IWSG: Sheena-kay the Poet

Yes I write poetry. It got me my first cheque in writing. But for some reason I don't talk about it much. It's less of an insecurity and more of an automatic closing off. I talk about writing fiction just fine. On this blog I'm writing about my WIPs all the time. Poetry however takes a permanent back seat. I love writing poetry, really do. Yet I don't do much open dialogue about it. Maybe it's my quiet side or maybe despite all the years of writing poetry (wrote poetry regularly before I became truly interested in writing fiction), I'm just not the talkative type when it comes to that aspect of my life.

My poetry dreams are different from my dreams of writing fiction. With poetry I want to travel to England and other countries where my favourite poets called home. Most of my favourite poets aren't from Jamaica. My fave poet from here is Louise Bennett. She died years ago but her influence on Jamaican culture still resonates. My favourite poets include Emily Dickinson and William Wordsworth. My poetry isn't very lyrical and I'm not a big fan of rhyming. One day I'd love to go to a writing retreat and spend a few weeks if not months just writing poetry.

Before I go here a few poems written by yours truly.

Garrison Lament

How great was the don who fed us!

Bring curses to those who took him from us!

He gave us bread and sent our kids to school.

How great was the don who fed us!

Now he’s gone and we’re just left to starve.

In this community no one can find a job.

How great was the don who fed us!

Bring curses to those who took him from us!

The Widow

I walk with an authoritive air.

My dainty steps but harsh voice

makes the maids aware I’m there.

Yes, there watching their every move.

They are my servants, this is my castle.

And I don’t care if I sound crude.

I never had whips lash my milky white back.

But words can be sharper than any whip.

And unlike physical ashes that can be

healed by medicine and tender care.

Words can leave their emotional lash

inside you forever.

As a widow, I know of this.

Jealousy fills other women’s eyes when they

see that I’m no longer tied to a husband.

My life now much freer than theirs.

And as a former wife, I understand their suffering.

My only husband is dead.

Bless his soul, but his harsh words

did worse than his blows.

Now widowed I’ve promised myself never to remarry.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a little fun.

I have no worries because no one here would dare tell.  

I am The Widow.

This is my mansion, my castle.

I do as I please.

If anyone has a problem with that.

They can rise and take their leave.

The Foe (formerly titled Friends)

Friends become enemies

when we lose their trust.

Betrayal will turn any

relationship to dust.