The question has been faced before,
but never can I recall my answer,
so every time it looms anew,
I pause to deeply ponder:
is coffee food?
25 May 2011
Jet Blue 868
KIN – JFK
Category Archives: Poem
Customs form conundrum
Filed under Poem
Outline
Like a tooth peeking through gums,
stone walls work their way
through the hard-backed earth,
revealing an outline,
posing a mystery:
what secrets lie buried in this ground?
22 May 2011
University of the West Indies
Kingston, Jamaica
Filed under Poem
The big blue truck
Sweat plasters his bright red shirt to his back,
sweat rolls out from under his doo-rag, stinging his eyes.
Heat rises from the macadam
to greet the sun’s hot rays.
Along the roadside he trudges,
keeping pace with the big blue truck.
The sickly smell of decomposition
rises from a pile of plastic bags –
refuse, scraps, detritus of consumption –
that blocks his path.
He stops, stoops,
futilely tries to shoo some flies,
then slowly, deliberately
one
by
one
picks up each bag
and throws it into the truck bed.
While the final bag is in his hand,
gears engage,
the truck slips slowly away.
As that last bag hangs suspended in the air,
he shifts his shoulders,
kicks the dirt,
and starts toward the next pile,
following the big, blue truck.
25 May 2011
Norman Manley International Airport
Kingston, Jamaica
Filed under Poem
Red Stripe under a Jamaican moon
Heat radiates from patio stones
even in the darkness.
Sweat beads roll slowly down the amber bottle.
O’er the mountain,
its green shades seen as black,
the yellow orb climbs quickly
to add its reflected light to the night
as it hangs like a Communion wafer in the sky.
A breeze stirs the leaves.
I drink
and remember.
23 May 2011
University of the West Indies
Mona Campus, Jamaica
Nightmares
Life ended
and the nightmare began
when they came,
the so-called soldiers;
came and took her,
took and armed her,
armed and used her,
used and raped her.
Life began,
new possibility,
when she learned
a child she carried;
stirring in her womb,
crying at his birth,
nursing at her breast,
laughing at her side.
Life ended
in another nightmare.
Again came
the so-called soldiers;
though loved by her so dearly,
tormented by the children,
rejected by the village,
her young son went with them.
23 May 2011
University of the West Indies
Kingston, Jamaica
Filed under Poem
Ultra Deck
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Under the great white tent,
beneath our trampling feet
through the holes and around the seams
of the Ultra Deck,
slender green shoots spring;
seeking sun,
affirming life.
22 May 2011
University of the WestIndies
Kingston, Jamaica
Filed under Poem
Arpilleras
Flour sacks and
scraps of cloth
brightly colored,
pieced together,
stitched together,
transformed by skilled hands:
art of resistance
witness to sorrow,
remembering pain.
Flour sacks and
scraps of cloth
brightly colored,
pieced together,
stitched together,
transformed by skilled hands:
art of resistance
love’s affirmation,
proclaiming hope.
23 May 2011
University of the West Indies
Kingston, Jamaica
Filed under Poem
Sometimes we laugh
Sometimes we laugh
because we are happy,
our laughter rings with joy.
Sometimes we laugh
because we are nervous,
our laughter cuts the edge.
Sometimes we laugh
because we are frightened,
our laughter masks our fears.
Sometimes we laugh
because we are grieving
our laughter hides our tears.
Sometimes we laugh.
Filed under Poem
May 5, 1 Train
As the train hurtled downtown,
passing 110th,
rushing toward 103rd,
images danced in the windows.
For a moment,
only a moment,
brown eyes reflected toward mine
For a moment,
only a moment,
brown eyes captured mine.
For a moment,
only a moment,
brown eyes flashed a smile to mine.
For a moment,
a moment lingering still,
my eyes smiled in return.
Grief
Does it ever really heal?
Or do we merely
muddle through
carry on
make due;
while it lies beneath the surface,
sometimes shallow,
sometimes deep,
always present,
ever there,
patiently waiting the next loss,
the unexpected reminder,
the anticipated anniversary
that rips our heart and tears our soul
and reconnects with endured pains, reopens past wounds,
so that incomprehensibly, inevitably
each loss
becomes every loss
haunting us
until we can again
muddle through
carry on
make due
and await
the repeating cycle.
Filed under Poem
Along the Graybeard Trail 