Author: FarJourney Caribbean

07/03/2026

Dorado schemes get tangled on our mangrove shores;
for myths known only to flat bottoms in canoe
Yang Yin dragons fire up divining hooks, destiny
rare stones extracting.

With spinners who oil our timing wheels
you could place a bet < We reach! before
or after first space aliens land ‘n’ wave
yuh good?
…………….

As owner vendor server wet rub palms
fortunes simmer | their currency heat holding;
our breadfruit drops worth squish. Night
cleaner? shifts not found paid.

Under orange tarps we could induce labour
at good plantation levels . contracts pushing
out Great! house bald heads | only
sans verandah chair breeze whipping.
………………

Inside the Hoatzin chest desires fret ! one
lap wing loose, pain trills so | gynecologists
think they know everything ! womb tide drain^
pipe . fits that flare, flutter wherever.

Radio songs like watering cans, our pausa
de contemplación ~ millennium yards
away from mulch once used on Estate home
gardens ~ trapped native hearts.

• W.W.

YUH RAP SO (7.5)

In its assumption that travelers are stars
of one kind or another – meteoric
and burning out or radiantly centred
in a suicidal shedding of their fate
or in still open sharing of their stray rays
now we take this strangeness as normal – the same
we used to need but not heed oracles
this suggests gods are inevitable – more
so than our more conscious labelling towards
empowering our vain manipulations

(from Limboa , a sentimental anthem
by Brian Chan, 2023)

06/23/2026

“…hidden ties, hidden chains, mixed antecedents,
rational/irrational dreams of freedom one glimpses
in the faces of others as in oneself”
– Wilson Harris, Companions of the Day
and Night (1975)

Should you start dyeing your grey hair
clears the airs of implanters | how long ‘til power
lines snap under corbeau grip watch – follicle
tips confirming.

Why in the name of progress would anyone
pierce the nipple ? or restart One Chop
clean ‘n’ done beheading | plastic hard^
card safe, Savi ! no mix^mash worries.
………….

Heat strokes . so lobster^like first mate
boil done? pot luck another / he girlfriend
children father stab he | stray? one out^
house per couple. O, so something wrong
with me?

Dress petals slip . rose tumble down hill
side > calyp handles snag the slide | kidnap^
ransom plot nobody hatched ~ was only^
human eggs bubbling in oil pan.
…………….

Herd rib bars near strain < our framers
down load body copy | fly past birds
humming EMF^like flavours curry the air!
might get fired at some point.

Come away from the window . is only
doctors making rectal stops > jook hamper
slings that help you move one side; place
wanting home.

• W.W.
  
  

YUH RAP SO (7.4)

He’s right as far as his tribe-stained ego goes –
as far as all our egos go and must go
but i could tell the old boy he has a shock
coming if he thinks his last breath is his last
arc of awareness – if he thinks that nada
is possible – if he thinks that he wont feel
hunger or anger or sheer irritation
in the face of this or that temptation or
injustice or mosquito remembered or
still stinging the skin of the ghost of his flesh

(from Limboa, a sentimental album
by Brian Chan, 2023)

06/13/2026

But instead how well behaved i was with her –
respecting her grace though loving her madly
telling lies – to this old man – of her young men –
all the boys who had knelt before her only
to receive – instead of a kiss – a nice kick
those stories she told matteroffactly yet –
i must admit – with a certain cruelty –
cruelty careless with its power over
that me – estrangeiro soon to disappear
to go lost – as she would finally command –
and – as she could not imagine – become more
lost than he and i had ever felt before –
he and i two different old boys in one me
and there you have the madly to my loving
at first sight – or maybe i mean sight unseen

(from Limboa , a sentimental anthem
by Brian Chan, 2023)

06/03/2026

“This wrinkle,” the Idiot said as if he addressed
both sun and surf, “why this? Why a wrinkle?
Christ had no wrinkles.”
– Wilson Harris, Companions of the Day
And Night (1975)

Pillow napping between Oportunita’s legs
like the prow of an old Viking ship waiting
strait clearance | What is that noise? space
travellers hover^ask ~ that bum bum didi
bidi ~ what kiskadee?

Body parts unbuttoned . poked . betrayed
find comfort in lottery numbers | sigh
as players check their shuttle ticket > up
back among embers of wonder in millions
random.
………………

Faith rolling blind? made to home stay^
build on top quick sand | confession
won’t help good^bad microbe change in gut
lining.

