The benediction of the old vaunt an infinite symbolic richness
The new breathes and I feel – “A swollen note of gratitude”
We toast to the melody of life, the pleasures of now
Yesterday dangles, enchants in painterly splendor
Almost in a celebratory play
Life’s lyricism dazzle in coloratura flights
Delightful twists much at our heart
Graceful moments danced – pleasant, calm, correct
We pause …as if plucked from a crown – thankful
Tomorrow we will be happy…we will learn how deep we can love
We will learn to be happy
Living Red like some flower – budding awaiting the bloom of something new.
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Written by Brenda L. McCartney
The thought of your birthday stirs me - awake
“Without apprehension or apology”
I write in the Advent of Rituals
In harmony, comfort, genuine delight
Celebrate your halting of time
In your sacred season
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Written by Brenda L. McCartney
Entwined with ambivalence
Something gave us bright smiles
Courage, will, resilience feeds your soul
Forever etched over the crossing of time
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Moments tossed lightly
Trees grow, flowers take root
Birds, Butterflies take flight
Beings of light transcend
-
The energy of life or love burst into song
Irresistible beats…
The celebration, rebirth of the unseen
Your present your presence
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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney
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Having just celebrated my birthday it seems as if it is a new year. Can I describe what a new year stirs?
It does not stir desire nor memory but a throbbing of life dancing in my blood. As I face the unknown with carefreeness and freedom, I am truly thankful for what I have received and what I am about to receive.
Dear God
Lord of beginnings, remover of obstacles, as I immerse in your miracle and favor
I am thankful for:
The love of a husband;
The gift of a child;
The present and presence of friends;
The boundless resilience of family;
The whisper of admirers and;
The bounty of many harvest
Amen.
Definable vision
Unbridled enthusiasm
Remarkably poised
Timeless beauty
Exuberance captured
An inspired woman at thirty eight
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Poem Written by Brenda L. Mccartney
Photographed by Yee Ting Kuit
My paternal grandmother always reminded me that I was a special child which means highly favored. The word special has varied meaning to me over the years; in the Bahamas when certain friends and family call me special it means silly. No I am not eccentric.
During Easter I stayed in a certain couple’s home, there was serenity in the atmosphere of their home. Shortly afterward I felt compelled to contact the couple, I spoke to them on several occasions thereafter but never physically met them. Sadly the husband passed away and the funeral service was held on my birthday, a few days ago. Yes, on my birthday. My friends and family members were very vocal on whether or not I should attend a funeral on my birthday given their view that he was not family.
To me this was my family as he represented so many things. Father Thaddeus Pratt dedicated his life to the honor and glory of God and has been a loving father and husband. He was married for fifty one years which is a glorious example of love and devotion. I am sure that is something we wish to emulate; Mrs Florence Pratt and I are in the same sister-hood. It was a sensible thing to do as it was a celebration of an extraordinary person’s life and co-incidentally mine.
There was a certain joy at his home going celebration. It reminded me of a feel for luxury; in terms of life’s accomplishments, achievements. It was a time to reflect, it gave me a challenge to carry on, it was a wake up call to do better and it reminded me to live life to the fullest and make the most of opportunities and time. I am no stranger to funerals after all, as my great grandfather died the day I was born, hence the reason why my grandmother calls me special.
This week marked another year of celebration. Are you taking note of the various accomplishments of your life? Are you truly grateful for even the minor endeavors of others?
Photographed by Kenrock Well.
This poem is dedicated to all mothers
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To-day’s your natal day;
Sweet flowers I bring:
Mother, accept, I pray
My offering.
And may you happy live,
And long us bless;
Receiving as you give
Great happiness.
-
Poem Written by Christina Rosetti
Like a heavily carved inscription
She wears on the life of whom she touches
She carries the substance of her ancestry
Her words are Epistles borne with pride
She will be always be there for her children
No matter the distance or struggle
She loves as she transcends race and bloodline
She gives from her heart
An inimitable style
Indomitable as she encourages self-reliance
Her potions and portions sated many appetites
As her words like wine gets finer with time
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Poem written by Brenda L. McCartney
Photograph taken from theseedsoflove.org
The sketches of his composed walk to freedom
Open, lay before us.
The unthinkable moment at seventy one
His spirit not broken
He embodies reconciliation
He carried the transformation of a nation
With passion he fought for value
In an open room his unfinished thoughts hang
Sculpted into his mind was his dark experience
Unaware of time
The window hovered but did not tell
As his body defined every inch of that cell
The mosaic of resilience
The Pride of many.
February eleventh nineteen hundred and ninety
A symbol of hope was released
The deepening of equality
Worldwide we celebrated
A peaceful defeat of apartheid
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Poem by Brenda L McCartney
Today we celebrate the twentieth anniversary of Nelson Mandala’s release from Prison, after spending twenty seven years behind bars. Mandela led the struggle to replace the apartheid regime of South Africa with a multi-racial democracy. He went on to become South Africa’s first democratically elected black President.
Goat water is the national dish of Montserrat. We make it all year round but especially at Christmas time. I remember how we made it .
Does anyone remember the tin that those long sausages use to come in? We used this tin as a pot and we called it tin-in. There was always a covered shack it had no walls only posts – that had a few shelves and a table where we would cook.
I can see the tin (tin-in) perched on three rocks outside with the cusha (acacia) wood under each part of the stones. On the side is one of those big pots with its bottom black as the Ace of Spades with some fresh meat from a goat killed a few minutes ago. In the covered area was always a table with thyme (herbs/ubs) seasoning pepper, Season All, onions, cloves, bird pepper (bud pepper), flour and a long iron spoon.
Once the water boils the tin-in, Mama (my maternal grandmother) would throw in the meat with the onion, thyme and salt to boil until the meat is cook. This process would take an hour.
Close by I would smell the bread baking in the rock oven. I would smell the cusha wood burning. It was something about the smell of the burnt wood, the air flow under the tin-in. There was a distinct atmosphere outside; there would always be thin blue smoke and the aroma of the meat cooking appealed to your senses. It made for a mouth watering dish of delicious broth which we called goat water.
I know this is not Christmas and the masquerades are not performing but get me the kettle drum, the sticks, the fife, the whip, the boom pipe, a shack shack (maracas), cart whips and some dancers because I am feeling the spirit and I have the rhythm.
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