Archive | Poems

House before collapse

A STAIRWAY TO THE STARS

(In memory of Franklyn “Jackie Fyah” Hixon, dec. 16Mar2014)

Shirley Spycalla

 I stood and stared at the tower of stones

From the roadside across the way

He’d tried to get me to climb with him

But I’d denied him the pleasure that day.

 

Counting floors, six in all

I caught a fleeting glimpse of the man

Up on the sixth floor way up high

His merry laugh said “Yes I can!”

 

He’d knowingly broken the housing codes

By building a tower so high

With river stones in a balancing act

Yet the seventh floor he would try

House before collapse

House before collapse

 

I constantly warned, “Fyah, please don’t,

Your Stone House is not secure”

But no island law could stop the man

He wanted just one story more

 

“Why, Fyah, why seven?” I asked

Calling to him from afar

“Because I’m building my stairway” he said

“My stairway to the stars.”

 

That Sunday in March I’ll never forget

T’was the day the earth stood still

The Stone Tower had fallen down

The builder inside for to kill

 

 

A single tear fell from his eyes

As he took his final breath

His body broken, ribs crushed

His eyes glazed over in death

 

I hung my head in anguish deep

As I slunk back to my car

Fyah, you can stop building now

You’ve already reached your star!

 

Shirley Spycalla

5th April 2014

 

 

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Jackie Fyah carved a house of stone

Jackie Fyah carved a house of stone

To keep his dreams in.

He’d wake me early a morning

To find where the sun rose out of the sea.

Together we’d travel the forbidden zone.

He always said you need stone

To rise above Montserrat

And not be conquered down.

 

Jackie Fyah carved a home

Showed us diamonds in the stone.

Lifted us so high that we could see

What we came from

And what we could be.

Sometimes with praise

Sometimes prophecy

And no matter how high he

Took me above the ground

I never felt more safe

More at home.

 Edgar Nkosi

 

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1768 – The Slave Rebellion

(In memory of Cudjoe, a Montserratian hero)

By Shirley Spycalla

Show me, please show me, oh Cudjoe, my liege

The tall, silk cotton tree, I beg and besiege.

The tree that bore your body as fettered you swung

That strong body you nurtured when we were young.

 

Show them, I beg you, Cudjoe, show your sons

The branch on the tree from which you were hung.

You fought for their freedom on the 17th of March

To end vicious serfdom and a life that was harsh.

Show her; please show her, your sweet loving wife

The noose on the branch that ended your life.

You led the uprising with strength and resolve

To bring pride to your people and slavery to dissolve.

Show me; oh show me where they took your head

That was cut from your body to ensure you were dead.

History will judge us for the battle you fought

Against the oppressors, if we let it come to naught.

Oh people of Montserrat , you’re all Cudjoe’s kin!

You’re the sons he begat – you are not born in sin.

Be strong; fight oppression; don’t let Cudjoe die in vain

Uphold your Constitution; seek justice through pain.

Be not slaves to overspending, to corruption and greed

Be warriors for peace unending. Stand firm; with you I plead.

For Cudjoe was your father who died for you and me

That day, on St. Patrick’s, when he hung from the tree!

 

Posted in Local, News, Poems4 Comments

House Warming

by: Howard Fergus

We were quick to congregate

at the beautiful dry river for the opening

sentence of the cemetery at Lookout.

We won’t be late for the convivial house warming

void of tears on this occasion.

Undertakers did not let us down;

they were on hand among the sick of us

just in case, a fat prospect in the meagre month

of January for guinea pigs and ground breaking

but they drew no blood. Sandwiches

 

were appropriately vegetarian and

spartan. Prayers rehearsed by frocks of holy

orders were the filling fare with political

tit bits on the side, and an official roll of the

heroes of the cemetery to eulogies.

 

The site drew general approval: upscale,

breath taking vistas out of this world

with another land in view. Pity

the tenants cannot appreciate this private piece

of real estate. We came early for the viewing.

 

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The Concealed Secrets of Montserrat

Author: An anonymous young lady

 Small Island, vast hell, Montserrat.

