MY POEMS

POETRY... FLOETRY~~.. WORDS IN SHORTER SENTENCES THAT SOMETIMES RHYME

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Every now and then a poem taps me on the shoulder and asks me... some BEG me to write them. And I mean EVERY BLUE MOON!! Yes! That infrequently! 

I believe that poems are like errant children who will not come home until they are WELL and truly ready, no matter how we may try to summon them.

I have patiently waited for the few poems I know I have in me and thank God, a few of them arrived before the proverbial cows came home!

For the ones that did, I am sharing them with you here... as they arrive and announce themselves and the thing about poems I find is that they always seem brilliant when you write them but years afterwards you run into them and wondered what the hell were you thinking! LOL So just in case these end up as bad poetry I wrote at one point, I apologise in advance for subjecting you to them. But for now, since I am still blinded by the freshness of their birth. Enjoy! :)
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 24/1/2013
4:20am

Another Place and Time

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There was a time when I loved flowers

and had time to gather them

often from the wild

on unhurried Sunday drives

plucking wild orchids from the bark of trees

And took them home to tame them. 

 

I remember stopping my car in what seemed like

DEEP in the middle of nowhere

to separate ferns from the roots of canopied trees

deep in the hills of Nine-Miles
near where Bob Marley is STILL buried, 
despite Mama Rita's protests

Hmmm... I distinctly remember heading up to Irish Town hills
having left Papine and Gordon Town

in the exhaust fumes of the car I was driving

or being driven in,
Scattering Ground Doves from their leisurely strolls and pecking feasts

in the middle of winding roads

that offered dizzying views of city Kingston and the Mona Dam.

Winding past the soldier camp and Blue Mountain Inn,
To a place called Starlight Chalet and Health Spa 

where an invisible waterfall
Created music

and the Blue Mountains formed a wall of green
Puckered with the occasional tree

and abundant ravines

And I had a green house built JUST for me
By a man who loved me then
And his gifts to me were PLANTS AND FLOWERS 

THAT I could propagate, 

grow whole gardens from

Rather than rose or other buds that would fade after only a few days

He would also gift me rat-bat dung that had sparkles in them
and would only stink to high heaven when wet

but made my 'Teddy-Bear' ferns the greenest I had ever seen

When I wasn't on the quest for flowers

I would be hunting antiques
Things that ‘lived’ and served others

in a time when they were 'modern' then
I indulged, was indulged

and would gaze at views

while driving through the Sligoville Hills

that few bothered to stop to see

 

I made friends in James Mountain
And met some people who gave me a roots tonic that I swear
Helped to create my daughter

as she was conceived in the very month 
I began to drink the bloody thing..

Not that I regret it! LOL
We had been waiting on her for years!! :)
And she arrived; beautiful and perfect

and heralded a different era in our lives
that led us both in different directions

while looking through the same lens ... somewhat.

There was a time when I loved flowers 
And had time to gather them
I feel that time approaching again! :)

But this time, instead of a daughter,
We will have a son..
And I will name him for you!
Instead of a patriarchal grandfather who adored me
And knew I was carrying his female grand child

long before I or the doctors knew the gender.

He is dead now,
The cancer in his lungs proving a match for him

who wore perfectly ironed clothes and English caps

just to sit on the verandah and gaze at his beloved cows

in the pasture in front of the house that led to the old tumbled down bus stop

at the entrance to the old Alexandria Hospital
Though no bus ever stopped there

as taxis took passengers from Charlton

where the Brown's Town buses terminated.

There was a time when

I remembered to dream
Instead of chasing my dreams
and I gathered wild ferns and orchids

and sewed some of my daughter's baby bedding

on an antique hand sewing machine

given to me by her patriarchal grand mother

And I, heavy with my daughter still in my womb,

suddenly felt the urge to draw

and write a song 

I knew she would one day sing.

ALANA

Now she plays the bass guitar and violin

and hears background music
in the foreground of her consciousness
And laughs at my ability to drown it out

and mainstream other things
And when she is bored or content,

she draws the most beautiful things
On whim.

She lives in a world of science and discoveries

and YouTube videoed songs 
and anime and loves anything Japanese
She has taught herself the language

and is convinced that she would rather make pastry for a living

than do any of the more traditional career ideas I often schemed 

I know one day I will gather flowers again
But instead of in a greenhouse,
I think I will place them on my window sill

Where they will be safe from Old Man Winter’s chill
After all, it is hard to nurture a perennial garden
in a place where biting frost will kill 
and the sun visits infrequently. 

- EXCERPT FROM ROAD MAPS TO MYSELF... Notes to Belonging.

-Andrea Downer aka Jolie Jamz aka FireStorm

 

Randy aka Rocka aka Rocka Buski aka Jah B ... Alana's dad

Someone once said:


Unless it's 'MAD',
PASSIONATE,
EXTRAORDINARY love,
It IS a waste of time.There are too many mediocre things in life
LOVE should NOT be one of them."  
_______
I AGREE... `` FireStorm``
 
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25/12/2012
2:3am

ISLAND SPICE~~~ FireStorm

I am scotch bonnet pepper
coconut run dung
that lingers on your tongue...

