Do people still blanket their walls with pictures

Of family members, framed and hanging like draperies

When I walk in my living room,  

I see a lonely couch, a 55-inch television

And memories of people who once lived there:

Sometimes I smile, sometimes I pondered,  

Sometimes I just want to say,

Where are my children,  

Why am I alone, then I smiled and speak?

It's good to be alone, with my poems, my thoughts

And my broken table, the one which she broke

After sitting on top of it. While chatting on the phone



I wondered if the years would change like Tik Tok video clips

Like a new outfit, with a clap of the hands


To grow old is to lose everything?

Yes, or no? But the worse part ..

Is when you work your whole life

And nothing to show, that **** per say

Just old memories, and piled of bills

What have the years thought us,

Never take nothing for granted:

Never put all your eggs in one basket

Never, allowed the bank to control, your

Pennies and dimes, never lend money to your friends

Keep your personal business, bottled:

journal entry Poetry..
I am not ready to face this man
Who broke my heart into squares?
I am not ready to look him full in his lying eyes
And asked him why did he made my eyes overflow
I am not ready as yet to asked him if he remembers
  the birth of his child, the signal from the moon,
the last Friday night of fish and chips
Wailing and speaking in tongues,
being strip down to my waist as
you held my hand and encourage me to be strong!!!!!
That trauma was only for a very short period,
My broken hearts will never heal,
because of whom I invited into my soul
However, to reshape my heart again will take courage, but to
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting… Quote
Just before he said “How are you Are you okay?
To slam the door in the viper face once again is a step to healing.

If We Speak of the Hurricane



We think of past storms, the aftermath

The deep wailing of the crowd

The interview of the bystanders

And here comes that sad looks

of the homeowner faces

And there it stood that uprooted fallen tree,

Inches away from their house

And that when we know,  

It was the rightful thing to do

Listening to the voice of God:



In the wind of the solemn sound

I remember the falling Palins,

The rusty galvanizes that blanket the streets

Where the birds of prey nested:

And once again, we listen to the voice of God

In the wind of the solemn sound

If we speak of the past storms,  

and chat about hurricanes disasters

I remember how the winds pressed on the

Apartment window, forcing it way in.

But I listen to the voice of God

As I heard an uprooted tree, clash down

On the rows of park car, before the alarms sound

Scattering debris, block the drains

Water filled the lonely streets,

And once again, we cry out to God

The volcanoes, now hurricane Elsa  

Why We??

When I stepped off any JetBlue flights

I always look forward in passing through customs

like a relief of fresh air, as I broad a taxi

and homeward to the hills,

Now it's like humiliations taking over one's pride:



#Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall. #



The smell of the countryside fresh air,  

The picturesque that blanket the countryside, (pleasing)

The welcoming of the breaded goats bleeping (Pleasing)

moves the little girl inside of this old gal.



These days it’s which hotel should I booked for my days stayed

in Quarantine, or which government facility will I be sent off too

Between a rock and a hard place,



I can’t stress hard enough about those Chinese.

Which make our Lebanese bombers looks like saints?

My fainted heart can’t stand this new normal:



The bleach rocks on the sands awaits my arrivals,

And I for one can’t wait to see this corvid19 as a historical memory

Too much emotional, overload for most of us.(including me) however,

being too hasty can also be deadly, or one would say  

Don't be hasty to hug! That was never a problem for me

I never hug, anyone...

Keep your distance, I keep mines too

Poetry is also a distance,  that why I love to compose..



Long enough have I dreamed of happiness,

Now I waited for news to strived for happiness once again

To dance from dusk to dawn, at Q in the community  

To walked freely on the sandy shore,

Without restriction, of a mask bandit,



I am not a swimmer, but to feel the salted water on my ashy feet,

The midst of sea upon my breast, and my cheap weaved curled into locks

That when I know, I am home again, upon that hill (Prout hill)

Where the neighbors' gossips, and tambourine echoes in the village church

On Sundays.

If we must die this year let it not be of neglected


Puffing and gagging for air,

While the virus ripped through our bodies

Because someone didn't adhere by the rules


If we must die, let it be of natural causes,

So that our names wouldn’t be another

count on the wall of the unfortunate  

Oh skullduggery, take the vaccine:



If I had loved them sooner, I would have missed them

They never love me truly, so I don’t remember they kisses

The touch I would have treasure, they smile I would have remembered,

It cost too much to remember,  

and too little to trigger the love in my heart



To think of them free, because of death

You think that my coldness, was my only way of loving them

But my warm hands were a reminder, that I am alive,

You never saw my face, when you were dying,

I know that they wish them did,

Downhill after dark we took our nightly showers  

Under the standpipe, dodging the cars light,

It was fun in those days, the life of the poor black child

The countryside, but the sweetest thing to remember,

Roast breadfruit, roast flying fish, roast corns,

It was fun in those days, for the life of the poor, young villagers

in today world it called Backyard Barbecuing with friends,  

when we did it was called poor people way of cooking, and celebrating.

So often now and then,  

it's good to go back in time

And relived, those awkward and happy moments

Only thing I detest was loading the sugarcane

On my head and going up the ladder,

The white man reap all the sweet

The black man bake under the sun.



Last month I sat in the most expensive Restaurant

And eat, lobster, drank expensive bottle of wine

I wouldn’t reveal the cost of the meal,

But, I always knew, that one day, this would

Have happen, from roast fish, on the hill of Prout Hill

To Washington DC exquisite night restaurant. MI*VIDA

And yes I made all of this happened:

A nod to Emily Dickinson


I measure every Grief I meet

I know they all felt like mine

Some smaller some larger,

Yesterday, I got a text from a friend

Her exact words.

“my daughter got shot to the head

Last nite die@ a visual

At first, I didn’t know what to make

From those few words .. I later  

Reach out to her, but she kept

Refusing my text or call

Which is understandable,  

in a times like these

Is pain ever going to get old?  

Is man ever going to stop the violence?

Would all of these weapons going to be around forever?

Why does it hurt so much to alive these days?

Are we going to run out of words to comfort each other?

First thing I read this morning, on the net

“Headlines.... a young mother abandon her newborn in a New Jersey Restaurant

It might seem heartless to some, somehow, without doubt

that young mother was afraid for the life of her newborn

What future does that child have,

What future does she have?

I measure every Grief I meet

Death is something we can’t smile about

*“The meaning of life is just to be alive. It is so plain and so obvious and so simple. And yet, everybody rushes around in a great panic as if it were necessary to achieve something beyond themselves.” *
― Alan Wilson Watts

I took this line from  Emily poem

  to end my version of this piece



And though I may not guess the kind –  
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary –  Emily Dickinson