Sturdy blooms of honeysuckle, horseradish, lilies
Layered her encyclopedic memory
A youthful lithe of treasured stories
The composition of a Bahamian rhapsody
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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
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Poem written by Brenda L. McCartney
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
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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.
Trance
Four forty six in the morning I lay in bed
Turn the sepia album in my head
Its hands clutched around my neck in a pincer grasp
String pearls with titanium clasp
I leapt through your paths
I dodged through your alleys
I ran through the ghauts
Soldier
Runaway
Fort
Even Mefraimie
Luscious imaginings; houses and landscape lay before me
Dizzying chasm in the blistering heat
Hot springs plastered with shale licked my feet
Ochre streams smiled lovingly
Vivid colors captivated me
I retreated to your mountains
Lawyers
Farrells
Galloway’s
Perches and Roaches
Locked in by the vertiginous cliffs
As I melted in your beauty
Delighted in picturesque Plymouth an awesome city
I peaked in at Sturge Park
No urge to stay
Took a ride to Jumbie Dance it is a long way
There I was in a trance
That powerful rhythmic chant
Lost in the rhythm of the dance
My hair stood on end
As they left for Trant’s yard around the bend
Discovered the historical burial ground
A vast archive
Unfold the past live
I mounted Hells Gate
Dizzyingly complex
Leaving those tortured souls behind vexed
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Poem by Brenda L McCartney from LeAp a collection of poems
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Photographed by Cheddarcheez - Flickr
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.
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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.
Photographed by Freddy GBSN
I posted this because I wanted to feature the work of a Montserratian poet. He is an older poet and it reflects his point of view growing up and growing old.
Poem by Peter Lake
Click here for a larger font version of the Poem
Right here on the porch
It’s all pictorial
The Style that created rhythms
That chimed with thoughts
Rise far above anything else
Broken out of the primitive world
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
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Poem by Brenda L. McCartney
Photographed by Enrique McCartney
Near Balconies:
Sitting here
Hours
A
Time
Writing of
Springtime flowers
Knowing nothing
But
Enclosures
(Dusky memories)
Remember times when
Smiles had more meaning
curtains
Had creases
Since then
Drapes are dusky
Knew a time when I
Envisioned a slightly different
Perspective at this point
Thought leaves would fly
Up to trees
Smoke would shoot up to stars
Chimneys would suffocate with
Sweet gingerbread
This couch would be
Swinging with shades of blue
Not beige. Plaid not
Plain
Knee deep in candy cane
Carpets
Plush
Dreaming of sunshine
Skipping children on the sand
Shores engulfed seagulls
Now
Springtime is present and brief
Through
Glass doors near balconies I see
Feel apathy
Following me
If only
Buds
Yellow/black bees
Brown soil daisies
Could make me
Again
Dream
Soar to sky
Skip to sea
With thoughts
Of
Peppermint oceans
Springtime wintergreen
Knitted
Purple
Rainbows wrapped around
Angels
Singing
On
Palm
Trees …
Tranquil
-
Poem By Enrique McCartney
Written March 23rd, 1996
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