Born To toil — Are men with stately minds But shallow pockets...
Whose birthright of poverty Was handed down to them By fathers who lived paycheck to paycheck, Exploited by asbestos-insulated factories —
Men who came to be buried In graves financed By their children,
These children have become The laborers of a nation, The laborers of a corporate-run America That has sold them out to outsourcing, Faux Made-in-America brands, And wars fought for a rich man's ideology,
They are the waves of future unemployed statistics, Losing their livelihood to self-service technology, The children of future America, who have become Conscribed to foreign interest —
In a land whose leaders have turned away from "We the people" to seek truth behind the wheels Of urban assault vehicles That will never be driven through the ghetto streets, Where lay the homes of poor men who toil To feed their families, keep the gas on in winter, And save a little money So maybe they can bury themselves And be just a little more than their fathers.
**Artist’s Statement:
…I rise every morning and the first thing I think about is what the sunrise over my beloved Caribbean sea must look like, and I go to bed wondering how beautiful the sunset must have been as the blue-green of my home-sea drank in the glowing warmth of the sun…
Why [do] I write and do photography? … that comes from having my senses constantly overwhelmed. Stories appear to me in everything I see. It seems to me that everything I feel — be it love, hate, anger, or happiness — is at a heightened sense … it’s too much to keep inside, so I have to find a way to let go of it. The written word, the imagery, is a catalyst that lets me cleanse myself so I can move on…it's not so much about expression as it is a release…