Poem of the week
Summer sights and smells
Behind the hills, the golden glow of the rising sun
Slowly lighting up the sky.
This first light of summer
reveals ripe mangoes
hanging precariously on the tree,
ready to be a meal,
the hibiscus flowers, the roses
and the bougainvillaea
boasting their bright colours.
Then, the summer morning
becomes summer day.
People become more alive
on the beaches, sipping lemonade
and eating fish and festival
in the bikinis they are wearing
when soon, without warning
The summer day becomes a summer night
with the smell of the coffee rose and jasmine,
barbecued and jerk chicken,
Summer morning to summer day
and into summer night,
bringing the heat and light
of the tropical summer.
- Emma-June Bell
I remember summer, when the skies
floated lights on the Caribbean Sea, stretching
its thirsty tongues at rocks, bleeding suds.
I remember mornings cut in gold as birds erupted
with your soul.
I remember breadfruit and salted fish breathing
over glowing wood as approving voices
sighed "Oh man!"
I remember summer against rising sun
on ruptured clouds, and the painted Rooster hailing
I remember home love - freedom and fun, from white
sand beaches to the smoking walls of
Dunn's River Falls.
I remember summer breeze, the stray of sleepy
softness across the light, tickling grasses roses and
bouncing palm trees
gentles shadows, flexing in a vain wrestle.
I remember sunsets on the west, throwing riots of exploded colours over cries of crickets on a painted evening -
I remember dreams overtaken by the mornings smelling of native dishes always, while
the rising blue mountains peaked - yes, yes,
I remember Jamaica.
- Homer Sylvester
It was real
It was happening to me
I denied it
I tried to push it out of my mind
The inconceivable had
It was happening to me!
Maybe if I pretend it would go away
But I'm still here and illness clings to me
This was real.
So what do I do now?
What do you do when life as you know it ceases to exist?
When the patterns and paths you've carved
Become shadowed, darkened, and destroyed?
What do I do?
Alone, there's little comfort
I don't want to do this alone but that's how I feel
I scrape for courage at the
bottom of my soul
Just to show a brave face
But the weight of my tragedy causes courage
to scamper away
What do I do now?
I grip my security.
- Nathalee Scott
When we are cast down
Hurled from side to side
By the happenings of the day
We are battered by the storms of life
Where will we ever get the strength to cope?
to continue, to last?
Things ought to get better
But they only escalate to the worst
The orgasm of sadness, depression, and frustration
No peace, no hope, no joy in any situation
There is a place on the Inside
That no human can reach
It's a place way deep down
Where a reservoir of hope dwells
Strength that defies description erupts
On the Inside
Renewed vigour, confidence to carry on
It's deep on the Inside
There, waiting for you to tap into a wealth of tenacity
Yes, the Inside, safe from the prying eyes of
Sheltered from the howling winds of the fray around you
Inside, where no mortal power can reach
Where, peace, yes deep settled peace resides
On the Inside.
- Elloraine Lothian
Weh dat fah
They cleaned it up
The crimson red blood
That oozed then slowly drip
From the bullet-riddled body that laid lifeless on the black tar paved road
That the lumpy blood now caked
A what dat fah, a whey im do so?
Humans don't have nuh rights again?
Mi can't tell mi story
No jail nuh deh bout or dem too full
While so many lawyers are idle
What is the nation about?
Dead man tells no tale, justice denied in every way.
A weh him do so?
Thief a phone, pap off man gold chain fi cash for gold
Thief a food - im hungry
Maybe im nuh pay the extortionist or maybe im see and know too much
And dem already gone wid the gun weh wi hear deh pon every scene
They cleaned up the crimson blood
That once caked on the black paved road
As the water now pinky red flows through the crevasses, over rocks and
seeping into the cold earth
As it flows to mingle with the gutters of life wasted and denied,
A what dat fah - a what im do so?
For Rowena Alicia 'Livy' Wilkinson
Through Polaroid camera I remember you Mommy
slide show visuals
of early movies
I understand why you told us a 'duppy' story or two
all part of generating a literature buff
signifying a childhood of both fantasy and detailed reading between the lines
- Helen-Ann Elizabeth Wilkinson
It drives me crazy thinking how yellow the purple flowers are.
How the door is never locked when I want it to be open and being knocked down, is a convenient reason to look up.
And thoughts drift like waves steadied by drunken hands.
So I painted a picture to see whether what my eyes saw was what my soul preached.
That you loving me could only be second to me loving me and I, could never love you the way you have loved me.
So, every time I hear that door cry I'll think it's the child in you saying "Hi!".
That a flower could be whatever colour it wanted to be,
Like how dreams were not pinned, not even to the sky.
Like how it would take more than a night and lie to keep my locked door,
To keep you out of my life.
A flower can be whatever colour it wants be...
But a purple flower is you.
- Deon Morris
Ache, Make, take
Words with similar sounds
but different meanings but all of which
can be connected to the other.
To Make it you first have to take
your opportunities. Believe me this
will not be easy as it may result in
stress and many a ache.
But is it worth it,
the choice is yours to take, to
make despite the ache
Many have tried to make the jump
but fail to take the right precautions
Resulting in bad mistakes and painless aches
- Andrew M. Wilkinson