Best Sugarcane Poems
Rain is brewing;
black clouds hang over the Cockpit Country.
Them rainclouds have a habit of shifting colors like a lizard.
The smell of the pending shower is strong on September’s breath;
the sun take a well-deserved break.
Mango season is long gone,
and bellies are tied up in knots.
Naseberries; they accompanied the mangoes.
Them guys from abroad,
who bought the government land across from the football field,
slaughtered them faithful guava trees.
They build condos,
but poor people can’t eat condos.
How inconsiderate them big-shot government boys are.
We (me, Footloose, and Squealie) device a plan,
when our bellies start telling us something must be done,
but we have to wait ‘til darkness falls,
‘cause bushes have eyes in sunlight.
While everyone sleeps in the bosom of the night,
we put on our birthday suits,
and scale the barbed wire fence at the back of the house.
We are now one with the blinding shadows.
We race carelessly across the open pasture;
burrs biting at our tender flesh,
and mosquitoes humming maddening music in our ears.
We tip toe on the dry leaves,
using our hands as shields
to fend off the razor-sharp edges of the cane leaves.
We drop down on all four, bellies on the ground;
we navigate the rows like them American marines – naked and all.
We ate our full,
and Squealie wet the bed that night.
Them sugarcane have a way of making us hyper.
Footloose fell from a Poinciana tree and fractured his hand,
but we stayed energized that fall.
Over the tarred road lies a land we seldom search
of whispering winds through sugarcane hills.
Spills of sunlight chilled on butterfly wings,
carrying me graciously through the open space
as my heart’s bass beats to the insect's sound...
the freedom of the hills is unbound,
wild...
like the sunflower’s yellow to the sky,
trickled water marks over the dry stream bed,
out here...
even the dead is still alive.
Sugarcane butterflies of mad colours bristle
through the breeze that whistles around my limbs,
as whims of flying invade my soul...
persuade my heart to melt out into the day
and rediscover what it is to play.
Without dwell...
Earth’s love swells and grows my mind,
finds that sparkle that finds my smile
as I am left fertile in the land that surrounds.
Noises of the tarred road are drowned by the depth,
by the breath of the tree leaves that rustle,
the birds that bustle about the deep, green valley,
vitality...
Out here, is rich like pure honey without dime.
Just life...
Just time...
Existing as it should,
could this be magic misunderstood?
Watered and nurtured in
a congregation of a large brotherhood
the master is loving and caring
never allowing harm befall us all
or competition from green exploiters trouble us.
Weeds are cleared and burnt
Pests- fought back and eradicated,
all these enjoyment and their corresponding blessings
so unthinkable and unexplainable but real.
Then comes another master
with lips that can hallucinate the mind to goodness
and countenance so charming to both good and evil.
Our backs are scraped off to look a new
then packaged in groups to look so refined.
Excitement between brothers overwhelms all emotions
then off we leave the master’s shed
going to an unknown with the hope of better blessings.
In bits, we are sold out
angry I am that others were chosen ahead of me
then my time comes as warm hands collect me
washed and broken into pieces- my new self.
I looked bountiful in appearance
and so gracious in sight.
Why didn’t my first master do these things?
Why was he so rigid and uneventful?
Why did he care so much to limit my independence?
And all he wants is to put us under his oversight.
Different buyers come for different parts of me
the same mouths clothed in smiles
are the same sucking all sweetness out of me
each bite, a merciless chew
complemented by a drag of my light
into their darkness to render me worthless.
Now that I am reduced to nothing,
I am thrown out to the ground straight from the mouth
while hands stay irritated and too proud
to touch or carry me to my ruin.
From one to ten and them hundreds of feet,
they all step on me without noticing.
Oh such care from the plantation!
Now I wish I had remained there
I long to return to the brotherhood
and pray for the loving arms of my first master.
All others are beings of deception and lies
they come only to steal, to kill and to destroy
but He gives life eternal to those who seek it.
I am the sugarcane chaff and right now redemption is far gone
but I leave this note to let you know
that your ability to read it is a chance to accepting Him.
Sugar Cane Blues
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
Sugar, Sugar it’s everywhere
From Proserpine to Cairns
The green fields of cane
Are in your face all the time
On the road I’m driving
The cane swaying on both sides
Radio blaring a Muslim invasion
Who cares when there is sugar everywhere
I’m feeling high with sugar on my mind
But deep down I feel no shame
I’m riding high there is no pain
That sweet smell I take it in again and again
A change of scenery is what I need
A different choice to smell and see
Maybe then I can forget I have
The sugar cane blues
Sugar, Sugar oh so sweet
Please give me some relief
Let it end this feeling
So full of sweetness
Need to come down off this high
Into the mountains I think I’ll go
Change the scenery breathe some fresh air
To take away my sugar cane blues
Monkey business
“I say how about
breakfast at The New Farmer’s”
Our day of picking and consuming done
no hunger induced nightmares, we rest dusk to dawn
check on the young ones. Are we all here?
tomorrow we return for another early breakfast
at The New Farmers'
it's sugar cane on the menu
well done, defoliated by fire
sweet smell of wild honey
a hive of flavours of molasses
wash down milky white green corn
we're going on tortoise-paced on fast food
centipedes, scorpions rocking our pillows
going green for the season, shedding the load off
Triangle's aged sugar mills
we have suffered enough, chums
in the hands of the farmer, old and new alike
globalising of our territories, present day terrorism
landmines all over
Were they seeding sweet potatoes?
Long rooted explosives have been going off
in the crossfire of war ghosts
sounds of corn popped in shovels
by rustic labourers for lunch
tearing our species limb from limb
we dare not bore deep into the woods for sustenance
Reap where they have sown!
Yeah!
They will see red, develop high BP
when we up our tails, march with a swag
Ho-me! Ho-me! Ho-me! Ho-me!
cobs, canes in snouts and armpits
Their sentinel will go round anthills like the looney canine
of the long-playing "His Master's Voice," ever so poised
for a jump, off the vinyl scratches, stuck in the groove
giving Chacma a bad name;
“Command field, roger
reporting marauding baboons
destroyed plots alpha to romeo
zeroing into zulu, roger
send delta oscar gulf sierra
over and out."
The lusciousness drips into my mouth,and
how I wish I could engulf it forever
It looks like the dirty rags of a beggar from outside, but
it has the sweetest heart, you could ever imagine!!
I can't believe it has taken me so many years to realize its true identity.
If only I had been brave enough to try it before
I would have imbibed much more!
Would you have ever thought of it to be so sweet and sticky when
it is so rigid and callous from the outside
It teaches a lesson we should never forget
and moreover never leave behind!
The lusciousness drips into my mouth, and
how I wish I could engulf it forever
It looks like the dirty rags of a beggar from outside, but
It has the sweetest heart, you could ever imagine!!
after bend off road
gentle green is appearing
soothing cane vast field