Best West Indian Poems
On the bank of the James River,
Virginia Colony,
a proposal was conceived to constrain the African fire.
The ploy, a real achievement in the West-Indian settlements.
In Rome, bodies were paraded along the byways,
to make a statement.
My Massa used ropes.
We dangled by our necks like roosters in a slaughter house.
When the pining for liberty was stirred up in the marrows of our bones,
we set ablaze a few bungalows,
and murder some dumb beasts.
The statement we made was called an uprising.
The fields were abandoned, the livestock ran wild,
and the slothful young mistress had to breast-feed her own child.
The scheme had the ingredients of breaking a mule,
and Virginia Colony was the first lab for creating fools.
A prophet’s blessing was given to the merchants,
and black diamonds were shipped;
they were purged of the soil of the mother land.
A new being was fashioned, dependent on Massa.
A man was set against his consort and his seeds,
and the whips wrote rules on our backs in their faces;
our pride drained from the gorges in our hides,
and respect slowly seeped from their eyes.
The bond was broken;
a ***** was concocted
without the spirit of Ghana, the Warrior King,
and the Ashanti, the pre-colonial backbone.
Should we not push as a woman in nativity for the renaissance?
Once upon a time we all used to live together. By we I mean blacks and whites. The people from Ireland 'Irish" lived with black Caribbeans. They were shipped from Ireland as slaves to west indian masters. they settled in a place called Montserrat. None of the were freed from slavery. They never had a law passed to free Irish slaves. However, after they finished their work of their masters they eventually were set free.
Blacks lived with some Irish whites and British whites. They had to travel to Africa to gather people who knew nothing about slaves or slavery. They couldn't capture west indian people because that's where they came from. They used the money collected from their masters to buy their new slaves. African slaves were indeed freed by president Abraham Lincoln. Who wrote and signed the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863.
Even after slavery blacks and whites continued to live and work together. Some even had children by their masters. Things were this way for years. All they had was each other. All they knew was each other. The only two races forced to live together. Can't get along today in today's society. These facts maybe be a harsh reality, but oh so true.
They only two races of people that were not slaves were the Spanish and Italians. They were never owned, sold, or brought by a black or white man. They fought for their belief and freedom. Also demanded respect so they would not have to bow down to any master. They never got captured and beat. They did the beatings and never got beat. They also lived in black neighborhoods. Which sometimes caused riots. rivalries, and many fights. Due to they fact that both races are very similar in alot of ways.
Overall, blacks and whites both endured slavery to some extreme. Our ancestors would, protest, march, died, and sacrificed for our freedom today. So I don't understand why there is so much hate in the world today. If you don't know your past;you won't be able to handle your future. You will be without understanding. History does repeat itself. Thank You!
As she walks with a graceful rhythm, when the wind brushes her hair back from her neck
down to her soul. Where the fire ignites her flaming beauty.From the deep in the
Himalaya's to the Caribbean sea. Her scents draws the scenes of pleasure from a weary sole
to a man of stature.She is West Indian from many cultures in the islands across the
seas.When she laughs it's infectious to everyone. From the early morning rise,to the
setting sun. Once you get to know her you would always learn. No matter where you come
from you will return.
I just wanna say
Don't have to be this way
Don't care what people say
Don't have to be this way
We can all have a better day
Where the children learn to play
Listen to the words of wisdom
And perfect the hell-bent system
That pits brothers against brothers
And sisters against sisters too
The Arab and the Jew
The Caucasians, the Polynesians
And the Chinese too
Remember the African,
The West Indian and Brazilian too
Its me and you
Why is the world bent
On the future and not the present
While we focus on the unseen
Lets focus on the pastures, make them green
Lets focus on the air, just keep it clean
Its a problem when we are not in tandem
You pulling here, me pulling there
Embroiled in conflict
Polluting the atmosphere
And today I write a story
Wishing for kind deeds and glory
To unite the globe with peace and love
Sparing the lamb, freeing the dove
Start a new dawn , free from scorn
Welcoming humanity ,
To a bright and sunny morn
These are the hopes I have
And within me I am glad
That my notes may inspire
Breathing hope with a burning desire
To set our hearts free, You and me
To awaken the blind, let them see
That's all it takes, to relieve the misery
Of a human heartache, pangs of pain
From which there are only losses
Nothing to gain.
So lets rekindle the flame
Let love take over again
And start a sweet refrain
Let Humanity reign.
As the waves roll in and lash upon the rocks
Is like in the slightest cool breeze I could hear
And with out fear , a distant voice saying to
to be hold something greater than me.
Yes in this place I will plant my seed because
This soil is blessed with three unseen spirits and will grow after toil of sweat, blood
and tears and my generations will come to know me.
A man of distinction, yes I am a West Indian !
