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Updated: 2017-01-18T07:17:28.714-04:00


Florida, October.


I does come to Florida to spend time with Ma.  Is almost like a second home now.

I collect stories, I edit...

...I spend time with family.

I know for de non-writer, dis is boring like watching snail crawl. 

I don't know if de non-writer believe that de writer life is glamourous, dat writers sit in tatch-roof huts on de beach, sip likker and gobble up fry-or-grill-'gator.

De truth is, books don't write theyself. I got to sit and write.

And listen to Ma chatting on de phone.

Right now, she and a' auntie in Canada talking about de murder of a lady from they village back home.

The secret life of Mr. Squash.


Good morning World.Look!!!  A squash in the razor-wire on the wall!!Well! If somebody can explain how dis squash get chook-up in dis-here razor-wire...…like a man been passing with a squash that he buy and decide, “Aww man, ah don't want it.” So he pelt it in de razor-wire and gone he way.Just to be absolutely sure dat de squash ain't a spy, I been observin' it with small binoculars.De squash ain't exactly in de razor-wire itself. De squash is impaled on a spike.Impaled!! Love gone wrong? Murder by rival? De squash is a man...I look very closely with de binoculars.Ahh, now de night unfold she dark wings and flutter down, covering de squash.Between you 'n' me and dese 4 walls, I think de squash is a dastardly dastard, pretending to be impaled in de razor-wire.When de sandman sprinkle decent people to sleep, de squash gon sneak off and have he way with wild girls loitering late on de sea-wall.Very, very bad squash. Rrrrotten squash! I hope de police ketch he!Maybe I'm wrong. I shouldn't be so judgmental. Maybe a jealous man dash de sweet, nice squash into de razor-wire, impaling it……nah!!Tomorrow, I gon solve de mystery. Who impale de squash in de razor-wire? G'night, sweet folks. Or g'day to you all at de end of de earth.Mornin' sun spread bright-hot like truth. Mr. Squash is back, pretending to be impaled in de razor-wire after he night of debauchery.Cars roar past de silent slinky sea, de sea can't speak, too shocked by what Mr. Squash does do up on de seawall in de cover of de dark.Ahh, Mr. Squash, Gray. You try to appear green outside but I see your rottin' under-side.Watch dis space, people...[...]

Frog or Prince?


“Ooooh, lookah this li’l frog, oooh, he so cute, ow, he cute and small like a button.”Yeah, that is what I did think when I first spot he, the li’l water-frog, as we call them. Some folks call them house-frog.  They don’t bite or do anything savage.  All they do is look cute and live in the kitchen.On top of all that, they becoming a rare event. Like they becoming extinguished or something, not that I know how you can extinguish something that have water in it.Anyway, being Earth Lover and all that, I let he stay.And I let he stay because of the good memories I have of them, like the time my first big brother put ice down my mother dress-back and she scream cos he tell she is a water-frog, haha.But then this here frog start to behave bad.He get bold, staring at me. Coming right out in public and ogling.  Alright, I ignore the ogling even though it make me a li’l uncomfortable.Then, he start to poo.  And when I tell you poo, I should write that with big capital P, no, the whole word should be Big Capital Letters. He start to POO.Vexation lick me sideways and backwards. “Oh yeah? That is what you think you coming in me kitchen to do? Woo and POO? Woo who with POO? I don't care what you think, I ain't want no wooing or weeing in me kitchen!”Nah nah nah, y’all don’t dis me as in disrespect me this good day here, don’t tell me to buy nappy or diapers as some call it.Seriously, tell me, what you woulda do?Sitting on my draining-board, trying to look innocent.[...]

Phoo...phooo...blowin' 'way de dust...


Dear Everyone, 

Long time now I been here! De dust gather thick and clumpy enough to build walls for a house!

I been writing, y'see. Working on a new book. The third book which I hope to publish first.

The book is about a man who live only in he little world.  Like most o' we, eh? Is a small book.

Anyway, every Friday I say, Okay, I gon blog.  The next thing you know...whops, something turn up that I got to do.

Same as today, I got a small chore but I decide to heck with it, I just want to say hi and show you two lovely things that happen while I been reading about all the badness taking place in the world.

I hope y'all doing well xx

I visit me lovely Irish auntie and get this gift.

And one morning....

Letter...light, dark, sea, sun.


