"Travel light" Santa said to me as I grappled for all my most
treasured belongings. I stuffed them all in a duffle bag, then with the silliest
of grin on my face I said, " Ready"
The ride up was exhilarating to say the least, and the landing well
lets just say I don't recall getting there...
It felt like I was placed in a big glass bauble filled with tinsel,
joyful elves and little miniscule hourglasses containing reflective
light particles that flew out into the atmosphere through
smokescreen windows, tinted with pink magic glass.
I was tired from the trip so Santa led me to this little room made of logwood,
then he handing me a peppermint hot chocolate and said, " good good dreams, my girl "
What did I dream you ask ? Well, its much too long to retell today,
you will just have to wait until tomorrow, when its Christmas day !
Categories:
logwood, appreciation, christmas,
Form: Free verse
soot is impure carbon
incomplete combustion
of bones in sambalpoor
sandal or logwood
soil for the thirsting earth
serpiginous wounds of torture
earth worms crawl smiling
black sorrows covered in
white blankets of peace
dogs are embracing
in the naked shadows
of our inherent guilt
Categories:
logwood, allegory,
Form: I do not know?
The hills their belly bleeding brim the flood
Of the Black River with red bauxite mud
And from the crowded bickering bridge I
Faced a silt churning denundated sea
And familiar rouged face of evening sky
That in boyhood dear as father to me
Kept father's memory and how he sprang
Poetry from this very bridge, shackled me
To sense of feelings while the waters bang
In turmoil, where river meets salt of sea.
Black River, bay lonely as evening sky
Desolate of ships and rich logwood dye
Slave and sugar separated by time
And still in hope a place bare and sublime
Categories:
logwood, places, river,
Form: Sonnet
I remember the morning when the flags flew
High over us, how we tumult in sweet chorus
"The people's flag is deepest red," and grew
Warm around you, like emancipation August
When we track Sam Sharp down the wet mountain
To pay with blood for what we could not keep.
I grew up a cargoed car in your tight train
I made bonds with my land, strong and deep
And loved him who for the Gleaner his satire
Wrote, and him who peeled our pulse polling
Views, sown deep, about time's history scarred
I remember the reggae king's sweet prophesying.
We confirmed with you our need to stand, we
Nor had done so well since Nanny led lines
Of my blood sires through bush for history
I remember some sat where the moon shines
Still on green guinea grass, and tongues
Warm as logwood fire lighting dark tales
From the past, and our imagination's lungs
Expanding 'til dreams were bulging sails
Categories:
logwood, history, nostalgiasweet, sweet,
Form: Rhyme
Does Dudley still shimmy down a coconut trunk
And Lawford still drives the cart their drunk
Does Melveta still hide under the orange boughs
For Melbourne's coming and his fumbling vows
Does Clifford still bake the aromatic bread hot
And Addy stir thick peas soup or pepperpot
Does Jabez still the cut logwood forest all day
To make the limekiln that brings crowd from far away
And where is Verletta whom my childhood loved
And where is Verletta whom my childhood loved
That Salmon from the Mountainside pond is gone
But I am sure the sun rise there still bright at dawn.
Categories:
logwood, adventure, childhood, girlfriend-boyfriendchildhood, childhood,
Form: Verse
She said was surprised because she did not see
A ram making love to a honey bee
But I feel the jump and sting in me
Pleasure and pain two deliciousness, one memory.
The way it was when first we met by logwood tree
Jeremiah was a bullfrog not a ram
You were the honey and I the lamb
The golden blossoms rippled with a cluster of glee.
That was courtship, the honey on the sticky fly
And I was swatted with sweet desire
Before evenings walk could expire
The fingers laced along the shore, the cudly lie
Displaying restraint against private surge of loins
The longing the hibiscus throat to pry
Apart, lip from lip, and hear your cry
From the violin of hip. That was my wish spinning coins.
But we do keep the bee for the bee, for honey drink
And I had no sap enough to provide
Nor van for all the lugage without divide
You know the ram gets sacrifice in a shudderless wink
Don't flinch now, it is custom dear, courtship is a wear
Of tender needs wrapped in tender lies
I am too exhausted with fraternities
That make customs seem glorious that milk my tear.
Categories:
logwood, artlonging,
Form: Quatrain
Something about culture
Something deeper than root
Thicker than blood
More brutal than ancestry
Wriggling from the mud
Something inviolate
Absolutely unemancipating
Something the nomenclatured "badwud"
The aroma from the kitchen
Fresh herbs and logwood smoke
The crispy crunch of a delectable feast
Fried fish and bammy
Pepper pot soup, or the glammy
Aftermath of cowskin, cowfoot
Walking on the pleasure zone
Green pastures of the brain
Something about a sista in dancehall attire
A dreadlock on a stage shouting "fire"
Something about Jamaica
Umbilical cord of love
Rising from a Cockpit cave
Soaring like a kestrel
Over the Blue Mountain of love
Something about culture
Ties us there
And here I was in Germany
Prowling the world fair
Badwud sweeter than ganja light up the air
A rush of bodies
A crush of wings
Expleted and respectable rushing there
"Yardie in trouble" some declare
But I seeing a train hovering in midair
Understood the expletive
And only stood and stared
Jamaica like delicious mangoes
Bunching there.
Categories:
logwood, places
Form: Free verse