Oracabessa Bay

The sound of the conch shell echoes in the

distance calling the banana man to the wharf.

The orchestra of the waves beats

out a tom tom melody that beckons me to the shore.

I sit on a soft mattress of sea grape leaves

 landing in a lake of dream,

my gaze rests on the distant horizon,

the place where the sky meets the sea,

this West Indies, this land where winter never comes

but springs forth life from the dark depths of  the sea

and the pungent green vegetation of the land.

Against the briny onslaught of the wind

I inhale the last notes of my childhood.

I will weather this storm

I will learn from the stories as old as the great seas.

I will tread the waves leading to the questions

 and seek answers in the currents of  the surf

I will march in the festivals of life

I will savor life sip by sip

Shout it Out Loud

Shout it out loud

in long pulsating rhythms

unceasing melodies that tell

the story of a people who won’t quit

rising up from subjugation to

claim independence

shout it out loud

the beats of this life force

this indigenous language

of meditative lyrics

and writhing dance hall tunes

this word of mouth revolution

cross fertilized on putrid  soil

stained in the red stripe of

sugar cane and banana

shout it out loud

in native tongues

this cross fertilization of languages

that soothes and satisfies my soul

this Sanskrit of reggae

that dance inside of me

a wicked revolution.

Shout it out loud.