ISLAND CONCH BLOWS FELT NO MORE

     
         

                Eyes that close near the end of a sentence 
                as if in prayer,
as if in touch with outer space
                messengers how to verify ? skip past on ground  
                We not supposed to play near centuries of wave follow.

                         \ Hands once cuffed to Estate fate, form
                good on
ball^bat day | on state of the rack souls in enamel
                knots hang; else why would anyone care ? butter
                flaps mud baked; servers down.

                                                         +

                Pebbles build mountain trust; our tree toppers
                code branch ‘n’ leaf in hair pin numbers | still
                tower rung cow bells for wondering flesh . MEENA, yu
               ‘LUT  yu ‘other ‘UNT! 

                        \ Willing to fly, like bees fixed^wing furious
                from flower to flower; clueless how to guard
                fern trails, young women < Come! admiring ripe
                ol’ sage.

                                                        +

                Not vested, circles of rotor^roused Empire
                dust cloud altitudes; blood settles, bones run
                for outlet points | few scores to hose away, thank the earth
                solid mercy.

                          \ Locked in ? the One all style ‘n’ user
                fame; him^her in windowless phone destitution | see
                what matters, tide low ? limbo stick, see.

                                                                – W.W.

 

                          

                 

 

 

                YUH RAP SO (3.3)

                Such concerns never needled Conrad (Doctor:
                He became a dentist here in Canada)
                But, as his word-sponge, am i lying through my
                Teeth by telling what he told me of this life
                Before he became a decent dissident
                & had to seek status as an immigrant
                In this elsewhere?  If i lie, i lie after
                The masked man mouthing tales of his time down there:

                What happened was, was how he often began
                The latest segment of his installment-plan
                Autobiography as he himself deemed
                His answers to people’s Where do you come from?
                    – But, he said once, most of them think it mek no
                Difference + them that ask do suh to keep you
                Different

                   (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

             

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Author: FarJourney Caribbean

Born in Guyana : Wyck Williams writes poetry and fiction. He lives in New York City. The poet Brian Chan lives in Alberta, Canada.

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