Shaman at work? @pens that signal virtue
sheep lump ‘n’ hump / performers can^
soup like wet nurse earn / Admin whip^
love marks? well at least yuh not bleeding.
………………

So little sea change since flags of choice
poled on our island < chest swells for climb ‘n’
falls . head bobbing up keep hard so.

Still no beach curve to stroll on ~ lose
river vows ~ with mermaid navel
thief a wine.

• W.W.

YUH RAP SO (7.3)

But nicks aside – the people-world’s nameless noise
bothers the hell out of – into – me – the hell
we’re still all in – dead/alive like it or not
and other either/ors that fool us we have
some choice in the matter – and of course we do
but of course we don’t – for hell is for humans
as any pigeon would stool us if he could
only get us to stop listening only
to words overruling his troubling wisdoms
arising out of the juttings of his neck
for balance and braking of his claw-struttings

(from Limboa, a sentimental anthem
by Brian Chan . 2023)

05/23/2026

“The precious life-
line readings there
outline no ready fortunes.
Just hard hands, man, spade hard
and licensed with their blisters…”
– Kamau Brathwaite, Folkways (1967)

From cannabis to apple . growers watch for
signals from Antarctic rifts – about what
crumples, drifts away to recompose; + what vibes
steam^churn like in Jakarta iron bowls.

Slow sad punts dumped tales of stalks ‘n’
sticks on sweatwork banks | now importers
press start shifts to key proprieties ! Go
smash mangle taste air flow.
………….

These days is so grief easing < wrong^strong?
fault trace coming for yuh family / cane cutter
blades dig up the past > wipes like for the eye
as wounds get even.

Lesson found ‘n’ lost ~Now not a good time,
Shango! ~ like when with faith shield
down rain bands heat up . poui blazing.
….………

At stars who pause on red carpet for hide^
show leg flash – how is that conceivable?
Veena gasps, her cheeks dimpled for diplomat
mingling; midriff folds noted.

One spot of blood reminds face shavers
there’s a price to pay for brush lips left
tone dry | so Shyanne, coil snake flicky^
licky allupyuh fern ! thru mi never feel it
slide.

• W.W.

YUH RAP SO (7.2)

Boys and babes still tied to Granny’s apron strings –
clock-watching for when the whole shesham should stop –
as it should – my solo cut short – my horn packed –
my escaping one more mouldy jam-session –
infected with bogusosis – dejected
for being too weak to withstand its virus
or too strong or lazy not to dismiss it
like a judge tired near the end of his career
of entertaining so much evidence of
and balancing arguments for and against –
dismissing a case against some petty thieves
but jailing the lawyers for stealing his time

from Limboa, a sentimental anthem
by Brian Chan, 2023)

05/13/2026

A singer screams out a tropical song trapped
by this or that system of electronic
recording now amplified a hundred times
to convince those who must hear it that they’re still
alive and beyond their quotidian toils –
if that term may still be applied and employed
in that world which no longer subscribes to work
unless it doesn’t involve any effort
beyond manipulating numbers towards
collecting enough zeros to prove one rich
the screamed song reminds us we can get it if
we really want it – once we try try and try
so inspired the two hatless tourists get up
to go and try and try to prove the song right –
so many its left to be desired and got

(from Limboa , a sentimental anthem
by Brian Chan . 2023)

05/03/2026

Rakesh looking poor on bicycle pedalled path^
years narrowed . home to heart frugality ‘n’ ease.
At Getting late! Come, take off yuh clothes
his give^care Leela force of habit chafes.

On delivery by Admin feed bag holders watch
hips of public snatch^catch sway, lips sip
fermented soup | fluffier ducks precentre trough
bills side ways in.
…………..

Country road last^licks upskilling . left hand
pocket coin bare so, next thing yuh know the candle
meter expire | sprinkle holy water, ol’ pipe squirt;
pray Birth Controllers up there can explain.

Shacks on No Man’s land not waiting for out^
house contract < word bypassers with cellphone
count so far 2.3K swipe visits.
……………

From New York ‘im come back in one state –
say tracks divide to ice or hell; no money? moon
walk sun turn run | say ‘im miss mi nest
egg lay. Is certified ‘im certified now.

For Melodie who kneads.wraps.vends. cow^
stares ~ Jab Jab hoofing for you, gyurl! ~ @Alt
breath burn rate rising [ Where you think you going?
too late ] click iReady . theme tight . moving.

