•••

Crime…
The problem it is not!…
The Symptom…it is…
Violence…
The tool of the verbally handicapped!…
The problem it is not!…
The Symptom…it is…
Poverty…
The rule of the mentally defeated!
The problem it is not!…
The Symptom…it is…
Blame…
The tool of the ones that rule…
The problem it is not!…
The Symptom…it is…

We don’t learn in schools…
We all learn from fools
That live in a box
That cable concocts…
Our vision is lied to
(Get Help)
I tried to…
But how do we listen
When we can’t hear the vision?
I try to make my mind
But you hand me my decision…
So why blame the crime
When the crime in us all?
‘Cause We All Criminals, Crime In All, This Is Yall, And It’s Me!
And WE are the symptom
Of years of neglect
No respect
Kept In cheques
That we pay to our bills…
This is what is instilled
From the time of our birth
From the time we reach earth
That is all filled with the Symptoms

The Crime
The Violence
The Poverty
The Blame
There’s more I could name
But they really all the same…
It’s really jus a shame
That the symptoms seem treated…
The problems never cured…
The symptoms now deleted…
The problems all ignored…
So what you cryin for?

•••

Originally featured in “A Sudden & Violent Change”, a cross-disciplinary exhibition at the Hub, March 12th-31st, as part of Transforming Spaces 2010 in Nassau, The Bahamas.

•••

•••

Urban War

Bumboclaat, whole heap o’ gunshot
Police and soldier come in a jeep back
Everywhere me turn more bullet pop off
Lord have mercy, man, we’re under attack
Get out your car, but you can’t reach car
The road block off, it’s an urban war

Me can’t take me children down at the park
Can’t leave the house anytime after dark
Neighbourhood’s a powder keg just waiting a spark
Rude boys don’t play them don’t skylark
Stay out the water ‘cause it full up of shark
Some of them dog bite worse than them bark
Police and thief them out ‘pon the street
Beg somebody tell me when the violence gwine cease

Bad man selling drugs out them tatu
Them move a night like say them a patu
Draw them gun and no care if them shot you
Caught in the cross fire, don’t matter what you do
Wicked man smell blood and them just can’t resist
No do a damn thing, but you ‘pon him hit list
Lord, is a wonder how we even exist
So, here me bawl once again

Bumboclaat, whole heap o’ gunshot
Police and soldier come in a jeep back
Everywhere me turn more bullet pop off
Lord have mercy, man, we’re under attack

……………………….Bumboclaat

•••

Bracelet
Bootsy ‘n me two blocks east of Nostrand
itching for a smack of white powder sand.
Checked a nigger like a big old grizzly bear
his rags screaming out he ain’t from here
the sack on his back seemed full of corn
didn’t know was a tramp’s old bugle horn.

Shake
When I was born
my father gave to me
an angel-horn
with wings of melody.
That angel placed her lips
upon my finger-tips
and I became, became
her secret name.

Bootsy
Gave Bracelet the nod, he took my drift
we’d corner the guy near seventh and fifth.
That night we were so cool and sharp
either he delivered or he’d play the harp.

Shake
Her name grew strong
spread like a passion tree.
She named the song,
I played the melody.
And in the morning hour
I woke to dream of her,
and all day long, day long
I lived her song

Bracelet
With his metal studs Bootsy smashed his face
I hit his ribs with my special mace
he fell on one knee like he was praying to JC
then that upperty nigger took a swing at me

Shake
In boat and barge
where songs and seas are friends
our dreams grew large
made love where dreaming ends.
And people placed her lips
upon our finger-tips
and friends became, became
our secret name.

Bootsy
Was then I realized was a waste of time
that old cat had neither nickel nor dime.
He probably lost some teeth from the blow
next time the old fellow better know
round here at night you gotta walk with dough.

Bracelet
Me and Bootsy don’t take no shit
we fixed Old Gramps so he’d remember it.
And there’s one thing that I know for sure
that old nigger ain’t playing bugle no more.

Shake
Now light is low
new angels come and go.
The passion tree
spreads dense as destiny.
And this old angel-horn
strives like the lifting dawn!
Love moves to claim, to claim
our secret name.

•••

“Mood for Mugging” is taken from Island Voices from St. Christopher & the Barracudas. In the words of its author and producer, “essentially it’s a take on island life in a mythical island state in the Caribbean. It takes the form of dramatic monologues, dialogues offered by a range of island characters encouraged to promote their island. The ‘voices’ include a coconut water vendor, gardener, taxi driver, radio DJ, bar owner, lawyer, wives of wealthy Caribbean men etc.”

