My Father’s Hands

We practiced the cycle of sail raising with a sea chanty: Off with the sail covers, Unknot the ties, Pull up the main sail, Try not to jibe, before tacking out to Star Island, peeing in a bucket, rowing ashore for pistachio ice-cream, skipping beach stones. At anchor we would swim off Clod’s wide stern, my father’s hands pulling us back aboard.
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Urban War

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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


About Us


tongues of the ocean is an online literary journal of Bahamian, Caribbean and related poetry. We publish three times a year - in February, June, and October.

Affiliated with the Bahamas International Literary Festival.

Editor-in-chief: Nicolette Bethel
Spoken Word: Nadine Thomas-Brown
Prose: Sonia Farmer

ISSN 2074-1901


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    © 2009-2010 individual authors and tongues of the ocean. One-time publication rights. All works remain the copyright of their creators. -- Copyright notice by Blog Copyright