Better to remain silent and be thought a fool
Than to speak out and remove all doubt.”

― Abraham Lincoln
……………………..
Conversation with older folks always
Makes us think about
How complex we are
When asked 80 to 90 percent of older people
How are they doing?
Most replies are the same
“Child I am just waiting.
Waiting!
For what
To meet my maker”
From the time we were born
Plans were made for us
About our life
What are you going to be?
When we grow up
And soon has one become an adult
Our thoughts about dying
Frighten us
You are born then you die
Life might be simple for some
However, it a race to
get over unfairness of life

I met my third grade teacher last year
The first thing she said to me
“Did you follow your dreams?
A moment in an instant world
I felt like she were in control
^
She is much older now
However, nothing has change
We born, then we die
No matter how hard we try
The ropes never seem to loosen

One must take charge of his or her own life
Someone once wrote that
Life, like marbles block is given to all,
However, everybody doesn’t know how to layered such blocks
Even if they read the manuals on life and survival skills
With careful observation, it seem that the local
women spirit cracks so easily on the small Island of Bim
as the men moves on to other women’s
Leaving many on suicidal watch

I visited my old friends, on the island as time permits
And nothing seem to change, they older folks
Weakness still shows:
they lives seem to be on a standstill,

The little island girl in me Grieves within for them
Over the years, I have grown into a stronger woman
I demand respect from my friends,
especially the men

Its more women and not enough men to fulfill
Their ****** appetites, so life on the island become a *** war,
Infidelity is higher than ever,
where the flying fish is plentiful
whereas, some of the women seem so pitiful.

Older men with younger women
The middle-aged women either have to join a church
Or unfortunately,
lined the walls of the dance hall,
or pubs
While looking for love in all the wrong places,

The nights slowly moves into the wean hours of the morning
while the Barskeepers promotes the beer three for ten dollars
Snip snaps sounds is heard throughout their establishments
It seems more like humiliation than enjoyment
In the meantime broken hearts merges all over the place

The only patronage that seem to be having a time of
their lives was the tourists from abroad, who show
signs of unsteady gaits; but were having a wonderful time
On the Island of Bim

The barbecues grills filterers golden spark,
the music
Entices the air
the salted breeze, balm our lips even
Merging with the taste of the Bank beers,
and it was all well
on the island for that short period.
However, with all my finding and frustration, nothing
Can beat cold, cold coconut water
or a refreshing Bank Beer

Give and Take
I do not speak of love:
because I struggle with its true meaning
I do not say good morning to strangers
What’s so good about it

I do not celebrate birth:
a child is born:
suddenly someone die
I do not exchange gift on holidays,
Or birthdays
because that cycle will continue
Like the never-ending story:

Life is a struggle within itself by having
To pretend to like strangers,
exchanging  gifts
It’s a profane of utter of words under one breath
the hellos, or good mornings

I do not speak of ****:
because the taboo is that only weak men get ****
Why?
Because there has been so little research into the **** of men

I do not speak kindly to any relationship with a married man
The Bible does not talk about dating
Only marriages, unhappiness,
And foreign lands

However, only spend time on those who love you
Unconditionally

When I go back to the Island
and my old friends said that they miss me
I miss me too,
the old me,
The one who had the futuristic ideas
the girl with
the ***** locks braids which is
so happy and natural like the
land
the same girl with the ashy feet,
the one who work the land with her bare hands

I was like a woman land army,
wild and carefree
the same girl who  use her teeth to peel
out the hard skin and bite into the inner part of
the sugarcane and chew it.

who planted Roses, Morning Glories
with a smile
The one who loaded sharp blades sugarcanes
on to the high trucks
in the relentless hot sun
or frigid rain
with aches and pain
and drank water from the pitchers
until the sun go down;

Somehow, that girl survive those hard days
Even when she dance until dawn to the
sweet sound of the reggae beat
and the oldies Goldie's tunes

The one who woke up early to catch the 5:20 am bus
to travel miles to work in
Wildleys for minimum wages.

So when I go back to the islands
And my old friends say they miss me
Old friends brings all of the memories
back into the present state of mind
for a woman who is growing old

May the birds of happiness
Always sing your songs
True friends stay together


Have you ever bumped
into a friend expectedly ,
You stop, you greet
You exchange small talk,

However, as they walk away
for a moment you wish
You wore a veil
just to avoid that road block
Without the willow sigh of... oh ****!

Suddenly the memories
Of your friend resurface;
You slowly looked back and wave goodbye
With a pleasant smile upon your face
Was that Betty or Mesha B?
Memories are supposed to last forever
True friends stay together

However, it's so hard to remember the names
of old friends from your past
  Without losing that gap of time and place
A loss or change, healing or new beginning
When everything changes; it changes everything

However, as the conversation end
With “Oh isn’t it a lovely day”
It was so good to see you my nameless friend
despite the memory loss

Every Moves Must Have A Purpose


Standing on the edge of the cliff looking down

at the muddy water

My body froze, my mind  
wandered about life altering

The floating leaves cluster against an old tree branch
the stronger ones, hurried along: an image of mockery
An ill feeling came over me:
What the purpose of living?
I saw the younger generation shoving us
Asking us to make room!
Make room
I saw injustice about to happen:
I felt the squeeze

lost for a moment
Numb and ill emotions

Should've I jump
or should I move away from the cliff

"Hiss “whisper the wind."

What you are about to do is a sin.

Who do you think you are Tim Tin?

I felt a sudden tug on my arm

a little voice whispered,
“Satan you’re a liar.

Turn down that heat on the fire,

Unhand me!  
I wouldn’t be dupe by you

I stumble for a moment,
Gasping for breath
as I held my chest

Was I brain-dead or just simply

Mad as hell?
suicidal thoughts

Every move has its purpose
And life is to move on

Thank God I didn’t take that plunge
Every Moves Must Have A Purpose

To be the one in the crowd, who whispered words
no one would ever hear
To be the raven, who has never had the guts to
return to Noah Ark;

To be the dry, red rot shoes
who have never been worn because
07 was a size too small for those cow hoofs

To be the Cardinals from around the world
Who has to selected the next 17th Pope
As the world watch:

To be the end of a journey for the new born:
whose mother lay helplessly on the stretcher
because of her lifestyles:

It would be a blessed day not to be awaken
by the sound of the roaster who croaks
no blogging, blogging, or no ranting:
What would be sole purpose?
Not to do the things I love?

To be one who have to take a slice of bread:
And make breakfast for five hungry children

To be the one who said:
Today is the day I am going to look for a job
After spending nineteen years
with the same employer
Just to be ******* by the same company
Who claims the company is going to be bankrupt
No money for his employees
~
I have just begun to see life as it is.
I need no sympathy:
I must be tripping
wake up and live