Voices: Simon Alleyne, Garvie Griffith and Philip Nanton
Trumpet: Andre Blackett
Music composed and arranged by Toby Armstrong
Arrangement: Adaptations of Philip Nanton’s “Mood for Mugging” and Shake Keane’s “Angel Horn”
(with thanks to Margaret Bynoe for permission to adapt “Angel Horn”).

•••

Cloudy Brain

Now… There’s A Serious, Serious, Serious Problem In This Country…

I Mean…It’s Bigger Than Cancer….It’s Bigger Than Balancing The Budget

You Know…Bigger Than Anything You Could Think Of Right Now Das Current…

But I’m Here To Tell You What The Most Serious Problem In This Country Is Right Now…

Cloudy Brain-ISM….

That’s Right….

It’s Like This….

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

Look Everybody….The Sun Is Ouuuuuuut

“Like….It Was Ever IN?”

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

Ya See…The Reason Why We Can’t Let The Gay Cruises Come Into The Country

Is Because Then…We’ll Have Gay People In The Country?…

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

What You Mean…I Can’t Do Maths

Because I Don’t Study?…

Lemme Tell You Why I Can’t Do Maths…

The Reason Why I Can’t Do Maths

Is Because….Numbers Illegal!!

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

So Lemme Get This Right Now…

You Is Shave Off Ya Eye Brows…

So You Could Draw…

EYEBROWS Back?…On Ya….

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

Nah…Of Course God Is Everywhere!…

If You Don’t Believe Me…

I’ll Take You To Church And Prove It Right Now….

“So You Mean..He Ain…Right….Here?”

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

So Lemme Get This Right Now…

You Like My Resume…

Your Impressed With My Degree…

But You Won’t Hire Me Because I Don’t Have Experience?

“And I’m Suppose To Get That Experience…..Where?”

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

So Hold On Now…

You Are Very Sure About The Fact That The Polar Caps Are Melting

But You’re Lil Iffy On Whether Or Not We Have Global Warming Or Not?

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

So…You Wit Da Eye Brows…

Lemme Get Dis Straight Nah…

You Gat Ya Fake Eye Brows…

Ya Fake Nails…

Ya Fake Hair

But You Looking For A Real Man?

Cloudy Brain…The Rain Won’t Come

So..My Lawd…You Is A Vegetarian hey? What De I Dem Dealin’ Wit…You Don’T Eat No Meat And Ting Hey?

“No No No…I Prefer Not To Eat Meat Or Anything Like That”

Awe Ok…So Jus Chicken & Fish Den

Clooooudy Braaaaaain…..

•••

…..like a sheet left out by a forgetful washer woman
a rectangle of blue galvanized roofing, creased in the middle,
momentarily hangs high on the electricity poles’ connecting wire.
Another is kitchen foil wrapping itself around a concrete bollard…

….are we off- air?… Its like a mad-arse intruder is beating on
my roof…he can’t find the door….. determined to enter
ceiling’s cracking…. pissing rain down the inside walls… signal’s breaking
up… I’m out of here…

The ordinary in the extraordinary. Oxymorons collide.
The brain lurches, searches for a peg, a paradigm
to frame Hurucan the angry god, Leviathan the leveler,
tireless Father Time, who keeps tapping. Oh God,
how swift the wind, how fast the journey of prayer?

…September. The sea’s a steely sheet, the sky a shitty smudge…trees left standing are limp, without foliage …… air conditioning units rest on the roadside …..the postcard pink beach resembles an airplane crash site, mangled metal protruding from the sand… no black box to explain its descent… meteorologists……coriolis force……moist warm air rises ……makes the whole mass whirl……your reporter…… moist warm air.

And when you lift your head, there above you, the hillside,
carpeted with debris, suggests some madness had overtaken
the householders; made them unhinge doors, smash windows,
kick out walls, slam mattresses onto rain sodden ground,
send roofs spinning in the wind and, finally overcome, straight jacketed
by weariness, helplessly watch the erosion of their worlds.

>hi, lighten up guys. i’m rosie-leigh, black folk
>dance and sing through all kinds of tragedy
>kept the spirit down those dark days of slavery
>i’m at u c …doing a cultural studies degree
>for this research with my buddy joe
>i really, really want to know
>does anyone have good caribbean song lyrics
>about high winds that blow?

