We have no international airports but it is worth the trip
So put on your adventurer’s hat and figure out a way.
Dominica is the only place in the world you will see
A green sisserou or a red-necked parrot day to day.
You want hot springs? Try our marvelous Boiling Lake.
We have lush mountainous rain forests at the “Isle of Beauty.”
Our variety of flora and fauna cannot be duplicated anywhere else.
Making your trip worthwhile is our pleasure, our sacred duty.
Dominica is part of an island chain in the Caribbean, tis true.
We were settled by the Arawak from South America long ago.
Called the “Nature Island of the Caribbean" is our pleasure, boo.
Come see our sperm whales and spinner dolphins. None are slow.
Like other secluded islands, we are host to rare plants and animals.
A river for every day of the year, a total of three hundred and sixty-five.
Geothermal volcanic activity still forms us, so you can witness that too.
When you visit the Dominica, you will feel you are truly alive!
I saw my dreams in the mortar pounded
And swift dripping from the brow of time
I saw me white like cassava flour
Ready to become anything on a hot grid
Neither bitter nor sweet
This lost of identity
This making me into mere bread as sublime.
So much is uprooted now
The fat root that sucked the life from stone
The leaves green and bronze like an Arawak
The child shivering in the dawn
Frightened, orphaned, and alone.
My island slept for years in the care
Of Tainos, Caribs and Arawak
Their canoes on the sea breast bare
Dreaming of milk from manioc
The swamps unscarred, trees secure
Batos and songs rinsed in the azure.
Then came doom laden caravels came
Prancing with Conquistadores
Their swords to slaughter, then to shame
The Ave Marias slutted by whores
Whose blazing balls of canons denied
The sufficient death of the crucified.
My island was the Mary Magdalene held
For ransome in the frying lust
For gold, the continental wars spelled
A trembling virginity in the dust
A lost of idyllic grace, where bloody men
Sowed the evil inherited again and again.
From Spanish to French, Spanish to British
How callous is all history
A spectre publishing the marginal brutish
Shrivelled glory of identity.
And still my Mary, her alabastor box a gift
This tropic wonder, this lignum vitae of thrift
From empty tomb to broken hearted disciple
Evanglizes the Mahoe dawn
Over the Blue Mountain where peace ripple
On the motto, still the fawn
In the forest brings the stag to court
This island stands ready to file a good report.
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