The Julie Mango
Escovietch fish
Bammy,
Fritters
Festival and steamed Snapper Fish
From Jolly's or
Sugar man's beach at Hellshire

I am
Reminiscent
of Sunday mornings by the seaside
with fisher folk taking from the sea
what they did not put in.

I remind YOU
of the sweet evening breeze
playing with leaves
and the cool, cool shady
that begs you
to sit
and rest awhile

I am the verandah
with the 2 rocking chairs,
the hammock heng pon the almond tree
that spreads itself proud
Like the women in Coronation market Down town

I speak with the sing song lilt
that reminds you of reggae and soca
and something else
that makes you close your eyes
and try to remember... WHAT??

I am Island Spice

EVERYTHING nice..

A raging.... flaming ``FireStorm``

Alicia Keys - Girl On Fire (Inferno Version) ft. Nicki Minaj

[[[ CLICK...CLICK...CLICK... PLAY ]]]]

NIKKI & ALICIA TEARIN' it UpPP!! #WORD!

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LOVE DEFERRED - A little HELP here PLEASE!! :(

Aug 30, 2012 5:56am

How do you tell someone 

who seemed ready to love you

That it's not that you were not attracted to them

NOT that you were not capable of loving them

But you were just not yet ready 

for the complicated 

and often very INVOLVED business of loving?

How do you explain to them,

get them to understand 

that while they were busy 

Trying to convince you 

To let THEM love YOU

You had just got finished with the business

of loving yourself and 

YOU craved the leisure of basking

in the after glow of that self love

for a while

Before 

embarking on another quest

of meeting of SOULS.. bodies.. lusts

passions.. lives 

And all the other exchanges, bartering 

compromises 

That are all a part of the marketplace of loving??

How do you tell him that his reggae, fast paced 

pulse kind of loving

Conflicted with your easy like a Sunday morning

Jazz rhythm blues of a tune that is your soul's 

Love song... wind song 

that gets your heart to move

From the place you placed it for safe keeping

Just in case a tide of feelings came rushing in

In that one moment 

when you are not looking?

I wish I could have calibrated

My heart so that it would have synchronised 

with your intent, desires and wishes 

The minute you arrived at love's door with your 

Urgent knock

Insistent to be let in ...

Oh how I wish I could have yielded

at your bidding

Give in and be taken by a tide of feeling

By blind faith to a place I had never seen

Never been

And which even you were not able to describe 

eloquently

convincingly enough to get me to move

From where I was

To where you were

In time.

How do I tell him 

All this

And get him to understand?

Sigh...

A little help here... please??  -- (BlackRose) aka ``FireStorm``

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A WHOLE LOT OF MEMORIES... AN AWFUL LOT OF MISSING and ENOUGH of YOU TO GO AROUND..

I miss curling up with you

back to belly

Your breath feather light

on the nape of my neck

Your hand no longer urgent

Slow dances in Braille-like sequence

in the small of my back

Where I like to be touched 

Afterwards

Gossamer finger tips

Lulling me to sleep... - FireStorm

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August 9, 2012

NIGGA .... PLUESSE!!

YOU 

are 

Nothing but the sum total 

of borrowed parts

A LIE

dressed up 

to look like the truth

Diabolic sneers 

lurk

beneath the thin veneer

of normalcy 

you try to clothe yourself with - FireStorm

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August 3, 2012 - 1:48am

!!!RAISING MY CLENCHED 'CLIT' IN RESISTANCE!!!!

Whispered Resistance

I

Am

Much more

Than a 

vAgInA

To be SeDuCeD

into submission...

Much 

MORE

than a succulent flower

READY 

to be PICKED, 

PLUCKED, 

OWNED by the highest 'bidder'

I cannot 

be

taken in a 'kiss-beat'

From staunch 

Resistance

To quivering

OrGasMiC

Submission!

I 

Am

PLANTED

Too DAMN

DEEP

To be 'swept off my feet'

I

Am
SO MUCH MORE

Than a C-Word, the 'B-word, that P-Word

ALL rolled ~~ into ONE..."

I 

Am deaf

To YOUR cat calls

or wolf whistles

They don't wake the feline

Won't make me smile

Your CaReFuLLy Crafted

Come on lines

Have seen a THOUSAND sunrise

They are 
just plain 'Fanny-Homer Lou' TiREd

I DON'T even need a lullaby 

You're forked tongue 

That looks suspiciously LoNg... (read WRONG!)

Will NOT!

I swear! Make me cum!

NOR RUN ~~~~

I

Am 
like the Shame-A-Macka tree

Whey grow a bush.

If you barely brush 'gainst mee

Mi quail up

Right afta mi Juuk yuh inna yuh foot...

Mi come een like Cow Itch!

Doan try come badda mi wid yuh foolishniss! 
YOU 

DON'T 

want 

NONNA THIS!! -- FireStorm.

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To Me
ALL Poets 
are related
And it is on that same incestuous bed 
of verbal pairings, thrustings, writhing thoughts 
turned to expressions

That we oft meet 
to consummate our love 
for eloquence
for beauty
For life, captured in a sentence ..
Words
Dripping from minds
Lips
pens... finger tips..  - ANDREA V. DOWNER. (`` FireStorm`` )