• W.W.

YUH RAP SO (7.1)

We suffer too slowly – but what’s the hurry? –
we suffer pretending there is nothing worth
suffering for – not even Love whose ending
is prefigured in its start – not even peace
whose price is set as the last and the next war
hovering above it all now i recall
that Mikado song about the pure hauteur
of the Sun and Moon unapologetic
about their worth

(from Limboa, a sentimental album
by Brian Chan . 2023)

04/23/2026

“Between the wind, between the pain of wind,
between the gap of footprints and the coin,
the trembling nerve…”
– Martin Carter, Returning (1953)

When heritage hands lift off the rolling
pin, their matter folded thin, fingers mix^
signal We want what other people have | kartals
there clapping Do not pass urine on this tree.

* They ransacked the living room and bedroom
before attempting to start the victim’s car…

At rumour tables chatter in good faith live^
feed @our intestines | extraction beats
repair never mind how back vent^like the tooth
gap look.

* They fled toward Ascension Road
and escaped through a drain. The victim
followed and recovered the stolen tablet
from the drain...

Tilted by time buyer lines . heart @register
Now 31 . Syceil scans prime shelves for sheet^
mate room | fix yuh wings, gyurl ! your turn ‘n’ Enter
key form soon boom.

* Police conducted searches of the area but
were unable…

Preacher swear our son wouldn’t grow father^
child like; swear ‘im will wave I Gone! washed
like lamb of blood | we’ll smile, die happy
after severed here.

• W.W.
  

YUH RAP SO (7.0)

Its blinkered indiscriminate walking wait
for what only the lords and imps of Fate know –
can tell but don’t – won’t because that would spoil their
fun as well as yours with all its challenging
obstacles and detours and ankle-twisting
limping lessons in how to whimper and sigh

whimpers and sighs are what it all boils down to
like a slowly simmered sauce first whipped up fast
even if just before there is or – to judge
by the crack in your head – there was a loud bang
but remember your lungs emptying their air
and pouring it into oh no! and ah well!

(from Limboa, a sentimental album
by Brian Chan . 2023)

04/13/2006

If just to prove we can afford to eat more
than our spoilsport cardiologists advise
too-much proves us as rich as not-enough prods
poor people to seek heart beyond the wilful
muscular organ pumping away under
its cage of ribs policing its tyranny
of automatic memory and its twin
amnesiac habit with their delusion
that their body^serfdom is final empire

Your hope is to climb these stairs and find a point
high enough from which active Heart’s beacon can
be seen ~ now my mind-reader fancies himself
a peeker-through and peeler-off of pretexts
i feel i should kick him – send him sprawling flat
and his notebook flapping dirty through the air
But that wouldn’t make me suffer – he continues

(from Limboa, a sentimental anthem
by Brian Chan, 2023)

04/03/2026

“…the long delight of air . the sense of power
and the sense of passion . created by the dead
and wooden crutch of spirit and tongue.”
— Martin Carter, How Come? . 1972

Good old school takes a while to close its doors,
home away from creaking beams; desk
fresh uniforms rewire tried^life lime . clean
slate test.

Kneeling (no one’s around) carriers ask What
could be done ? about this cross < the sun’s
old whip . still in service; galvanize roof^
pleats protecting left behinds.
……………

Intercourse made simple : join a cricket team
wear pristine whites, become a family doctor –
who sensed what crevice Rishi would ? pad stroke
probe ~ pay for ~ his iPhone need to be found.
……………..

At colour . skin we barely jump, cane^ribbed
poui ibis braised / hair, though, aids long^
short memory camps – the cats’ curling brush,
dread lion irons / T’spoon yuh cocoa, Gurleen.

Mean + byways feed off pain < for long
cold moons risk horning \ + blind returns
on foreign exchange \ masks to bounce
with our blood demon . thirst requests.

• W. W.

YUH RAP SO (6.9)

We are content – they condescendingly sigh –
that you witness us just as we witness you
you needn’t try to climb us – it – we wouldn’t change
your path – which is simpler than you imagine –
to cross the borderline between low and high –
themselves a mirage but more user-friendly –
that model train of a metaphor for you
to catch to be transported by – over this
border on which you and your scrivener wait –
your Bartleby who should prefer not to climb
any more stairs – having seen and tried and failed
to climb any – all of us more air than stone

(from Limboa, a sentimental album
by Brian Chan, 2023)