Blip . Plop! the fishermen register; though fitting
sea catch phrase confirm page loss.
Still, six bells ring the Pitons
silhouette . flambeau path light the heart.
A treasure chest you must have buried . either that
or icon space tight arch you heaven 'n' plight back
here ~ word up no fear : skulls brown glisten . lips
on risens latch.
Drive sticks now scan life resumations : Mon Dieu!
they'll freeze, brush plays again! where will your prayers
take us, home mapster from Chaussee?
Newest news?
Helenic guide girls skirt 'n' blouse pride luster in
the square. Union labour take over Hotels see? walk
in mattie class up and cotch.
And those Estate acres? grass set in different
minders? fear coffin metres, but hear nah : kweyol
observice spike again . syllables wild so hard to roll
call names, but sweat no squad drills, Cap.
The schooner fit to ply fame freight . up down mountain
road; and old deck hands still chair our reading
rooms. So welcome back, surfeater of the sea.
Catch you at the gulf course? yuh pardner studying wave
break speed? What metaphors! heron
blueflagfanning breeze.
– W.W.
PRAYER # 10987654321
I asked for rain and rain has come
̶̶ not for me, but because it must,
as one poem of man's moment, a tendril
of our Mother's green womb.
My asking then was less the seed
than one bare branch of a vine full
of clouds past and to come whose memories merge
and burst a node of now.
Or call my prayer a bridge between
a present that had to be parched
and a present that has to be the green praise
of your rain by one man.
(from "Within The Wind" © by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 