In a bare night without comfort
stood like an infant hearing a drum:
Shadows and green grass spinning
but clutched at a world without nearingLike dark ball rising from nothing
hurling curse at me and full of scorn:
Bare night without comfort
stood like an infant hearing a drum.
Martin Carter in The Kind Eagle (1952)

She has since unraveled
her long wavy tresses
and placed the jewels to rest
The ocean waves
play a melancholic song as
Her [...]

Down the river Essequibo where the Pomeroon meetsTo get my pot of Gold. My journey to completeUnder the shores like men of yore. Toiling in the sun and heatOf this blessed earth. My melodic songs will seekLike poetry and the reverent hymn. With reverence meek
I bow my mud -caked feet. On the ground that my [...]

Even in that place of final exile
among tombs, and mechanical inscriptions,
each leaf is a different green,
flower of a different kind
of red and yellow; also each ripe fruit
tumult of a really different seed
there, in that place.

Me try haad haad fuh brukway,
talk proper
hat potato inna me mout,
fuh steam out d-sin-taxs
in English metering
an design calypso
inna two step waltz
of military timing
but
too much genip fasten pun man lip
too much jamoon stain pun man tongue.