I speak now, not with breath,
But through the bones of history,
Through palms that never bore fruit
Because your embargo starved the soil.
You feared not our weapons—
We had none to match your bombs.
You feared our ideas,
Because they burned too brightly in the dark.
Sixty-two winters and summers,
My people have walked in chains—
Not of iron,
But of isolation, hunger, and propaganda.
Is it a crime to dream in red?
Is dignity a sin,
When worn by brown hands
On a small island that refused to kneel?
You said it was freedom—
Yet you crushed us under boots
Stamped democracy,
Laced with hypocrisy.
Your friends—your “allies”—watched.
Some nodded.
Some traded,
And many sold their silence for your gold.
Fidel is gone,
But the embargo remains—
Like a ghost that haunts both jailer and prisoner,
A curse passed down by cold-hearted kings.
America, when the axis shifts,
And the sun of the global south rises—
What will your monuments say then?
What flag will you wave when truth takes the throne?
History is a patient god.
It watches.
It remembers.
And when it judges—
It does not ask permission.
Will they will blame the President's mental disability on Havana Syndrome?
Last year
they told us
nothing
to see here,
no unknown
enemies
there
or elsewhere
with secret weapons
tuned up
and targeted
to screw-up minds.
Now
they say
it's Russia,
Russia, Russia
with secret telepathic
energy weapons
tuned up
and targeted
to seek out
minds
of high level
diplomats
and whomever
stands in the way
of a nefarious agenda.
Did they lie
last year
or are they
lying now,
and why
hasn't Russia
if it has
such a weapon
tuned up
and targeted
Vladimir
Zelenski?
Meanwhile
China is
suspiciously
quiet!
It's not a secret
sonic weapon
deployed
by a hostile
geopolitical power,
it's not a mass
psychogenic
illness.
Its something much
more mundane,
says the electrical
and computer
engineering professor:
"It's only crickets;
the mating call
of the short-tailed
West Indies cricket,
to be specific,
(of course it is),
with a chirp
that’s extremely
annoying
to the point
it can cause harm
to humans."
So, if the cricket
sounds cause
headaches,
ringing ears,
fatigue,
and brain damage,
just calm down
and don't be
hysterical
about it.
There once was a dancer from Havana
who while dancing came on a banana.
But without it’s skin it
sent her into a spin
and ended the career of Evana.
is a mass hysteria
induced by the sound
of Indies short-tailed crickets mating,
not, as conspiracy would have it,
the result of a sonic weapon,
a microwave attack,
or malfunctioning eavesdropping equipment.
Likewise, the Sausalito Hum
was not a snooping Russian sub,
or newly laid electric cable.
No, blame the love sick plainfin midshipman,
a simple toadfish sounding off like a foghorn.
Pay no attention to the banshee cry of the lynx,
or to the brush-tail possum sounding off like machinery grinding,
not to puffins like chainsaws,
not to cheetahs chirping,
not to koalas bellowing,
not to ptarmigans chatting like cartoon characters.
Stories of spying and international espionage might be exciting,
but Mother Nature is much more surprising!
Inspired by "Animals Keep Creating Mysteries by Sounding Weird", Ed Yong, The Atlantic, January 8, 2019.
I see it in cubes cast
And chiefly featuring in breakfast;
In Bread and cake harboured
And in plantains and cereals honoured…
Also in my tea that would gullets pass through,
Its presence in oats holding true.
I see it in packs neatly filled
In layers arranged and sealed,
Each one of them as white as white can be!
Every one of them nearly the honey of a bee.
I’m told The Best Quality is in Havana,
Although readily grows in every Savannah.
A starchy stuff and energy booster,
Raiser of the Weak and sure Mover!
Yet, not a fabulous treat for The Diabetic
None ever, after taking it, ecstatic…
Must, in fact, forget consuming even a single:
Their no no-go area and Bermuda Triangle.
There was a lady from Montana
Who fell in love with a banana,
Which had such an appeal
She felt urged to reveal
They planned to elope to Havana.
She rented a seaside cabana
Nested between beach and savanna.
At a party she threw
Came a Chiquita new
And the new two flew to Montana.
Havana's a great place to come,
The jazz gives you something to hum,
Drive an old vintage car,
Or smoke a cigar,
But don't get too drunk on the rum!
View more here > https://cubaholidays.co.uk/blogs/posts/119169/around-the-world-in-limericks
Havana girls, cherry hearts
Bad girls from Mars
Miss july, mad money
Say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Glitter is a girl’s best friend
Only a pair of diamond earrings can make me happy
Gold and fur completes my soul
Cleopatra and diamond lust
Corals in my eyes and love is in my hair
I’m a girl with pearl earrings, a girl with golden eyes
I see a stripper with a pink wig and cat eyes
Oh, hello little daisy
Havana girls, cherry hearts
Bad girls from Mars
Miss july, mad money
Say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Coconut taste on my lips
Red roses in my garden
Teen-age gangsters
And I’m feeling like I’m home again
Palm springs, fairy wings
Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood
Misery loves whiskey turns on my soul
Don’t judge me and say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Havana girls, cherry hearts
Bad girls from Mars
Miss july, mad money
Say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Havana girls, cherry hearts
Bad girls from Mars
Miss july, mad money
Say hey-yeah, hey-yeah
Touched down at José Martí Airport
The air is so full, so very loud
Standing out, a thumb that is sore
Bleached face in a black crowd
The poverty is so very overwhelming
Though poorer I am aware there is
A taxi that has two decades on me
Revolution through a people missed
In my days of sunshine and rain
Feeling homely so very quick
Not the place I thought it would be
Though something I know will stick
So five days later I am back again
Feeling the native not a tourist be
Plans already to visit again
As long as Havana takes me again
I am in a Havana state of mind
Lounging over a cocktail with a huge cigar
I am simple man of my people
Only on a separate pay grade
He followed a dream to Havana, Cuba –
amid communism and embargo.
A beautiful country this Cuba is,
and the women are soft on the eyes.
There are whores, yes,
there are whores aplenty,
but not like the ones in Gomorrah.
I’ve been there before,
and witnessed drag-Queens offering hand jobs.
A sad place this Gomorrah is,
and miserable people are those wanna-be’s.
He owns the streets, those streets the Spaniards trod,
where women break their necks when he goes by.
Eyes, like a lion’s, measured the prospects –
zooming in on the most vulnerable.
His feet paint his story deep in concrete Havana.
The rum washed out shame and caution from his steps,
but moderation keeps thoughts in check.
Those rapt minds in Gomorrah
forced tongues to lie regarding the plights of Havana.
This is his city, his Havana;
a place where life is regulated
and the unlikely steer clear of happening