Categories
POEMS Storyteller

Images not specific

Where the rats smile at you like children before an ice cream feast
Where cock roaches hiss like the harmony of a church choir right before repentance
A soul on the devil’s plated, seasoned with hate and greed, a feast for the damned
A priest with your heart in his hand, promising purgatory
Fire ants crawling right under your skin like a wave of volcanic lava
Sitting in a foxhole watching the scavengers feast on what is left of humanity
Laying in the dark with shadows for company, spirits lost between death and living
Dreaming where you live or living in a dream you wish you can forget.

Categories
POEMS Storyteller

On Stage

I can hear the drums, I can hear the drums
Like the church bells on the day of a funeral
Like angels singing in the jungle
Compassion already spat on your soul
Deceit knelt next to you in church and prayed.
Death smiled so worm you wanted to kiss it.
Life stands behind barking like a rabid hyena
A mouthful of half truths already swallowed the truth
And is choking on it.
Laughter is laughing at itself
And we sit back and applaud the afterlife
In its 52st season on Broadway

Categories
Storyteller

From “My Father’s Shadow”

Sunday morning Andre got up, got ready and went to church with his mother. They arrived at the church and as soon they walked through the doors his mother turned to him,

Categories
Storyteller

From “My Father’s Shadow”

Andre woke up to voices in the living room. He got up and opened the door. His mother was talking to a man,
“Fada, I don know wah I go do wid him, is like de child possessed or sumting,” she said in between sobs.
“I thought bringing him here woulda change he, but he is still bad, fada, I don know what to do I tek him to church, I give him good licks, I sent him to stay wid he aunt, but notten works. Sumtimes he acting jus like he fada you know”
“Sister Monica, God works in mysterious ways, I am sure your son will be fine,” the man said, Andre creped down the hall and peeped into the living room. A priest sat on the couch, his silver hair combed like a bridge over his bald spot. His mother paced in front of him a mere shadow in the light from the window.
“Bring him to confession on Sunday, there is nothing pray can’t fix.” He said. Andre turned and walked back to his room and flopped onto his bed. He heard the front door close and he got up and went to the window and opened the curtain. The priest walked across Rochester Avenue and got into a small car and drove off. Andre went back to the bed and sat down.
“Ohhh Ohhh, you in real trouble now.” The shadow said, “Is you fraid?”  Andre sat up,
“I not fraid of notten,” He shot back,
“Ohhh, liccle man ha some balls all of a sudden eh? The shadow said snickering.
“Don laugh at me you know, cause I go…”
“You go do what eh?” the shadow said. “Is me who teaching you to be a man and don forget it,” The shadow said. Andre’s mother opened the door.
“Who is you talking to bouy, who in dey wid you?” His mother asked walking into his room, her long straight black hair swayed as she moved.
“Nobody,” he replied,
“Bouy, why you always talking to youself eh?’
“I don know,”
“I is real disappointed in you you know, why you always misbehaving for eh?” she asked. Andre hung his head,
“I don know,”
“Every ting is I don know I don know. Bouy you is getting to be a big man you know, time you start acting like one,” She said reaching out to rub his head. Andre smiled,
“I know mamie, I promise I go try me best,”
“Sunday we go go to church and you going to confession, the fada say he go talk to you,” she said,
“O K mamie,” Andre said,
“Now come help me make super, I getting real hungry,” Andre got up and followed his mother to the kitchen.
Categories
Pics with verse Storyteller

Its Time for Sunday Mass

Mommy Charles done wake me up, time to get ready. I jumped into the shower real quick, that water cold for so. A few minutes later, I standing in front of the mirror checking meself out. Me shoe spit shine, glittering like star in midnight sky. The crease in me pants so sharpe it would cut a fifty pound watermelon right in half. Me shirt starched so much you could not see one crinkle in it, hell it was so white it will blind the priest for sure.. me afro teased and primped better than all of the Jackson Five brothers. I looked down to make sure that the bell bottom pants hung just right over me shoes.  I looked at meself in the mirror, damn, I was a real sweetman. But something was missing, something was just not right. Ohhh yes, that’s what missing. I snuck into Mommy Charles’s room, sort out she most expensive perfume and splashed some all over me neck, at eight years old, all you want to do is smell good. I walked back to the mirror, looked at meself and smiled. Ohhh yes, I look good and I smelt good, now how can God refuse to forgive all me sins this morning?

Categories
Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Walking on the Light

One day a busload of some church group came through the gas station. One of the young women, no more than sixteen years old, walked up to the counter. She seemed nervous, looking around as if to make sure that God was not standing behind her. She opened her mouth and for a second no words came out.

How much is this?” she whispered, pushing a packet of condoms towards me.

I looked at her, then looked at the older church members standing by the Deli. So guess what your friendly village trouble maker did? I held up the condoms and yelled, “Price check on condoms!” All the old church people turned around and looked over at us. That girl looked like she wanted to crawl into the baptism pool and hide from the grace of God. One of the older ladies started to walk over. The young lady made a bee-line to the door, the old lady in hot pursuit, her bible waving over her head, “Oh Jesus! Lord, child, what get into you? Jesus help her ‘cause I will beat the devil out of her.”

