Thu | Aug 17, 2017

Poems

Published:Sunday | February 28, 2016 | 2:00 AM

The bell has stopped ringing

The head is fixed

Can we now move on from all the debates about politics?

Place your green shirts in a pile and forget the orange headbands for a while

It's time to lift up the Jamaican flag and start building up our Jamaican pride

Injuries and blood stains lined the political trail

Are you any better off now than before the election campaign?

Green and orange you claim run through your veins

But do you even understand the history behind the political parties that you now proclaim?

Empty you are and waiting for a dime to drop at your feet

How long will you continue to worship the ones who only remember you when they need to

keep their seat?

The ink stain is still on your finger but your questions are still unanswered

On one side they are beaming with pride while the other side heads are resting low

Election 2016 is no more!

The media returns to its previous state no more election ads dominating our airwaves

Let us move forward and prepare to rebuild our nation

Black, green and gold are the true colours of our nation!

- Saccheen Laing

***

A Grandmother's reflections on the election

It's me, who nobody knows till 5 long years -

me, with my bending back against the rope,

trying to cope, to survive this yoke .

Me with me ackee,

me breadfruit an me Thia.

5 years in this market,

no one knows how me make it -

most weeks not a buyer fa di fruits and di pepper -

but now comes messiah to the woman of de ghetto.

Poor me mamma Edna,

with years marked in mi face, going 70 and 8.

1 mark for my grandson,

who was murdered in cold blood

another mark for mi cries,

with no justice here to find.

1 mark for the squalor that we call our home,

another one for the hunger generations down.

Yet, me, who nobody knows, til 5 long years

me, who knows no hope till someone needs a vote -

A picture of age and suffering til 5 closing years -

a woman who knows no care through all my

tough days with tears,

forgotten here, remembered.

- Homer Sylvester

***

Lisa, our Minister

People say someone may not know the true meaning of Jezebel

I say she is bonny, blush-worthy, beloved, and bubbly, all rings a bell?

None to the word 'Jezebel' are synonymous

Within meters of her, but you must be quite oblivious

One son, married once, respectable

Beauty pronounced, our political doll

I've never seen her worshipping idols

Nor influencing us youths or populace, in any immoral way

A Jezebel? No way.

This ignorance to my ears - feels close

The heat, it is rather warming, often like speaking profanity

Whatever the cause, what she said or he said

Let us show the nation that as leaders

There is respect on either side, of the divide

As whatever the side, we elected you all with respect, to represent us.

Oh look at her, a profound shape

Shaping the future of our youths

Whatever she wears, eyes locked in we can't help but stare

Have you seen the carnival or beach outfit?

My friend, a perfect fit!

I remember when you walked the stage, captivating me

Must have been dreaming, being only age two I missed it all, silly me

You surely made Jamaica proud in 1993

Carole Crawford, Cindy Breakspeare then Lisa Hanna the third, placing first

The world respects her! Invited to be a judge but

Declined to be a Miss World judge in 2015

We eagerly await for you to once again embrace that stage.

Poise, near perfection, passion, prestige, a smile that pierces the populace

Lisa Jamaica loves you, just continue doing you!

To our leaders, lead with respect.

- Sandre Lowers

***

Time for P Unity

So you show me you P

Me show my P

we do cross examination,interrogation

we poll,we vote

the index finger was right there !

....okay, maybe some really love theyself so much

that the other P is not the real competition

But which of the P really betta?

Whatever you do...not all of us are PAYE paid

Try meck ALL of us get some PAY

like every day for evermore

time for the two P dem get together

dem betta

BEST together!

- Helen-Ann Elizabeth Wilkinson

***

Wanted - Rain Harvesters

Wigton harvests the wind,

Who will harvest the rain?

We cannot see the wind

We all can see the rain

Pouring down like threads of glass

On the roof and on the grass,

Flooding lawns and play fields

Causing streets to look like streams

And the gullies rushing to the seas.

