Many thanks to: Frank Jones, Cleo Parker-Robinson, Naty Mercado, Oscar and Jackie Thomas, Linda Lawson, Dr. Al Agard, Anthony Bonair, Kijana Wiseman, L.J. Vaughn, Mariella Browne, Ed Powell, Idamay, Elsa, Elinor, Kwill, Mr. Tony Goodwin, Marguerite and Errol Alexander, Clyde and Rita Richardson, Carlton Belle, Aamin Van Damme, Tony Vegas, Bobby Simon, Darlyne Washington and Debbie Karimullah.

Foreword

The Dance of Words is a powerful book by author, K.G. Bell that deals with history, mythology, human behavior, relationships, and religion. It gives voice to the mastery of language, as it artfully conveys information that evokes emotions and points of view along life’s journey. Mr. Bell has penned many books, on various topics, over the years, but none so challenging as The Dance ofWords—a book of Epic Poems that is truly a celebration of life.

The poems bring to life mythical, mysterious, and political characters that seem to dance their way through words, allowing the readers to participate intensively in the designs of life and language. This brilliant book, this collection of epic poems, this major accomplishment, captures one’s attention from beginning to end. It excites its readers to move beyond the soul to explore the power of this intricately woven and captivating masterpiece. The poems deal with human relations, exposing the effects of human behavior on different cultures. It moves sweepingly through time defining new realties that enhance human life, and sheds light on the turmoil that arouses dark emotions.

The Dance of Words highlights man’s potential and shows-off his tremendous dedication to survival. It sheds light on his societal development in the world community. It is compelling and enjoyable as it strives to foster positivity and constructiveness, forcing us to search our inner selves. The poems, create excitement, that makes us part of the celebration; the immortal dance of language.

Dr. Albert L. Agard, Jr.

Author’s Note

The Dance ofWords, a book of Epic Poems, is a grand, emotional adventure. It is rich story-telling full of realism, romance, and honesty: exploring, with sincerity, the diverse use of words to effect language and behavior.

In the various poems, I strive to express many themes buried in grief, love, anger and hope. For example, in the ‘Glory of Massinissa, Beat of the Drum, Solitudes and Karamazam,’ I attempt to peel away the superficiality, greed and self-destructiveness that has enveloped the world.

With much effort, I break open the hard crust of negativity to take my readers into the light of liberty to reveal new, hopeful ideas that will force us to go beyond ourselves to find the true Awakening: The Agape Love.

This book contains inspiring, thoughtful expressions that evoke emotions, wrapped in human affairs. It depicts various styles of poetry, as it strives to convey the desires that ignite imagination. It deals with human relations and conflicts like the Punic Wars, Jewish Slavery, Black Slavery, and other manmade disasters that have plagued mankind throughout the ages.

In this book, I invite my readers to journey with me, along historical, mythological and social pathways to embrace the true value of life.

Solitudes

Solitudes

In my quiet times, my subconscious comes alive

to awaken me, forcing me to face new realities.

It comes to hypnotize me with fantastic illusions

when memories and feelings spring forth

to trap my mind in places

where life plays its games of chance

and nature’s music changes my state

to make me dance in rhythm’s light,

to find my spirit that pulls me away

to hear reality’s song, as I journey

in a ship of dreams, setting fire to my imagination.

Images awake the power I feel.

Like the shango dancer, I feel anew,

strongly moving deep into the distance

to tell the stories of right and wrong,

when the universe takes my hand

to lead me through dark passages

towards the light: here and there

to find pure life.

I feel the existence of inviting, wonderful things

in quiet, natural places of glistening waterfalls,

The home of dreams that create

tomorrow’s longing—a place deep,

deep into the valleys of hopeful memories

where once happy humans danced

in the fields of roses, to love and sing and give.

Where, at times, distant flutes caused the grieving

and awakened the sounds of desire.

Start now the journey, oh Man,

revel and embrace your brother, painting bright stories,

and create shrines to protect Nature’s Paradise.

Sing again the ancient songs

and perform the rituals of Stonehenge or Nazca.

Let fade the ‘Monsters of the Mind’

and labor to inspire visions of the soul,

that will smash the connivance that breeds in remote places,

to make you steal your neighbor’s goods

and flirt with games of deceit.

Now so much tears have fallen into the polluted sea,

that it rises beyond its banks to threaten us.

Open up! Bring truth to my being,

excite my mind, help me to speak

that spiritual language and fill with light

that spacious Dome called Earth.

Let us adore and feel God’s wonders!

