Poetry

Lovely cricket

Take out your cricket bats,

It's cricket time again.

The stands are buzzing as the pitch is being prepared,

The batsmen take centre stage as they prepare for the ball to come their way,

The bowler aims the ball perfectly as the batsman strikes it effortlessly,

The ball is soaring and the fielder takes aim.

The ball falls comfortably in his hand as the fielding team claims the first wicket of the game,

The bowler sets himself up again and the batsman is out leg before wicket.

The umpire raises his hand and the decision is taken to the upstairs man

The fans wait with bated breath to see what will happen next,

The signal comes that the next wicket has gone.

The batsman shakes his head in defeat while the fielding team takes the lead.

The sun beats down on the heads of the fans in the stands but they are determined to see who will be the best man.

The wickets tumble and the runs are low,

The target is met without a wicket being taken,

The chase is over and the best man is named.

Regardless of the outcome everyone enjoys the sweet cricket game,

Sixes and fours are scored galore

We can't wait to see how much more these teams have in store.

From the primary to the senior they give of their best,

From the one-day to the Test.

Sweet and lovely cricket is always one of the greatest Caribbean sports.

- Saccheen Laing

Chaste

Hard to be chaste when you are being chased 

Man ah run yuh down 

Mama ah chase

You out ah HAR town

no fund, yuh whole heap ah subject dem is a crown of frown

- Helen-Ann Elizabeth Wilkinson

Jamaica cries

Just seeing her cry, brings tears to my eyes. No matter how much they try to console her, she still continues to cry.

Somehow it seems pointless to try, for she will never stop. She weeps like a mother, daughter, sister and a friend.

Why does she cry? No one seems to know. Since you're still contemplating I will tell.

As the days go by she loses a child. They go by the ones, twos, threes, and lately by the fours.

She weeps in agony alone, as she tries to come to terms at the rate at which her kids are being slain.

Let's help her to retain her glow, that she so often shows which the outer world has come to know.

- Xavier Frazer

Poetry spread

Poetry is the spread

that covers my bed.

The comfort of the pillows,

as I rest my head.

Poetry is my home as I only invite words in.

Poetry is my expression!

Poetry is my gamble

and my worse sin ...

- Javell Mothersill

I know my soul

Nestled in a quiet place

Moulded, comforted

Fed and filled with grace,

Steadfast in its quest

Beautiful, for it's been blessed

Preserved

I know my soul

I keep it hidden in that secret place

Away from harm, hurt and pain

Exposed, only to my inner eyes.

While it shines like a diamond against the sky

This unique piece of me

That triggers the buttons of sad and happy

Restored

I know my soul

It comprehends, sometimes control

Robs me of a part but never the whole

Complete, vibrant

From which a spring of life flows

Immortal

I know my soul

It is the key to my infinity

The core of my humanity

Indestructible

No man can destroy

My heart defined

Awakened, yet consoled

I know my soul.

- Charmaine Wallace