Old folks used to say

"When it rains, it pours"

What a mighty waste

To see all this water rushing

Like a raging river

All the way down to the sea

Then lawns grow parched and dry

And villagers scream - 'We want W-A-T-E-R"

After this mighty waste!

Village tanks were part of a long gone age

When water was channelled into village tanks

Where villagers collected their supplies

The more 'well-offs' had tanks of their own

So their daily needs were supplied

Now in this technological age

Should we continue this waste?

What a mighty waste!

But who will harvest the rain?

Wanted - rain harvesters.

- Otis-May Wills

***

Restore the joy and pride

Before me rob and kill

Me go sweep street side

Why should I Kill a man

Then from the law me go hide

Youth go grab a broom

Restore Joy and pride

The law was made for the lawless

Not for the bold and brave

The way to fame and glory

is not a joy ride,

To keep the city clean

It does not make me less

Eating my bread out of the desolate

I'll hang in there

I'll do my best

With hard work and determination,

I'll give thanks to Yahweh

I know I am blessed

Looting and shooting it makes you lawless

Work hard,

Live right

Nuff self-respect

Graduate from life's test

Life is a school room

If you want to party, do your best.

- Winsome McKay

***

8 Ackee Arilli

A meal to save a life can come in so many different forms

no steak dinner or chicken bought from an Empire

not even the back or neck to make a quick stew

a wish for a dish to save a life

to put the energy back into enduring the everyday struggle

who cares, no one really knows.

Who does a person turn to without the fear of being chastised

for being...

Without

Held at ransom by the recession

and people who care but only for themselves

who will do only that which is necessary to provide for themselves.

Then...

From out of nowhere it comes.

A hand of kindness in the rarest and most unexpected form

In a little plastic bag - it is neatly wrapped with care

For only a person who understands the struggle could make this little gift

Feel so extraordinaire.

The hand that stretches to receive this package understands

Its meaning so deeply embedded in each one with their black heads shining so brightly

There are only eight of them but the receiver knows

As much as the giver that this is worth more than everything

that an Empire has in store.

So...

Every single one is cleaned and prepared so well

Paired with just a bit of that which was caught and parched

To make a meal for two;

A meal eaten in love and appreciation that someone understood

That all it took to satisfy the hunger...

for life

for love

for care

for sisterhood

for reassurance in humanity

....were eight ackee arilli

- Stacey A. Palmer

Dear Black Girl

I know it may be hard to be you

To be rebuked because of a colour that you didn't even choose;

To be told that you can't do this or you can't do that,

All because of one simple thing, the fact that you're black.

Dear Black Girl, they call you ugly or meaner things too,

You sometimes wonder if it wasn't God who made you.

You feel isolated, segregated, a bomb that wasn't deactivated,

But lift your head up baby girl, it's time to be emancipated.

Dear Black Girl, you have nothing to worry about,

Fix that pretty little face and put a smile on your mouth.

You see, I was there too, the confidence I lacked,

But believe me when I tell you that God's got your back.

Dear Black Girl, don't you ever let them get you down,

Allow your melanin to speak and let 'em white folk frown.

The truth is, they're dying to be just like you,

'Cause even when you're 50, you'll still look like 22.

Dear Black Girl, remember that upliftment is what we speak,

So don't let them see you cry, they'll think that you're weak.

God made you black like the coals from which diamonds appear,

You know why darling? To tell you that you're rare.

Dear Black Girl, you need not be jealous any at all,

You are written in their history, you made them who they are.

They hurt because you have thighs that swing when you walk,

Thighs that make their men ready and waiting to stalk.

Dear Black Girl, it's time to embrace the colour of your eyes,

They remain beautiful despite crying thousands of times.

You think thin lips are better? Well honey they're not,

I kissed them once and in no time I forgot.

Dear Black Girl, rise up! February is your month to shine,

Remember God made you in His image, not yours nor mine.

Embrace your body, those white people want it so bad,

It's the best thing you have over them, something they'll never have.

- Rhajana Parchment