Let us find glory and love in Nature’s music

emitted from birds on high mountain tops

or from the water creatures of the deep river.

Let us find ourselves by exploring

the pain, the joy, the passion.

Let us dance in the light of life,

to become whole and free,

to run the long distance with ease,

never regretting or complaining

about the hazards along life’s journey.

Capture glory and climb ladders to heaven

during your moments here,

and embrace the wonder of truth

staying far from those with hidden agendas.

Those who seek to tarnish the glory of Earth

with confusion and deceit and hatred.

In my quiet times, I learned to resolve conflicts

by dwelling in the light, finding reason and logic

to my existence here.

To understand and celebrate this fleeting moment

where I have everything—yet nothing

where nakedness is all my belongings.

Where now are the mighty Towers of Sumer, Egypt, Assyria?

Where are the shining cities of Rome, Babylon, and Arabia?

Gone into the dust.

Destroyed by Man in his wicked moments

as he tried to become God, just to impress

some voluptuous women, or to ignite his pride.

Find then that vital source of mind and body

and let happiness be the passionate quest

as you learn to dance in the wind

like the gypsies of Melaflores

or the painted Aborigines of New Guinea.

Come from that ‘high horse’

and find a higher purpose for this life,

always striving to correct society’s ills.

Find the inner power to make life

an experience of wonder.

Build schools instead of prisons.

Build Love instead of Hate.

Be calm and burn the candle slowly,

take a deep breath, and find balance in life.

Be not afraid of change,

as you do what matters in this life,

avoiding tensions, embracing kindness

and using your mind to correct the conditions

that will destroy this place called Earth.

Time sleeps now,

and a gentle spirit reaches out

as sweet Tomorrow comes

with a powerful fragrance

to wake reality from its drowsiness.

Time sleeps now,

on this Earth,

where much tears keep Nations trembling

from the fear of bleak yesterdays,

when hearts were torn by shattered dreams

and death’s gray horse rose among the mist

to stamp its seal upon dark places,

where the flowers of sacrifice solemnly wither.

Time sleeps now,

quieting this important moment,

trying to dispel the wasted years

where sad pillars stand as monuments

to remind us, to forgive us, to help us!

Let us pray for tomorrow’s light,

and fill our hearts with peace and hopeful dreams.

Time sleeps! Time sleeps! Time sleeps!

Part I

Sound now your trumpets, in my quiet time

that I may move myself and my mind

beyond the turmoil and hungry hearts

of unbelieving, hateful people,

and learn to trust again.

Sound, sound, trumpets, let me survive

and stretch myself to smile and love again.

Help me to feel the warmth and energy

emitting from that place

once collapsed in crises,

and exploded in vileness,

a place once covered in all manner of

violence, sex and death.

In my quiet times, I see that place

struggling to comprehend the ghastly moments

when humans become demons,

smashing this beautiful earth with bombs,

yielding pain and terror for so many,

bringing on events that cause multitudes

to flee doomed cities.

When Evil, like a giant hailstorm descend,

surrounding the world with Armageddon.

The trumpets sound in my quiet times

to tell the stories of great distress

that make survival seem like a distant dream,

so far from wisdom; so far from golden realities,

so far from hope.

It is hard to speak the pain I see,

and the death I smell in the dreary wind,

where the food of joy is gone,

and Man is just a thing of dismay.

He is now a hater of himself,

invading his being like the Cobra’s venom,

living in pain, starving for the justice

which he destroyed by sucking life out of goodness,

to awaken the revolt of his brother,

who took the chance to shout like thunder,

when all the dreams were burnt away and shattered.

Sound, sound your trumpets, in my quiet time

let not the people sleep. Let them feel the cry!

And remove the crust from this raped land.

Dry up the scornful tears!

Bring back the times of smiles and love!

The trumpets sound to tell the story

of the global riot that is scorching this earth

in Africa, Arabia, Serbia and Asia,

where man creates thunder, playing God,

then like the devil’s fool, he laughs at himself.

Playing with disasters, he wastes

the sweet resources of this wonderful earth,

while struggling to uphold his pride.

He mocks the creator, spreading pollution,

destroying the garden’s fruit, toying with damnation.

The flowers bloom no more

and only crumbs are left as man continues

to rip down the walls of life,

rejecting good counsel with vile arrogance,

patching here and there for quick solutions,

trampling the Kingdoms of Peace

with deceit and greed.

The trumpets tell that someday all will perish,

so sleep not, dear people. Feel my cry

as I scream for fresher times of purity,

times of humility and charity and Love.

