I came out of my mother’s womb fighting—fighting to rid the spider webs from across my face. They say that when you are born with webs over your face you possess special powers. My great grandmother, Yaa said that my mother slept for nearly a month because she was so tired from birthing me. She said—this child must have the spirit of ten men. My papa says I am a child with Akan fighting blood in me. (Excerpt from my latest work, "Blue Mountain Queen." For Release 2012)

"If the Negro is inferior why circumvent him; why suppress his talent and initiative; why rob him of his independent gift; why fool him out of his rights of his country; why imprison his intelligence; why keep him down with the law of equality?" ---The Honorable Marcus Mosiah Garvey

No More Smalling Up Of Me 
Jean Wilson  
     
No more meekly saying 'yes'
When my heart is screaming 'no'
No more taming of my feelings
So my power won't show
No more hiding my exuberance
From disapproving eyes
No more watering down myself
So my spirit won't rise

No more 'smalling up' of me
Pretending I am not here
No more running from the music
And the spotlight's glare
No more living in this prison
Barricaded by my fears
No more turning and retreating
In the face of new frontiers

Even as I am speaking
I am taking shape and form
Harnessing my powers
Like a gathering storm
There's no obstacle so bold
As to dare stand in my way
I am taking back my life
And I am doing it today.

Jean Wilson is one of my favorite Jamaican writers. "No More Smalling Up of Me" is the title poem of her poetry book.  

Mother Tongue on Fire
By Andrene Bonner

The language of her pain
is dark and dreary like
a deep unfathomed sea; but
the language of her soul
asserts that His redeeming
love makes her want to sing
until the fullness of her time
is realized in this earth flesh.

Talking These Trade Winds
By Andrene Bonner

What of the wind tonight
Weeping these Blue Mountains
Tree branches conspire
Birds need find new rest.

What of the wind tonight
The haunting dessert whistles
Like songbirds in distress
Dogs howl and children hide.

What of the wind tonight
Three days uprooted crops
Blew away helpless fronds
Raise frocks high as acacia tree.

What of the wind tonight
Make forest fires cruel burn
Like hot desires atop lovers leap
Now desolate of passion’s flames.

What of the wind tonight
Fierce like man strong enough
To contemplate prison doors open
For poor man’s freedom come.

What of the wind tonight
Ancestral duppies like feral horses
Demand a proper burial
Raucous like thunder rolling.

What of the wind tonight
Echoing drums of Asante warriors
Beating down the oppressors
From Accompong to Nanny Town.

What of the wind tonight
Resonates the lip service of
Propaganda politricking as if
To better educate the masses.

What of the wind tonight
These talking trade winds that
Speak of time on this here island
Seem as if it’s going to rain.

Partings II: Mimosa Pudica
by Andrene Bonner

Since you left my love
I close like shame-mi-lady
Autumn secrets hide.

Elegy Mikey Smith - Me Cyaan Believe it
by William Edwin Virtue

Me cyaan believe it - me one lyrical atypical Caribbean son,
Garvey birthday a fi you doomsday, what a loss, you step already!
Voice cut off over politricks, over nothing, cause nothing ever change,
But you was a go change things perhaps, you was a change the world to rock steady.
Young but large a foreign, London, Cuba, Paris, Milan, only twenty nine me cyaan believe it you step already.

Me cyaan believe another innocent senseless illustrious victim a Garrison politicks
Wha mek you trouble culture whe stush on the campaign trail,
Your thing a nuh politricks but youth poverty hard as rock,
You, who was never a dollar-a day dread but a genuine Rasta
Dead from a hit pon you head me cyaan believe it you step already.

But you nuh really dead, we all member you, the words alive,
The spirit of you passionate renderings alive, you dub poetry will never die,
The truth you write alive, you political insights alive
With Mutabaruka and Kwesi young Rasta lions all together,
‘Lawd God Almighty in heaven whe you be - but me cyaan believe it you step already.

Haiku for Mikey Smith
By Andrene Bonner

Dis dub nah go done
Till di stone is brought to trial
Dat kill di dub poet.

This memoried moment is for you my dear friend and
fellow thespian; erudite man, filled with love, and compassion.
Your laughter filled any space you occupied; the quintessential
"spiritlifter." Today, your vibrations move me; this sun dance is for you.

A Herding Over the Cockpit
By Andrene Bonner

Must tend the goats o’er pastoral  
To limericks that humor,
Drowning miserable screams;

Screams senses that echo such  
Racing thoughts of oppressive
Nation peoples big and small.

Small as the wicked worms
That devastate the scallions
Waste the lemons and the mint;

Mint so soothing on nights
When calls of lowland jungle frogs  
Own the very arrival of the muse.

Muse besieged from being heard
Dictates this sentimental mise en page
Tis reckless to pen this stifled susurrus.

Must tend the goats o’er pastoral  
With limericks and blank verses
Verses of this heroic derring-do;
DoDo Darling; I still love you.