Poems

In Jamaica, We Don’t Say Two

In Jamaica, we don’t say ‘two’

The number after one, or twice

Limited to the ‘few’

Where little boys are lynched

For swaying too much

Or maintaining eye contact

In an overly-friendly way

If you’re not straight

You must be G.. (shhh…)

Don’t even say that

Say gone the other way

Constantly correcting themselves

In case they become suspect

Of being a ‘sea-creature’

Seeking refuge in other Countries

Before they end up beaten

Or starring in a

Death column feature

Early has become ‘Shirley’

Mandeville has become ‘Galdeville’

So count one-three

And read the manual

So you’ll know what

To do

Because in Jamaica…

We don’t play number two.

– Lisa Gaye Taylor

# # #

Starvation

Shattered and broken I stretched out my hands

In the deep darkness feeling for a way out

Leaving a trail of sorrow, deep ache and pain.

I watched others feast while I dug through the dirt

Begging for a taste of what was denied, it hurts.

They ate the bread and I swallowed the dust.

Hunger brought me from greatest to least

With a rib outline and a hollow inside

Broken by the storms of life.

No one to stretch a dime to save a life

No one to feed my emptiness.

I refused to give up and let stress defeat me.

I made an acronym for STRESS to motivate me.

Sometimes try to remember every sweet season

Even when life gives you no reason, keep the faith.

I entered the gates of CTC as a church mouse.

Many deliberation done before my face.

They decided that I deserve food on my plate

So registration finally took place, thanks to all.

My hunger for wisdom and knowledge was satisfied

Although I started late education stitched me together,

Intellectual growth and self-actualization in play,

A motivating teacher with purpose they create,

Batch 62 with food enough to eat and share.

Never give up is my word to all of you out there.

– Patree Gouldbourne-Haynes