Let us hope again,

and take control of this home called Earth,

this once beautiful place—the Maker’s gift.

Let us grasp the liberation that made Man great,

and seize the attention of those who care to struggle

for a meaningful life in this glorious home called Earth.

The trumpets sound to make us march and sing,

to push away despair that crowds our minds,

where turmoil like a ‘cancer’ picks away our reason.

Sound, Sound your trumpets, let the heralds sing:

"Everything is gonna be alright,

Everything is gonna be alright."

In my quiet times, I yearn to find the right way,

making effort to create better times, to make it happen.

I yearn for the times of great abundance and Peace,

when Man behaved with a shining heart,

and all hatred and conflict had vanished.

Man is poorer now. He has great wealth of gold,

but he has lost his mind.

Let us believe and dream again,

and visions will take us into the light of glory,

for this is a world of mighty possibilities.

Make it happen, by striving beyond the darkness.

In my quiet times, I dream far,

far away into the grateful light

where I hear the ‘Violins of Hope’

and find the courage to lay pathways

for tomorrow’s seeds.

Make it happen, giving love without condition

to reap the joyful harvest.

Do not let the wicked ones come mysteriously

across the river of death to trample creation.

They cast spells that make wickedness enticing,

harnessing the powers of the night

to deal horrible fear upon humankind.

Never make pacts for quick rewards

with hellish demons like Asmodeus

nor sing evil incantations hidden in the lyrics

to make you dance in the rites of horror.

Stand firm when the moon comes to change life.

Be ready to encounter any situation and condition

as you confront the curious faces.

Gather up support and Love. You can’t do life alone.

The sad ones, with their brightness tarnished,

see marriage as a prison, as they struggle

with sex, money, self-respect and children.

They lose their dignity, being crushed by false lovers,

and happiness is stolen from their hearts.

In their world, I see dark clouds settling overhead,

hiding the hopeful Sun.

I wish for them that the rhythms of life

could create a ‘Hallowed moment’

to make the whole world smile in comfort.

To get the best from life,

we must seek out happy places to find love.

Following the wicked one, will take you to the abyss

of orgies, violence, greed and strange desires,

In a nasty, cold world, where deceitful pleasures await

in a tub of vileness, like a sneaky pirate

to capture your soul, descending

upon the good of mankind to steal victory.

For their wicked survival, they wreak havoc

upon the vast earth, forcing conditions

to make humans vulnerable.

When curiosity brings death, love vanishes,

children are stolen,

and new seeds of hatred are planted.

The trumpets sound,

because so many feel smothered by fear,

feeling confused inside.

Run from the wicked brother

who, in your time of need, turned out the light

and gleefully left you in darkness,

while he reveled in his Palace Tower, drunk with greed.

Never did he consider your aching belly

so swollen with hunger, and your eyes burning red,

beaten with pain and weariness.

He is a child from across the parched ‘fields of loneliness’,

never bathed in the river of ‘self-love’

left to perish, like the phantoms of chaos,

who crawl from dusty graves to create havoc

among the kind, thinking them weak-minded.

They attempt to perplex the good and strong

playing strange games to corrupt and bloat

this beautiful earth with the winds of terror,

striving to take possession of mind and heart,

and leaving behind loneliness, sorrow and tormented faces.

The trumpets sound that we can make a joyful noise,

and find hope in years to come,

to keep us far from the bombs and guns

and dented helmets, when tears dry up in the mud,

when blood and soul are gone.

Gone are the warriors that shut tight Hell’s doors,

and with the victory of goodness,

made Evil tremble.

Now, in my quiet time, I see a vile world

where men fight to prove themselves

bombing each other, to prove who is better,

killing to stop killing on fields where demons rage,

where hatred incites furious anger, boiling revenge,

and many die in the confusion.

Refugees and deportees crowd borders

as tears mixed with fire and death descend.

On the ‘killing fields,’ fiery rain falls,

burning dry the flesh,

consuming the children of wives,

shattering the bones of the world.

Shame hides the mystery of their fathers’ places

that provide the ‘life force’ for all tomorrows,

making quiet the ceremony

that once enlightened our minds,

and carved us into this grand universe,

to embrace the elements of air, fire, water and earth.

The trumpets sound begging us to put away the guns

and bind the bandits of evil surprises,

as we search for remnants of goodness

on this spoiled earth.

In my quiet times, I think of the Henrietta Marie,

falling deep into the ocean

with my dark-skinned brothers and sisters

falling deep to hide the shame of gloomy times

when Christian men, so uncivilized, created from greed,

many dark forces that wiped away

whole black nations.

