Midday's Splendor
Honey suckle drips
On billowing yellow-iris-print
Yellow Begonia’s blossom
In the gold dust of midday’s splendor
-
Poem written by Brenda L. McCartney
Garden Chronicles
Sturdy blooms of honeysuckle, horseradish, lilies
Layered her encyclopedic memory
A youthful lithe of treasured stories
The composition of a Bahamian rhapsody
-
Smell Seven sisters, Dracaena, Angel Trumpet sweet perfume
Bromeliad pots unabashed wipe
The expectant joy of sapodilla in season sweetly bloom
Papaya and breadfruit not yet ripe
-
Wine stain of sweet mulberries
Her brittle vine wring with taste
Incomparable pleasure appease
Revel in springs quiet chaste
-
Poem written by Brenda L. McCartney
Derek Walcott 'was here'
Influential
He defines
Consequence of time
Brilliant night ripe with association
He burned with impatience
Palatable words
Depth of details
His body marked time
Languid nonchalant
Poetry full of fervor
Tremors Loss
Luster vim and vigor
In a magnificent swirl
Of West Indian existence he wrote
With candor
Speaks with
Offensive poignant tetchy lexis
Snippets of undisciplined squads of emotions
Astute
A sense of achievement
The breath of a Caribbean icon
-
Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney
Most of us, no doubt, have a list of at least two persons that we would like to meet; living or dead. A few months ago I had the great fortune of meeting such a person on my list. He appeared visibly frail, a bit foggy, suffering from a hearing impairment, which made him a bit irritable, impatient and ennui. He struggled with a cough as he read an excerpt from “The Schooner Flight.” He spoke with such candor; some may say he emerged as a man of ruthlessly honest disposition. But no one could have taken away the fact that he is a first-class writer/poet. His comportment in no way had diminished my experience and respect for him. For me it was reminder that we are all mortal and perseverance pays off, do what you love and you will reap the rewards! From the audience it was evident that his books have inspired a panoply of responses from the readers; professors, students and the public alike. In the question and answer sessions,the audience enjoyed quoting him; but their interpretations for the most part did not mirror his thoughts. To make the ‘long story short’ poetry is open to the reader’s interpretation.
For us Caribbean people Derek Walcott symbolizes the power of words as he was our first Caribbean Nobel Laureate. He just celebrated his 80th birthday in January. I am proud to stand on his shoulders.
Moments
Photographed by Rosa Wang
Masked under your burning sun
The scarred tissue
Beyond familiarity
The haunting
Broken promises
That morning
-
Your taste buds
Possess
Hungry
Post-Shredded
-
Moments of sadness
Tangled with joy
Unmasked
The becoming
-
Photographed by Brenda L. McCartney
Haiti I am Sorry
Life in Haiti is fragile
The shadows of devastation
The rain of human loss
Shocking after shocks
Broken once again
The vulnerable
The repeated tragedies
Less food on the table
Eighty percent lived on less than two dollars a day
The earthquake plowed
Emotions chopped
Tears collage
The world watch uncomfortable
Cathedral caught fire
Palace crumbled
The homeless slept in the streets
As millions wept
A canvas of massive destruction
The afternoon of terrified reactions
Lasted less than a minute
Unnerving, anxious yet disturbing
The pouring in of aid
After magnitude seven
Millions scrambled with unclenched fists
Other nations exhaled
Crashing emotions
Storm tangled
Registered our disbelief
The stench of death Hailed
Dragging carcasses
Fumy
The January scene of carnage
Undifferentiated mass of grey
Bodies lie in their blood
Splintered limbs
The limbless
Bundled like victims of massacre
The loosening of roots
Coffin passed through the streets on wheel barrows
The bereaved in search of empty crypts
To lay the dead
Millions left not being fed
No ceremonies
No large gatherings
No eulogies
Only a prayer
And time for a rapid succession of grief
Human side
Captivated the world
Wave of trauma
Generations of Poverty
Political persecutions
Hurricane catastrophe
Become symbols of degradation
Poem by Brenda L McCartney
11:30PM
11:30PM:
These lovers
dance in
clammy bus station
terminals
observing my intrusive
stares
They smirk and
wink
kiss
hold hands
watch my reaction
rolling eyes
sometimes
smiles
hunched and whispering
they allude to boasting thrills.
-
Poem By Enrique McCartney
Written March, 1996
Today I remember London; the statues, the parks, the swans, the books and the shopping. The Sunday afternoon bus rides to Euston Bus Station and back to Hackney on Bus #30. I’m slowly beginning to realize it is not the reputation that I build but the relationships that I embrace. So enjoy every moment that you are given.
The moment
Image by Imagemore Co., Ltd.
The Moment
I
A purple flower
Left by her lover
Delivered in response to her letter
A few days earlier
II
The lone figure
Lay poised and beautifully adorned
Along the peaceful meadow
His return seems like forever
But he was waiting for dawn
-
Poem by Brenda L. McCartney
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