Jamaican Poetry: My Black Story


By: Denise N. Fyffe.
Copyright © 2017, Denise N. Fyffe

I stand in my skin

And I ponder within
Of my history
Of my story.
The foundation of me
Which I forget so easily
Of my history
Of my story.

Those who struggled

Those who fought for my freedom
For our freedom.

Now it is all about the money and bling,
And the Lexus and Bims.

I have forgotten my history
I have forgotten my story.
The foundation of me,
I have forgotten so easily,
I have forgotten my story.

The strength of my thighs

The confidence in my eyes,
This is a story,
Of my history.
The length and strength of my hair,
Wool, beaded, corn-rowed;
Do I care?
About this story,
About my history.

The strength of my shoulders,
The strong muscles in my back,
This is a story,
Of my history.
The pride in my eyes,
When my baby son cries,
And he grows to know me,
He grows to show me.

The access to education,

To be the future of my nation
This is a story,
Of my history.
To stand strong,
To be a doctor, teacher or parliamentarian;
This is a story of struggle,
In my history.

I stand in my skin
And I ponder within
Of my history
Of my story.
The foundation of me
Which I forget so easily
Of my history
Of my black story.

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Jamaican Poetry : Succubus (Poetic Heathen’s revenge)

Succubus - image courtesy of .milesteves-com
Succubus - image courtesy of .milesteves-com

Succubus - image courtesy of .milesteves-com

Succubus – image courtesy of .milesteves-com

Succubus

Of my spiritual fruits

I am made weary by you,

Drain the life force from me

Make me falter, make me bleed;

Schizoid thoughts plague my mind

Over and over every night;

Man is flesh, mortality is temporary

I keep going back to the view of a

Nameless tomb stone in a cemetery;

Succubus…

At the last drop, I will unleash

The beast

And like that hell creature in lord of the rings

I am gonna dare to cross that

Frigging bridge;

And no likkle stick is going to save you, think again

Revenge will be the only coolant for me in the end;

Schizoid thoughts plague my mind

and like a poetic heathen

I shall have no regard for your life

too much, too many things

have tried and broke me in

its time to taste the bitter stuff

its time to seek revenge.

Succubus, Succuphant, suck and take and sieve

I only have one life,

but remember, it is mine alone to give.

Copyright © 2010, Denise N. Fyffe

Jamaican Poetry: Books by Poetess Denise N. Fyffe


Check out and Purchase Books by Poetess Denise N. Fyffe

Sensuous One

Sensuous One

By Denise N. Fyffe

eBook (ePub): $5.99
Paperback: $12.99
    
Sensual poetic expressions about romance, love and infatuation

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JPPC front cover

Jamaican Pebbles: Poetry Pocketbook

By Denise N. Fyffe

Paperback: $28.50
    
Poetic expressions and gems of wisdom about life, love and social issues.

PURCHASE HERE

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Jamaican Honey and Sauce By Denise ‘Defy’ Fyffe

Paperback: £6.44
Ships in 3–5 business days
    
Jamaican Honey and Sauce is love poetry for every woman’s enjoyment and every man’s delight. From petty crushes to the moans of the broken hearted. From private fantasies to the…More >

PURCHASE HERE

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Jamaican Honey and Sauce By Denise ‘Defy’ Fyffe

Download immediately.
    
Jamaican Honey and Sauce is love poetry for every woman’s enjoyment and every man’s delight. From petty crushes to the moans of the broken hearted. From private fantasies to the rumblings of true… More >
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Jamaican Honey and Sauce By Denise ‘Defy’ Fyffe

eBook (PDF): £1.42
DOWNLOAD IMMEDIATELY.
    
Jamaican Honey and Sauce is love poetry for every woman’s enjoyment and every man’s delight. From petty crushes to the moans of the broken hearted. From private fantasies to the…More >

PURCHASE HERE

Jamaican Poetry: Jamaica Elections, The End of an Era


It has come, the end of another era,
We can only look in the mirror;
To reflect and find.
To cherish these moments
In history, in time.

It has come, the beginning of another’s destiny,
To stand on the highest stage in our land;
It has come, for another to make their imprint,
To declare where our country will stand
In history, in time.