Destined for Jamaica, to shape the new world,

her belly full of slaves, my distant siblings,

she fell deep into the straight of Florida

while slave-masters tried to hide the trauma

of four hundred years, and thirty million people,

so dispersed and abused,

spreading darkness upon history.

This systematic aggression evoked by many nations

dealt painful horror to many helpless, black humans

whose homelands were destroyed with fire and blade.

Many who created this dismal enterprise

profited from Africa’s demise,

never taking blame for putting such torture and pain

upon so many, when even Nature wept

for this massive violation of humanity.

Nations who stood for right and honor

unleashed this rampage of power

upon my black mother—Africa!

They whipped her across the middle passage,

sending painful visions to the soul,

that awake the Henrietta Marie

from her grave in the ocean’s womb,

where many sleep crying,

bounded by quiet iron shackles,

buried in a restless, watery fate.

Scattered beads and bones,

among weapons of fear

now claimed by the salty sea,

tell the bloody story of so many.

Spirits are still trembling in Africa

from the horrors of this Diaspora.

The trumpets keep us searching

for this lost people in this deep place,

and the sounds of lashes

that made them crumble,

when tall, dark men wanting to dream

stood longing, broken by the chains of disgrace.

Today a glimmer of courage echoes

from Mandela’s voice,

for he stood firm like Gideon before the Midianites,

confusing the enemy for rightness sake.

Now Hope resounds as the children of Shaka sing,

and ghastly memories are not so tormenting.

In my quiet times, I thank God for this life, shouting;

"Mighty God, great Wonder, since ancient times,

I praise you with all my heart.

Make me worthy to call your name

and have mercy on all my scattered cousins.

Put into my head the joyful songs

that I may sing with wisdom

as you touch my spirit,

helping me to make a difference.

For our destiny is at your feet,

show your face, Oh Mighty One

shower my people with grace,

and lead us into your glory."

In my quiet times, I dream that the Master will come,

with mountains of mercy to keep us free,

and guide us across the river of hope,

laying the bridge and lighting the pathways

for the faithful who venture out with courage

to share messages of goodness

and bring pleasure to this place,

so troubled now, so lost now.

Self-destructive Man is destroying Tomorrow,

burrowing deep into the rain forests,

and the remains of Paradise and its tribal people

face the shades of doom,

where horrors have emerged to submerge gladness

in the mud-pits of mendacity.

The music of Nature is vanishing

in the thick, dismal air

as tears flow and painful noises echo.

The trumpets sound to force mankind

to wonder about his deeds

as sleepless people call out for a brand, new day

that we may lift the curse

and surmount the trials

that nations may smile again.

Swallow your pride Oh Man,

and find the passion and emotion

to become the bastion of goodness

like great Francis of Assisi,

who tried to light up the world with Love.

Bring back the good life

to this enchanted home called Earth.

Don’t kill the beautiful rain forests!

Don’t let the luster fade

by poisoning the tribal peoples

with strange desires, as you reap the wonders.

Protect these gardens while sojourning in their bosoms

to bathe in the splendid pools.

Man brutalizes himself

when he harms the forests

and brings on a dark destiny

forgetting that these forests represent freedom,

precious gifts from God, worthy of protection.

The Trumpets tell

that Man is running against Time

sinking ever deeper into confusion,

into a quagmire of destruction,

making his bed even rougher

as he rages with greed—trying to be God.

With arrogance, he covets the Earth,

never accepting his minuteness.

Refusing to listen to the Master’s Voice,

he fights with bleak shadows,

becoming fugitive and prisoner

of his own tragedy.

Knowledge brings him no peace,

finding only fragments of happiness

in this great stream of life.

Unable to grasp wonder and believe,

he is afraid of Heaven,

preferring to draw his saber

and smite this glorious Earth,

fostering strife with his brothers

as he spreads disaster,

and beats the drums of death.

Afraid of Love, he finds no bright

expectations in his destination,

so he wears a mask hoping to breed compassion

in his painful life as years pass swiftly.

Hate feeds on his blood, causing Heaven

to shed long tears as it views the scars

he left on the backs of so many.

He ripped apart families and Nations,

feeding the fires of hate and revenge.

So sad, the fate of many mothers

who felt their unborn children

shake with fear in their wombs.

Thunder sounded

when they found my mothers’ bones in New York

and tried to sweep the cruel moment under velvet rugs,

ashamed to look me in the eyes.

Out of darkness comes the light.

Now remember my pain! See my triumph!

I am not yet defeated!