Many want to hide the truth of the situation under the carpet

But little do they know that the ants can still perceive it

The enchanting isle with hidden social calamities

Men trafficking, victims being caught. Everyone knows the big fish behind it

But police’s excuse is always lack of proof. No evidence

Early prostitution, mothers marketing their daughters

And prestigious lawmen trading them like hot bread for sex

Nonetheless, Montserrat “Sees but no see, Hear but no hear”

The ones that are thought to be the authority are the ones looking for fresh meat

Sex here, sex there, sex everywhere. Sex rate increasing immensely among school girls

Teenage pregnancy is now more common than colds, and to men

A girl’s virginity is worth nothing. But wrong are we, who don’t value ourselves.

There is no respect for the female species anymore. No genuine love

Naked pictures of young ladies circulating all over the internet

And the younger generation don’t seem learn from the experiences of others. Play it smart girls!

To men it’s seen as ‘manly’ to have sexual relationship with a sister and then the sibling.

How degenerating is that! These revolting minds of theirs find it normal.

But even worse is the women who has sex with her sister’s man

That shows lack of confidence, self-respect and pride

Abusive husbands and spouses mistreat and use women and violate their rights once and again

They feel sheltered by the law; they make up the law; they are the law. What can we do?

They feel like they can do what they please with us. Silly us who donated them that right

Montserrat is also swamped with self-centred, attention-seeking psychos

So called grown, mature 28 year old woman lowering to 17 and 18 year old teens

All for a man; lack of population has women desperately seeking new flesh

Stalkers are now in abundance; they have no life, no motivation

Other than finding new preys

Skirts turn men every day more imprudent

Who having an exquisite dish at home, go and eat leftovers on the streets

All because they cannot keep their baby-making machine to themselves

Sexually transmitted diseases spreading like dynamite

Because sex and deceit are the population’s most practised hobby

Reckless teenagers having unprotected sex resulting in a continuous wave of abortions.

Will this ever end?

So Montserrat, ask yourselves, how can we stop our little paradise from falling into an abyss?

The answer lies behind confidence, pride, morality, self-respect, respect for others, faithfulness, selflessness and the right use of knowledge.

Author: An anonymous young lady

 

 

 

Posted in Features, Local, News, Poems0 Comments

Lives On The Line

by Howard A. Fergus

Trayvon Martin has passed

into the main stream of black history.

Zimmerman has made the grade cum laude

into the ivory record written blood-red.

 

The stream flooded in a Florida

palace of justice with a muddy overflow

onto the streets and painful reverberations

in Brixton Montgomery and  Montserrat.

 

Trayvon is declared dead. Full stop.

We will cancel the stop, change

the tenor of the song, a bar at a time

change the audit of wrong. So many lives on the line.

 

Howard A. Fergus

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Suicidal – (a poem)

Dear Sir:

I’m submitting this poem in hopes that it touches the life of someone who maybe thinking of taking their own life. Suicide is an issue which is not often spoken about though it exists and I think it should be tackled/spoken about more to assist persons who may go through this phase.

Suicidal
By Dillon Ollivierre

Struggling
Falling
Stressing
Undressing
You tear apart your mind trying to find a moment of happiness to hold on to
But all you find is negativity which tries to conquer you
You search for that moment of happiness
But all you find is more reasons to dwell in the darkness
You’re slipping
You’re sinking
In that pit of darkness you are
Fallen like an angel cast out of heaven and into hell
As the pain increases you scream, you shout
You want out
Life you no longer wish to live
Your life you want to take
Hope is gone
Faith is gone
The will power to survive is no more
Hold on, the great book says knock and it shall be opened
Ask and it shall be given
Seek and ye shall findThe ideas are flowingHow best to end the suffering
You’re contemplating
Suicidal thoughts are developing
You’re ready to end it
No! Don’t, you’ll regret it
How will you when you’ll be dead
Death solves no problem
Hang on, hold my hand, let’s rise together
I’ll give you an ear
I’ll provide inspiration
Motivation
I’ll do all that is needed to help you
Trust me you can pull through
Everyone have their moments of suicidal contemplation
But trust me with God you can overcome this painful infestation

Hold my hand, let’s rise together

Hold my hand as we approach our heavenly father
Lord we are weak but you are strong
Please hold our hands…