…

>way to go sis, way to go
>check the clever lines below
>in the consternation
>you can feel the preparation

>bar off de door
>board up de window
>pung in de nail
>doan pung yuh finga

… gunshots ring out the next morning
broadcast their intended warning…

…..fellow citizens of this now sad fair land
the nation grants itself one hundred grand

‘……express our gratitude to our friends around the region and internationally. (If we have a hurricane a week, by Christmas the Caribbean could be united – English speaking of course.)……..We know that in any country one or two people will do foolish things….this is absolutely out of bounds… my government won’t allow a few to behave so selfishly in a time of national tragedy…’

>dear melanie, tom and I can’t leave the house for long,
>a mother who went out to help others…came back to nothing
>they carry machetes

a standpipe in church street
has become our community oasis

each day i fill four buckets

yesterday I shared
a coconut from a fallen tree
a bottle of drinking water
donated to my son and me

once again, small kindnesses are valued.

.
•••

“Weather Reports: Grenada” is taken from Island Voices from St. Christopher & the Barracudas. In the words of its author and producer, “essentially it’s a take on island life in a mythical island state in the Caribbean. It takes the form of dramatic monologues, dialogues offered by a range of island characters encouraged to promote their island. The ‘voices’ include a coconut water vendor, gardener, taxi driver, radio DJ, bar owner, lawyer, wives of wealthy Caribbean men etc.”

•••

•••

Yesterday
The sounds of
Whips and chains
Times
Of privation and poverty
Mortality
And periods of despair
Despairingly wide chasms
Of equality
Different rules of eligibility
In a world built
Largely on the tracks of
The tears in my skin and
Of my soul

Last night
The sounds of
Whips and chains
Times
Of hardship and poverty
Death
And periods of despair
Despairingly wide chasms
Of equality
Different rules of eligibility
In a world built
Largely on
The unreality of free
In freedom
Illusions of independence
And the sweat
Tumbles free
Down
My worn body

Today
Still The sounds of
Whips and chains
Times
Of hardship and poverty
Death
And periods of despair
Despairingly wide chasms
Of equality
Differing rules of eligibility
In a world built
Largely on
The arrogance and dismissal
Of political complacence
Dilutions of competence
And the sweat
Tumbles trussed-up
Down
My worn body

Tonight I expect
The sounds of
Whips and chains
Times
Of hardship and poverty
Death
And periods of despair
Despairingly wide chasms
Of equality
Different rules of eligibility
In a world built
Largely on
The dementia and aimless
Wanderings of a time lost society
And the sweat
It stops
My body worn
Down

Tomorrow
Is another
Day
What will I anticipate?

A return
To the epochs
Of my past
Or
Will we face
A different fate?

•••

Lyrics submitted under the title “And tomorrow is another day”. Performance run on top of Ruff Kutz Kut “Don’t put nothin’ on it”

•••

Video courtesy of Express Yourself.

•••

•••

Der drum’se a talkin’ to we
Der drum’se a talkin’ to we
Come chirren gadder roun’
The drum’se a talkin’
The drum a talkin’ ta all a we

What the drum say Mama
What it say
It say we mus’ dance chirren
It say we mus’ dance

Why we a dancin’ Mudda
Why we a dancin’
I don’ know no more chirren
I don’ know
All I’se know is we must dance
’cause der drum she a talkin’

Who name is dat der drum callin’ mudda
Who name is dat der drum callin’
Is yo name der drum is callin chile
Is yo name der drum callin’

Why der drum callin’ me by anudder name Mudda
Why der drum callin’ me by anudder name
Is callin’ you by da only name it know chile
Is callin’ you by da only name it know

Why it callin’ Mama
Why it callin’
It lonely chile
It lonely and tired
‘pears it bin callin’ a long time
an’ we aine never hear
‘pears we bin too far away too long
bin too far away too long

Where we bin mama
Where we bin

Lost chile
We bin lost

Now chile what you hear
What it callin’
Wh’as der name it sayin’
Soun’ like melination mama
Soun’ like it callin we
a mis-alligned-nation

Wha’s a mis-aligned-nation mama
Wha’s a mis-aligned-nation
Us chile
Us
We be the mis-aligned nation
Of melinated people
Who hidin out in de sapodilla garden

Der drum’se a callin’ chile
Der drum’se a callin’ chile

Why it callin’ ter me Mama
Why it callin’ ter me

Is a callin’ ter all a we
Callin’ fer we to acknowledge home
Live home
Be home
Be free

Ee-yah free I tell yer

•••

Lyrics submitted under the title “The Calling – Community”

•••