Let me stand at the head of my new tribe

far from my birth of clay—my first life.

The scars tell the story of my ‘Ebony Past’,

hidden so deep under my father’s doom.

Bright is my tomorrow,

if mankind will listen to Nature’s cries.

Sound, Sound trumpets to awake the passion of Man.

Make him potent, that he may call on Nature,

and promote, with courage, his hidden goodness,

understanding his special purpose.

Let him not be affected by ‘jeers of deceit’

that bellow from those who keep score of his troubles

as he journeys to the pinnacle of this confused world.

Man must rise high like Mount Everest

to become a symbol for those who cannot see

the towers of hope and beauty,

to find the victory that so many dream of.

The trumpets sound that we may earn our moments here,

shaping the pathways to reap rewards,

unmatched by his ancient brothers.

Man must become the dream-maker,

the weaver of kindness, giving his service freely

that many may find their duty

by following him into great places.

Awake the treasured moments

and find value in this home called Earth!

Let fade the requiem of fallen souls

who chant the fury of doom

to warn us of the wrath to come.

They have mourned their wrongs

since creation time, hiding their faces,

pleading for mercy as the tremors of woeful gloom

embrace them to exact payment

for injustices un-avenged.

Confounded and surrounded,

they moan for redemption,

begging to make contrition,

making vain submission.

But too late! Too late!

The applause is gone.

Pride is the poison that will take them

to the damnation of infectious Hell,

where the city streets burn with pain and sadness,

littered with tension, rejection and isolation.

Sleep not my people,

rise from your downcast plight,

hope and yearn for the joyful tunes,

and restore life to the young

by rekindling the world with children.

Find the courage to take back your mates

stolen by temptation,

so lost to violence and carnal pleasures.

Dig deep for the good in your neighbor

and learn to befriend him,

then journey to your solemn, sacred places

to find eternal blessings.

Bury your hatred and build new dreams,

changing the world for the better,

to inspire freedom in far, remote places.

Never again let your egos light the fires

of jealousy and anger

to put a heavy price on humankind.

Turn away from foolish ‘Nimrods’

who climb from mortal places to challenge God

hoping to escape Heaven’s justice.

The trumpets tell us to embrace this mystical journey,

so littered with failures and suffering,

and challenges from birth to death.

Man strives like Odysseus, who found life in trials.

Sail on to your bright destiny,

and adventure will guide you home,

as you make the right choices to gain victory,

when you feel that joyful home-coming.

Change attitudes and behaviors for self and family

and become a gift to life.

Hug tightly this enchanting world

and try to make a difference.

Do not drift away on a sea of wicked desires

with waves of evil beating you down.

But go deep into your thoughts to find joyful wonder.

Can you hear the trumpets sounding on the fields of war?

Can you hear maddened children raging with guns

to avenge their stolen fathers?

Can you see fire falling from the skies,

to roast their youthful flesh,

as the thunder of bombs,

bellowing, like Leviathan’s roar,

covers the bed of death?

No more children left!

Their innocence gone into far yesterdays!

Hear the trumpets women!

Bind your wombs to let barren

the moment be for a while,

that time may wash away

the blood and tears, and the madness.

Run with hope to avoid the terror

that exposes the dregs of the pit,

so laden with human waste

that the power of goodness is consumed.

How could man, made in God’s image,

be so vile to himself?

He is the best of beings,

he is the worst of beings,

the doer of great wonders,

the maker of vast destruction.

Can you hear the trumpets of revenge

sounding to consume logic,

to stain many hands with blood?

Can you hear the unbidden spirit

of goodness crying from the depths

to be free again—like in Eden

before Adam fell?

In my quiet times, I pray that Man

will pick up the scattered pieces,

and bring back sanity to this lost world.

He must seek out the straight, narrow passages

that lead into the light, and bury Confusion,

that wrecker, walking on our necks,

pressing our reason into the mud.

Confusion is the darkness

that prevents the joy from reaching

self-destructive men

who make excuses to withdraw into mental caves,

to hide from the light.

Man cannot control Nature’s destructive powers,

but he can prevent wars and famine.

He can dispel hunger, thirst and hatred from this world.

Nature’s powers gave us destructive hurricanes:

Andrew, Mitch, Katrina, Rita, Frances, and Ike.

Nature’s powers sent mountain-fires to destroy Montserrat.

Her earthquake brought down the ‘Bay Bridge’.

Her tsunami killed hundreds of thousands,

but out of the chaos, heroes were born.

Man showed his shinning spirit;

giving the best of himself.

Never again should we let