Posted in Letters, Poems1 Comment

Nutten

Why is it that any time you sit alone

Curious mind will ask “what you doing”

Knee jerk reaction straight up lie… ‘nothing”

Obviously you are sitting

You are-standing in deep meditation

Same question answer is ‘ nothing”

Nothing settles an argument like ‘nothing”

It’s the other word for leave me alone

Or the mind your own business

My silence is my euphoric utopia

 

And then there is the leave me out phrase

Innocently ‘I didn’t do nothing”

Sometimes you really didn’t do anything

But no one believes you did nothing

Nothing is hard to prove

Because you have to do something

To prove you did nothing

Nothing is a void

It’s an inconceivable state

The way to get there is beyond meditation

The trick to get there is to believe it exist

 

The universe is nothing and we exist within

A grand old nothingness

Even though we succumb ourselves

Trying to earn and gain so much

Eventually Its all for nothing

In time it will stay behind

All the caring is for nothing

Passive or aggressive

Nothing starts or end a war like doing nothing

Don’t ever underestimate

The power of nothing

That’s why I want nothing

So what am I doing……nutten

William Bubblicous Galloway

Posted in Features, Poems1 Comment

Fire in a tung

A Poem – Remembering the past

William Bubblicous Galloway

A you who a tung a burn down
Hey You yes you
I need a word with you
I know you proud of you homeland
But you remember town before the fire
What fire? The big fire
Back in the sixties
No not Osborne fire, after that
The one that burn a big portion of the town
Yes, there was a fire in Plymouth don’t just gaze
No not Massachusetts, Montserrat
The one that had George street ablaze
Don’t stand in disbelief that night tung nearly burn flat
Listen the fire burn out Hamsay grocery store
And blackened cans blessed my door
My oh my canned sardines and corned beef galore

From the Carty house down pass Lindy
Take out teacher Toody, smoke, fire massive catastrophe
“who smelled it dealt it” school all gone
Reggie Osborne sweet drinks factory burn down
Up jones alley smoke out down Hayden alley
As a young man everything seem bigger
But this fire left you in wonder
What would this island be by morning
If this fire keep on burning
Luckily a ship was in port and lend a hand
But tell you what from me there was not much grief
Because I was blessed with canned sardine and corned beef

Couldn’t go walking down the street that morning
Soot everywhere on the street like black snow
When authorities allow you to walk through tho
Smoke down to Jemotte and Hopras
Cross the street to Cassel rum shop
Hulda and Mannix alley, burn
Fire and smoke take over town
Nuff barefoot Looters had to cease and settle
Plundering, a few get slice from broken sweet drink bottle
Frozen chicken and pig mouth had to go
Quick sale light profit was the word
Man from fort ghaut nah eat roast red herring
Its canned ham and canned peas they eating
Lunch it’s sardines and canned corned beef they having

The cans were blackened, labels removed
Open one looking for peas and get mackerel
The price was right looters unite and share
The buildings were charred and mangled
It’s going to be trash anyway so agree
Morality recedes as necessity exceeds
One less hungry belly
Oh yes we versatile and resistant
So we bounce back as usual from anything
Construction, renovation, new direction, almost gentrification
Except wealthy just got richer
Demonstrate what is less clutter
Turned around the country on the go
that was long before the volcano
Oh no I’m not looney trust me man
At one time in life tung did burn down

Posted in Features, Poems1 Comment

My Moat (A Poem)

My Moat

You are out of your mind he utter
A long walk would’ve been better
That’s not a rational thought
Then explain why we fought
If you look deep inside you’ll see
The positive side for any calamity

If you are on this side of earth you win
Or at least you have a place to begin
Rationality is not in your area code
When anger and hate enters your abode
It takes inner strength and moral conviction
To avert and defuse an aggressive confrontation
We all know we’ve been there and did not run
Had the embryonic digestive tube to say done

It’s not been weak or been a coward
It’s been strong and moving forward
One battle does not settle or end a war
Through guile the remnants leaves a scar
Say and do things with rue being upset
Only after its done with everlasting regret
The moat around your fortress is in you
The will to avoid penetration comes through

William Bubblicous Galloway

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