Caribbean Man

Winston Farrell

looking ’round de carved out
corners of his caribbean
coral caves, volcanic soils
blue mountain tops
are not the only glamorous gleams
and looking realizing that
trinidad’s pitch lake is as important
as guyana’s bauxite and barbados’s
peaceful breeze and that dem
tie tongue low-islanders is another
piece of de same rib and not
foreign like imported lamb, like
france or toronto tourist
who does come to eat sun foods
while we bend over backwards
from tan-lo-tion
because the caribbean
is a gem of scattered islands
because martinique speak french
and guyana a divided river
because cuba communist
and caribs live in dominica
we look to englan’ fuh light
we blame columbus and question drake
hawkyns dead
and resurrection in
cable tv

this man praise cricket and god
plays defensive in the face of hurricanes

come bank-holiday this man is bare music
trinidad carnival, is colour
costume bands on masquerade
calypso pans pin-ponging soca rhythms
wild wind-tourist drinking
mount gay all the way up de spine
of the caribbean
notes hop from port to port
bage bumbatuk is waist line
donkey-belly-culture
while in jamaica roots
rock reggae rhythms rising
travelling like smoke through transistor radio
dub-dub-dubbing the rhythms
of the rasta man kingdom
the head grow high to haiti
drums drinking the blood of sons
history on a slow march, a scank
dubbin’ the movement of people.
who is this man breaking english bats
pounding the colonies free
with a new song from his crown of jewels
look and see. . . . . . . . .
the caribbean man.

Copyright © Winston Farrell