It has come for another to lay the plans of his mind.
Copyright © 2016, Denise N. Fyffe

Jamaican Poetry: Ghetto Burial


By: Davene Rowe.
Copyright © 2010, Davene Rowe.

Buttons and T-Shirt memorabilia of a man who lived and died by the gun
Ironically with the words ‘GONE TOO SOON” engraved
A glass chariot transports the dead in style reminiscent of a fairy tale life
The blings and the mode of dress are no different from the standard expected
and worn at last week’s weddi weddi with a slight deviation in the colours

Once there is a bus, car or bike, then transporation is more than available
With just a little Vybz Kartel and Mavado to set the mood
There is hardly any need for money , at the ‘deadyard’ food is a must.
All that is needed is a few bottles of whites and you certainly can’t forget the little bag of greens

There are two services; one inside the church officiated by the pastor while the other is usually outside surrounding a Chillum Pipe.
The sistren in the shortest dress is strategically placed in the front seat with her neon colour hairstyle & outfit,
mourning her loss and at the same time defending why she is the wife and the mate two rows behind ‘just nah happen’.

But like every other funeral , a loved one is bemoaned and in some way, shape or form
life for the family will undoubtedly change even though life in the ghetto will always remain the same.

No Lickle Twang


By: Louise Bennett Coverley

Me glad fi see yuh come back, bwoy,
But lawd, yuh let me dung
Me shame a yuh so till all a
Me proudness drop a grung.

Yuh mean yuh go dah Merica
An spen six whole mont deh,
An come back not a piece better
Dan how yuh did go weh?

Bwoy, yuh no shame? Is so yuh come?
After yuh tan so lang!
Not even lickle language, bwoy?
Not even lickle twang?

An yuh sister what work ongle
One week wid Merican
She talk so nice now dat we have
De jooce fi understan?

Bwoy, yuh couldn improve yuhself!
An yuh get so much pay?
Yuh spen six mont a foreign, an
Come back ugly same way?

Not even a drapes trousiz, or
A pass de riddim coat?
Bwoy, not even a gole teet or
A gole chain roun yuh troat?

Suppose me laas me pass go introjooce
Yuh to a stranger
As me lamented son what lately
Come from Merica!

Dem hooda laugh after me, bwoy!
Me couldn tell dem so!
Dem hooda seh me lie, yuh wasa
Spen time back a Mocho!

No back-answer me, bwoy – yuh talk
Too bad! Shet up yuh mout!
Ah doan know how yuh an yuh puppa
Gwine to meck it out.

Ef yuh waan please him, meck him tink
Yuh bring back someting new.
Yuh always call him ‘Pa’ – dis evenin
When him comes seh ‘Poo’.

Kas Kas by Louise Bennett


By: Louise Bennett

Yuh se me trial now mah?
Dat marga gal winjy
Want put me eena kas-kas
An big lian story

She sen come call me toder day
An wen ah goh me chile
De whole fambly gader roun me
Like I was kerosene ile

Dem sey smaddy tell miss Terry
An she tell her darter
Dat Lou dah walk bout an dah
definate her character

An de smaddy wey tell Miss Terry
Sey smaddy wey know Winjy
Sey Winjy tell dat smaddy an
Dat smaddy mus be me

Wen dem start fe chat yuh se mah
Ah glad i wasn’ ile
For ah hooda mus ketch fire
De way me tempa bwile

Ah plasta me mout pon dem yaw
Ah hooden tek it soh
Dem nevah know sey dat I know
De rightful way it goh.

I hear say Jane sey Imo sey
Dat Amy sey dat Sue
Tel smaddy dat Miss Matty sey
She hear sey Sam beat Lou

Me ongle whisper it to Fan
An she goh fas tell Ju_
Him tell Doan and she pinch tell Vie
An Vie goh tell back Sue

Den Sue ax Matty, and you know
De size o fe har mout
She call fe Winjy name an den
De ole tory bruck out

But Lou sey Sam doan beat har
Him ongle fling a stone
An it meck mistake and soh lick har
An bruck har collar-bone

An weel right t’rough de gate and all
Dem call I hooden look
I doan bizniz wid dem Kas kas
For my life is open book