Archive | Poems

09Howard Fergus FB


Howard Fergus

The farewell service for the Prince of Antigua

as inspiring to behold and to hear,

as witness after witness testified freely

of his graciousness, greatness and loving care

with hyperboles plenty, without a false note.

They lifted up Dr. Ramsey, heavier and larger

than life, man among men, healer and friend,

and all Antigua lifted up the chorus: Amen.

Versatile and versed in whatever endeavour:

writing calypso, slamming dominoes,

ministering to AIDS, he shunned the mediocre,

only excellence goes.

But for his poignant strain, “man is nothing but dust”,

melodiously mouthed by De Bear,

I did not know him in life, but they washed his wear

and hung then on the line at St. John the Divine

in St. John’s today, and he smelled clean.

In spite of his doleful philosophy of dust,

his sights on glory seem eternally just.

Antigua played him fair with a riot of love,

a forest of flowers decorated the hearse;

as his sun sank in flooding light,

the good and great gave silent cheer

along with the little people, subjects of his care.

The smart of soldiers adorned the ceremony

as becomes a Prince on the highest rung,

a colossus of home-grown royalty

whose deeds deserve a golden song.

Posted in Local, News, Poems, Regional0 Comments

09Howard Fergus FB

Notre Dame

Howard Fergus

An unholy fire frolicked
through notre dame in Paris
in Holy Week last night swallowing
at a few gulps what was in building
for near two hundred years;
this soul and harbinger
of gothic art and architecture
whose spire still pointed proudly up to heaven
after philistine world wars
and years of human hurricanes, suddenly
collapsed losing much of its innards;
flames stained the glass and darkened windows
and the light dimmed sadly over France.

Paris and the world stand aghast
at what seems now just a ghost
of this universal icon of art of several ages;
sad, that it was not insured full proof
against ruination; its fancy wood,
provided welcome fuel for the fire.

The call for funs to build again this monument
to medieval genius, resonates loudly across
the coffers of the world even though
some treasures are forever lost.
Holy men are gathering relics
or what is left of them
like the blood-stained crown of thorns
which they say mocked Jesus Christ,
and consummated our salvation.

An unholy fire rampaged
through notre dame in Holy Week,
destroying sacred things with tears,
and mourning in the street;
in Montserrat the third geothermal well
ended up in smoke in Holy Week.

Posted in Crime, International, Local, News, Poems, Regional0 Comments

A Prayer for my people

A Prayer for my people

by Nigel G. Weekes

Heavenly Father, God above


Look down on us with tender love

Thy children sit ‘neath Soufriere’s hill

Their fate, we know will be your will

But if on you their hearts they keep

Should one not wake from slumber’s sleep

Their soul to you, be taken home

In ash and dust no more to roam

No life will ever be the same

We all will be forever changed

You promised angels to stand by

So send them now, and heed our cry

Send goodness, mercy, faith and peace

To watch and wait till ash-clouds cease

And for the children, Lord we pray

You’d give them strength to face today

Tomorrow is unknown, we know

And yesterday, there was a flow

A brother’s keeper lends a hand

The truth, we do not understand

So for my people, I say this prayer

For all Montserratians, everywhere

For those who still at home remain

And those of us who feel their pain

Let distance not our eyes keep tight

But join right in and share the plight

Please keep them, Lord from fear and shame

This I ask, in Jesus’ name.

Posted in Features, Poems0 Comments

House before collapse


(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



Posted in Local, News, Poems1 Comment

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


Posted in Local, News, Poems0 Comments

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.


Posted in Local, News, Poems0 Comments

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

Posted in Features, Local, Poems0 Comments

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.

By Dillon Ollivierre

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
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

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