Her church hat tilted to one side as she stumbled out behind the young lady and everyone in the gas station was laughing. I guess I had just saved a young lady from the jaws of sexual deviance.

I was never around too many church girls back home. Catholic girls, yes, but no Protestants. I used to see them walking by. They never wore pants, or makeup, and they would never talk to us Catholic heathens. That is until they were away from the grownups; then they talked a mile a second. I did go to an outdoor crusade one night. I was kicked out because they said I was disturbing their preaching. Oh don’t think I am a little devil boy. What happened is they asked for people to come up and testify and one of the young men made me a little mad. He said he did not think of sinning anymore. Well just before the meeting started, he had brought some benches out and some older ladies sat on it. This young man went into a tirade of words that would make the Virgin Mary blush. Now here he is talking about being pure and sinless. So I stood up and contested his testimony. The congregation got upset, called me the devil and some even started speaking in tongues. For a second I thought I was in a Voodoo meeting. They said they were going to call the police so I hightailed it out of there. That is what I got for smoking a joint before going to that camp meeting. I could never keep my mouth shut when I was blazed up.  

Categories
Pics with verse Storyteller

Neighbouroooooooooo

Christmas almost here, yeah man. I already do up me sorrell and ginger beer. I already redid me house, it look good for so. De black cake already bake. Now is just time to go shopping for more ingredients for Christmas day lunch. I tell you, I go cook up some rice and peas, calaloo, stew chicken, oh yeah and I go bake a whole chicken too. De patte done, de coconut chips done and de old man say he want some Rori, that man love up he Roti. I ready for midnight mass you know, yes, first ting, midnight mass on Christmas eve, because Jesus is the reason you know. Anyway, I hope all yuh ready you know, because before yuh know it, it go be Christmas day. Well time for me to go, I busy for so. All ah all you have a happy Christmas. Parang parang, parang parang, aprang parang, dats what he sabg.

Categories
Stories Storyteller

Good marning Neighbouroooo

Good marning Neighbouroooo

Good marning Mis Mabel, you see me ltccle boi, tell me nah wey he dey? oH gard, don tell me he dey in de Chennete trre again nah. Dat boi always indey yuh know. Boi come down dat tree, is sunday marning, time to get ready for chuch. Wah yuh say, yuh back talking me, bunjayyyy, boi do mek me come up dey and get yuh. Yuh better carry yuh liccle tail dung here and take a bade, get yuhself clean for chuch. Gaud do want no dirty child in chuch you know. Yuh hear what I say boi? Yuh tink I wouldn’t climb dat tree and get you dung, hurry up, de mass go start soon. I going back inside and if you duh ready I go bust yuh tail. Miss mabel, have agood Sunday girl. God bless, Hurry up boi.

Categories
Pics with verse Storyteller

Top of the Marning Me Neighbours

Top of the Marning Me Neighbours

Wake up, its time to draw back the curtains and let the sun shine in.

Categories
Stories Storyteller

Sunday Morning Mass

Sunday Morning Mass

Through de small city, you can hear de church bells ringing, Dong, dong, dong. Its Sunday morning, time to put on me Sunday best, yes mon, see me wid me shiny shoes, de crease in me pants pressed wid an edge so sharp it would cut de priest if he hug me too hard. Me shirt so white it could make you go blind when it reflected off the sun. This was no ordinary shirt, nooo, it was long sleeves with ruffles at the end of the sleeves, and ruffles down the front of it making it hard to button up. Yes mon, I look like Sir Walter Raleigh with an afro. So here I was, walking de streets of St Georges, holding Mommy Charles hand, de morning sun beating down on me.
We got to de church, little old ladies wid white robes on, covered all over except for dey wrinkled faces, Nuns always made me uneasy. Other families dressed to de T, laughter, smiling, talking. We entered de church, dipped we hands in holy water, did de sign of de cross, never understood why. De church was packed, even De Prime Minister was in attendance. We made we way down to the frount of the church, Mommy Charles always like to be front and center on Mass day. De Nunman walked out, well dat is what I called de priest and dem, followed by some Acolytes (Alter Boys). We used to call dem Acolblites. He got to de pulpit, mumbled something in a language I could not understand, when he was done, everybody said Amen, even though I knew dey did not understand a thing he said. De Nunman mumbled for a few minutes more, making we, stand up, sit down, stand up, sit down. Den for what seemed like hours, he talked and talked and talked. Sometimes he broke out into a sing song voice that sounded more like a scary movie. He stopped for a while as people walked up to de alter, kneeled before him, opened dey mouth and he placed a white piece of something on dey tongue. When all was feed, he went back to his sing song voice. It echoed through de church sometimes interrupted by a cough, or a baby crying. Den suddenly it was over, well suddenly because I had fallen asleep. We got up and everybody filed out of the church to de sounds of the church bells, dong, dong, dong. De sun hit me and I woke up completely. I jumped down de church stairs. You have never seen such a happy eight year old. I was free, no more Nunmen, no more frightening old ladies with robes on. Now I can go play some cricket, or go to the beach. After all its Sunday, funday. I danced and skipped all the way home. A child emancipated.