The Ruba’iyat of Créteil Lake – Part Ten
Of late dying yellowing orange rays glint through the turret
Where neither muezzin nor mullah bids the sun to set
Lyceen lassies in threes swear by a ghostly figure
A gaunt gray-bearded lean man with hollows for the eye-socket
Amble past their school his eyes fixed past the lake’s horizon
Not one amidst the believers chanting on Fridays the orison
Decked in white djellabas, black gilets and leather sandals
Vollschlang women in wobbling overalls shuffling by their men
Some say there he stood the Bard lone long at the swimming pool
Others, nay, he passed oblivious the Boating Club’s rowing school
His glazed eyes as in a mystic Sufi opium swirl
The mad red poison coursing his veins for a long-pined girl
He wafted through trodden paths of dark red cranberry bushes
Passing as though through the unsuspecting strollers in bunches
Sometimes he’d tarry to gaze at the waters along her supine spine
And just as duty-bound waft towards where dipped her eye-lashes
Alas! Not for Khayyam the chant of the murmuring masses
Nor the bouncy cadences of West Indian steel band noises
Nor the drunk-driven drumming of the marathon stompings
Only the eerie wailing the Maiden of the Main voices!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
It was a lovely morning and we - that is Marge and me
decided the kids deserved a treat, so off we went.
We live in Barking, so we didn't have far to go.
We did the City and wandered down to Pudding Lane,
where once the king's bakery stood -
before it went up in flames, taking most of London with it.
The king loved his loaves hot.
We saw Wren's masterpiece and whispered in the gallery,
came out and wondered where to go next. Marge said:
"Bill, ask that bobby, he looks the friendly type."
So I went up to him and said:
"Good morning, Constable,
any suggestions for an excursion without frills?"
"I see the good lady's with you,
so it can't be Soho and cheap thrills.
Take 'em down to Hyde Park, Speakers' Corner,
round that way. You can take the Central Line."
That got us to Marble Arch in no time.
"Could do with a cuppa char" - that was Marge, not me
."Why don't we have a look at the speakers,
then go to that corner house for some nice cream buns?"
Marge agreed, so we walked over to the railings.
One guy was a Communist intent on revolution,
another a vegetarian, who said Adam and eve ate figs
until the fall, after which they ate pork pies and beef rolls.
Then there was this West Indian who ..
but then this other geezer caught my eye.
He was standing there on his soap box under a banner:
"The End is at Hand. Prepare to meet thy Doom."
His suit was black, hardly surprising, his shirt white,
but his face wore a dirty smirk.
All else fitted but the grin.
Was he savouring the memory of some naughtiness or sin?
Strange happiness amid prophecies dire of gloom.
"Uranium comes from Heaven,
and Plutonium from Hell.
And the two is gettin' married.
Jingle, jangle does the bell.
If you're good, you'll go to Heaven.
If not, you know the place.
Either way, be gettin' ready.
Thin's is moving at a pace."
So I said to Marge:
"Marge, get the kids.
Let's have a cuppa while we can.."
"Silly," said Marge, "it's hours before closing time."
"Not according to what he says, it ain't," I said.
An Evening In Guanima
Bahamian Anthology
West Indian Poetry
Climbing Clouds
Longman Atlas
Welcome To The Bahamas
Island Boy
The Pearl
Moby Dick
Old Man and The Sea
Out Island Doctor
Devotions For The Beach
Bahamas In Black and White
Island of The Blue Dolphins
Chicken Soup For The Beach Lovers
and Ocean Lovers Soul
I love the adventures
of an underwater library
Standing slim and trim
in the blistering solar atmosphere
with her crown of pale olive leaves
salsa dancing in the ocean breeze
The soul of her young
offspring of coconuts
with their delicate shells
like the skull of a human corpse
embracing their succulent
liquids of tropical vitamins
the rich taste of our West Indian roots
flowing like water from a river
drowning itself into the ocean
"There's a river meandering through the mind,"
older than the Englishmen who raised a bridge
over its Constitution, a nude Indian sped away
from a warring Englishman behind
absconding by canoe to an adjacent isle
but smallpox caught the indie afore ammunition
"There's a river meandering through the mind,"
that witnessed the grapes of wrath in '37
and suffered its wine, the black potential rebelled
against the clear minority who had signed
emancipation letters without intent
ergo, cars with bodies went flying upon the riparian spine
"There's a river meandering through the mind,"
leaning on treasonous city hearts, wrinkling under the trebled
degrees of island sun, chuffing at progressiveness
and how the colour schemes lightly redesigned
black power free, it seems, walks unfettered to its banks
carrying tackle, tiki-torches, tourists, a picnic, and gun
When the west Indian met her ideal east Indian man,
She went through a string of more than several Indian lovers.
Decided he's the one she refuses to string along.