Why am I here?
Why am I here?
Everyday these trials I try to bear
I was born in this society norm
That moulded me and made me in this form
How do I know that it is wrong?
What can I do to belong?
I know this world somehow began
But how do I know where to stand?
I was born without a choice
So where is that manual, that voice?
Not one, but ten thousand roads I see
The one I choose will define me
Who do I ask?
I have seen so many masks
I seek love, family, career
But only because those society has made clear
What if that's not why I am here?
Your story is already written
He already knows the end
Everyone is called
Just look out for your Godsend.
- Shuancie Barrett
Beneath the Mexican moonlight
I remember the warm night beneath the Mexican moonlight.
It was there I lost my beautiful Spanish maiden.
We had planned to meet at the cafeteria earlier that night,
But something went awfully wrong with our plan.
It looked like she had some other more important engagement.
I was in love with her and so anxious to be with her.
It was almost midnight and there was still no sign of Maria,
So I left the cafeteria in sadness and headed for home.
Suddenly I heard the soft strumming of guitars,
And the song that was playing lifted up my heart.
I walked along the path in the light of the Spanish moon
And I saw Maria dancing with a man on the bridge.
Her misleading eyes were captivating as the stars.
He was standing in front of her and gently stroking her face
And then she kissed him just as she used to kiss me.
I could almost taste the sweetness of her lips.
I froze for a moment and my throbbing heart sank.
I hid carefully behind the oak tree so they could not see me.
I watched in astonishment while she flirted with him.
And I stood there until she theatrically gave her heart to him.
She left me standing alone in the darkness.
The sound of Spanish music echoed in the valley.
And I knew I would not forget the painful experience I had,
I lost my Maria to a dreamer beneath the Mexican moonlight.
- Marlon Pitter
Puppy, patty, party, parson
When it come to de lyrical Louise Bennett Coverley is de queen
She run wild with the satirical and sweep de theatre clean
in a one poem she link complex argument, lock it in cement
De dwag po Sammy dead and she present "commentary" in har lament
Now, anybody that can conjoin animal rights
questionable nutritional patty bites
with "collar" and Pastor Look alike
deserve a citation and an open mike
She got to be made a national heroine for sure
Me hope de Government soon open de door
For Gleaner dem days was we salvation
So me dey don a Miss Lou "elevation"
She is de boss in and out of season
wid "what good fi eat no good fi talk" reason
She has Jamaica on the discourse international rise
from Cake soap, war politics, love letta, to wi map size
She retire Pastor, patty, party in one stroke of her pen
no wedding cake, sweet like "Sammy," no women, no men
no Nancy story can cause any further distress
cause Louise sey it all and cause no legal defamation mess.
Me tenk Teacha Thompson-Brown from de west
fi always look out fi mi godly interest
she larn mi English and how to spell
Teacha Brown introduce to me George Campbell "Women, History Makers Hammers and Rocks" to tell
and to dis day, Louise Bennett Coverely, is she meck Gleaner Paper sell!
- Helen-Ann Elizabeth Wilkinson