Belmont Portfolio — for Earl Lovelace
ROBERT LEE
Prologue: Belmont window, Saturday
some girl you never spoke with
some girl who walked on the other side of your road
some girl you looked out for from your blue window
lived in a house like this
Category: Poetry 6
Upside Down Boat
Lelawatttee Manoo-Rahming Ah whole village innainna upside downupside down boat ah airlock inna raftadreadlock rastarasta ooman an she pickneyinna village inna airlockair blockwid rushinrushin ocean whoooooooooo...
God Save Duh Queen
Ide AMARI Thompson Down home Down home This mussie a jokeBui, this een No ant’emTo duh majestyof dese islands. This is enn no slave song No cry to our freedomAn’ like the las’ Mailbot rushing...
Perspective
Jason Henry
the breakbeat boosts
her belief
that she has to live
in Portland
she’s yelling over
the speaker system
and my concern that
she’s running from something
she’s running from
something that
Portland’s silence will only hide
for a time
we separate and sojourn from
our stubbornness
for some soup
and sativa
the odd couple rock and wine
and I laugh to myself
that they’ll do this more
in Canada
than they ever will here
prophets are never
loved in their hometown
and neither are scientists
when the cold
smothers you to death
you will remember how warm
water pipes can be
after it bakes in the
Patrick City sun
the dance floor
is a blood sacrifice
and by Levitical law
our sins shall be washed away
for as much as we
bun out Babylon,
many of us here tonight
under the sanguine moon
have visited foreign gods
and taken their gold
for our own;
Selassie hides His wrath
for we are a wicked people
and God is a jealous god;
we are his children,
the sheep of disaster
he wants what’s best for us;
we miss the irony
anyways
baby girl and I have resumed
as the reverb
slaps the spliff we share
she reiterates her point,
I don’t like repeating myself;
she asks me where would
I want to live
“Portland”
happy resentment rejuvenates
her presumption
that I am a difficult man
I am merely projecting
my fears, baby girl;
but I don’t know that,
not yet
I wouldn’t tell you
how I felt
if I hadn’t already
suffered a similar fate
I wouldn’t warn you
about what you may
be missing
if I didn’t care
“but I like Negril too”
you already told her
what she wanted to hear,
shut up
Mi General
Randy Baker for Upton It’s odd when I think of it.We used to live ‘round the wayfrom Tappa Zukie’s yardand now when I picture you,my mind plays that song of his.We would hear it echoing from the sound...
The Makings of A Queen
KEVANTÉ A.C. CASH
from he come out the closet in her tall plum heels,
wrists broken, hips sashayin’ with tied up bed sheets
draggin’ on the floor, i knew he was ga have a hard life.
This Music in My Waist
Melissa McKenzie I never know I have music in my waist.All the stretch it stretch from carrying baby after babyI never know my waist have it own music.Lyrics after lyricsFrom the selector and this man.Nothing but sweet...
DOUENS
CHIKE PILGRIM
We’s Douens
weird
bend foot addendums.
Jealous of attention
dwellers in Douendom
Can I Be/a Queen in ConVerse and Cymande
Sherese Francis “I remember the girl in the fields with no name” — Tina Turner maroon (v.) “put ashore on a desolate island or coast” by way of punishment, 1724 (implied in marooning), earlier “to be lost...
Doh Let Me Be Lonely
Celia A. Sorhaindo …good, good night. Kekeke. I jus remember readin what de wise man say in meh son clever people book oui, the snake which cannot cast its skin has to die. Maybe dat man know de secret too. I know...
Night Walk
Kay-Ann Henry
On nights, the moon is much too lovely
to ignore and my room becomes a
cocoon that stuffs and suffocates,
I take a walk.
I’m looking for the lady whose skin
turns blue in the moonlight.
After two croaks, I see her
in all her antediluvian glory.
Suede Clarks, Anita Baker crooning
from the record player,
a devoted night routine to the moon.
She has me transfixed in space,
time and retrograde.
My whole body is humming
whatever tune that’s so wonderfully
placed around her lips.
Oh, how I envy that song.
I, too, long to be a thing in her mouth.
The Walk/Quarantine
AMANDA T. MCINTYRE
The culverts of June street converged
at a point on the corner where
the rum shop remained closed
until further notice as Belmont approached
the second half of the pandemic year.
