19 February 2011

De Jamaican Higgler


Ol’  Muddah Ratbat frem parish St. Ann,
sly like de mongoose an smattah den man!

Mek plenty money frem straw goods and tips
down at de market where moor dem gran ships.

Toss out big hook fe tourist tah swallah;
snatch in de Whitefish, catch yankee dollah.

Sell plenty tings, say mek by Jamaicans;
trut be, she wares was got frem de Hatiens.

“Buy someting massa, hep Muddah’s poor lot;
me doan hab no roof an ongly one pot.”

“Pickney dem stravin’, see how dem mauga;
beg yah buy someting; me give yah a *braughtah.”

Mistah him sorry fe muddah’s poor life;
pull out fat wallet an pass tah him wife.

Spen plenty money, guilt fe tah bury;
tek up dem spendins, six parcels dem carry.

Pack up she wares wen de clock han strike four;
grab up de pickney, pass tru de banque door.

Lodge mos de money, out back door she side;
unlock  she big cyar, push pickney inside.

Drive tah she sistah an slip she a ten;
promise fe nex day rent pickney again.

Lean back pon de seat an light up a fag;
laugh fe de trickery, drive home in she jag!
*a little  something extra…like a baker’s dozen in the U.S.A.

                                                                       ...Rasta Rascal 

06 November 2010

Mirror of Black Reflection

Who am I, who, by impudent aspiration,
dared to seek accordance in  places of
isolation, for those disposed as me, at least?

Yet, chance, strange curiosity, mistook me
for a muse, and arm in arm with fate, set
my hand upon the scene I’d so oft sought.

There, safe, for facelessness, amidst the
many muses, did I , through ignorance
and greed,  disclose my knavish birth.

Then, steeped in childish pride, for words
of soft composure quickly honoured,
my lowly self  was fraught to rouse and rise. 

Alas, poor fool!  Wisdom oft times sleeps
til swiftly wakened!  And I, beguiled buffoon,
pride and sensibility lay bare myself to slay.

Twas ne’er this foolish lad who felled the door.
No!  Words alone wrought this witless folly. 
For such, I inflame the mirror of black reflection.

© Sebastian Lee

29 October 2010

Dragonfly Dream

…for Lenny

At night, while sleeping in my bed,
and bad dreams come into my head,
then, comes my friend the dragon fly
and takes me high up in the sky.

He holds me safe upon his back
on cushions made of velvet black.
With glistening wings upon each side,
we catch the wind and gently glide.

Wow! Suddenly we swoop down low
and go across the pond real slow.
I wave my hands at frogs and fish;
then, up we go with one big swish!

We laugh and giggle as we soar
up to the sky, down to the floor.
We dive and dip and flit and glide -
no place on earth has such a ride!

Then, when the night is almost done,
before the light shines from the sun,
he takes me back to my soft bed
and on my pillow lays my head.

Each night, when I go to my bed
and bad things come into my head,
I won’t be scared and I won’t cry;
instead, I’ll ride the dragon fly!

© 2008 Sebastian Lee

01 May 2010

Maga Dawg*

dat maga dawg, him smart yah see,
fe sleep wid open eye;
him watch de pantry door all day
fe maid tah drop meat pie.

Him know de maid mus hurry fass
an pay tah him no heed;
an so him wait dere patiently
fe satisfy him greed.

An sure nuff come de maid mistake,
whilst bustin’ tru de door,
de tray fly up, lan at she feet
wid meat pies on de floor!

Ol’ maga dwag him jump up quick,
whilst maid stan dere an bawl,
an snatch one pie up en him mout
an nyam it crust an all.

Den, whilst de maid vex up an glare
wid look fe mek him die,
him jump behin de pantry door
an sleep wid open eye.

©Rasta Rascal

*Written in a simple form of Jamaican country dialect
known as patois. maga = skinny and undernourished,
nyam=to eat greedily

Sweet Fruit of My Desire

I hold her gently in my hands
beneath my favourite tree,
smiling at the lovely thought
of what she’ll give to me.

My fingers touch her silky skin,
caress her blushing cheeks;
inhaling her sweet perfume,
my hunger grows and peaks.

I peel away her soft pink dress;
exposing her to me;
she flaunts her perfect nakedness
and taunts invitingly.

With fingers pressed into her skin,
I lift her to my lips
and gently taste her sweet ripe flesh
in boyish bites and nips.

With eagerness beyond control,
I give in to my greed,
consuming her completely,
I fill my lustful need.

I love this ripe old mango tree,
of her I’ll never tire;
I’ll eat until the tree is bare;
sweet fruit of my desire!

gotcha! ;)
©Rasta Rascal


for thomas...
Demons stir,
taunting, teasing,
spinning webs of lies
and paranoia
deep inside the mind.
empty faces
spawned by seeds
of worthlessness;
shrewdly twisted
into a spurious sense
of credible reality.
©Rasta Rascal

18 April 2010

Jamaican Country Woman

Feet, crusted, calloused, branch thick,
cinnamon sprinkled in youth;
born to bauxite’s blood red stain,
shining silver, rich white earth.

Body, bolstering twelve stones,
spread across a bent stalk spine
crudely hung with sagging limbs
beneath furrows of grizzled plaits.

Feet, scorched to fresh and fading scars,
dredged in fine grains of gray dust
for seasons of fiery intimacy
with char ash and smoldering coals.

Body, bound by bush to man and child,
spread wide for green bamboo,
cold sweat of icy planters punch,
painful birth of tar brushed sons.

Feet, crushing clay of generations ruts,
tree of labours hard worn track,
soles worn weary in servile path;
granite stone her soul consolation.
©Rasta Rascal