Dear Everyone,I been away but not away. I been reading piles o’ articles about war and hate and peace.  I come to the conclusion that war-and-hate-talks is more popular than peace. I notice too that when we talk about the children-victims of war, hate or helplessness pull we down. I fall into the helpless pool.I been looking over old notes, searching me brain, me heart and soul for material for the third book. Hopefully, it gon be the first to publish.I been gazing at the sea, enjoying the light in the day,the in-between of evenings, and the cloud-colour at a certain time o’ night.Plenty mornings, I lose meself in the sunrise. I take photo and think about light versus dark.I cook lunch, I dance in de kitchen, pot and spoon in hand; sometimes, fork in mouth.And don’t lemme tell you about the drama of daily life in this here land, ohhhh me momma...P.S. Please note, I ain't a photographer. I only take pikchas as memory-notes.[...]

How to go from sweet to foul with only Sunday in between.


Here me was on Saturday: 

Today, Monday, here me is:

No, it ain't have nothing to do with Monday.

Y'know wanta know, eh? 

You wanta know what can change a sweet, lovely Lady this way?


Yes, I know, the formula my mother teach me is easy. Like cutting ripe banana.

Well, I don't kay! I don't care! 

Maths is maths!!!!

Just stoppin' in the middle of writing to say...


De Sea is callin' me!

I can smell dat brine, dem wild waves, foamin' an' flingin' with praises and woman-joy.

Untie me, please.


Dear Blogger Friends, I been in a conundrum. It did feel very much like the sea at night, rolling, roaring and bashing at the wall, rolling back...…because I had to make a painful decision. Finally, I decide.I wouldn’t publish book number 1 and book number 2 as yet. Unfortunately, this decision leave me in a tight-tight knot, silent.For nights after, I stand by the window listening to music, twisting me mind, turning thoughts... ...until……i’l bit, li’l bit…I untie the knots and a series of books roll into me.[...]



Me and Annie was talkin' on the phone the other day about The Big New Flag in town.This raise up a memory for me, pardon de poor pun. "When me brother was little, just starting school, he used to be late for school every blessed morning, Annie, all because of de flag.""Why?" Annie ask."At school, they used to have flag-raising ceremony..."Ow Lawd, yes, in we country-village, the children would stand in the briling hot sun, in the yard in front of the school, while a teacher raise the nation's flag, pulling the rope on the flag-pole. Up, up, went the flag with the temperature of the 8 o' clock sun. Down, down went the children in the heat, braps, faint. I forget to ask Annie if she school had that but I expect she did because she know exactly what I was talking about.Despite the children fainting, something about the ceremony appeal to me five-year old brother.Every morning, in the bathroom, the boy would chook he buckta...that is, he would prop he underpants...on to a mop-stick, then from one length of the bathroom to the other he would walk, singing the national anthem.I know this is what he was doing cos we had a house with walls that didn't go right up to the ceiling. At least two feet of space was left between high roof and wall.I, two years younger than this brother, would stand outside the bathroom and watch the buckta on the mop-stick parading above the wooden wall to the sound of my brother tuneless singing.In the kitchen, my mother would be hollering at him to hurry up and further up the road, school-bell would be jing-a-linging. Annie laugh. "Your brother was crazy.""He was the William Brown of we village, Annie."[...]

Brief encounter


Sun is skulkin' behind a cool haze when I rush out to walk away me blues, to buy some veggies and potatoes.

I walk, I walk til I am half-hour away from home.

Going back, I trudge down the wrong road.

A cool breeze is woo-wooing around me head, and a song is playing from the push-cart behind me, a bicycle supporting a wooden box full o' music and sound system. The chap selling to make a living is as dark as the ocean in the night, with a scar from brow to mouth, but when he smile, the hardness in he eyes ease away and he face brighten.

He push on, the song following me, full o' yearning and hope, though the rain may fall, the storm is gonna end, you make it home again...

I got my first racist slur hurled at me!


There me is, Thursday afternoon, at the roadside workshop, getting the car tyres full-up with air when I hear a car-cophany, horns blaring as if them drivers have diarrhea.Actually, I didn't hear the noise at first because, as usual, I am lingering in another day-dream in me head. And too besides, I was busy digging up money from me handbag to give to Sam the air-in-tyre fuller-upper man who did tell me to park right where I was.Gradually, a' furious voice protrude into me brain.Slow like a sloth in a civil service office now waking up, I stop checking for money and look towards the street.  The voice is coming from a mouth shouting and froffing with fury. It is behind a steering wheel in a dull-colour car, blocking a mighty long line o' traffic.I don't understand what the voice is saying, the car-cophany is too loud.Sam the air-in-tyre fuller-upper man haul away he hose and say, “Move back.”Everything after that feel like five minutes o’ slow-motion, yet it musta happen in only 3 seconds.I look at the voice in the car that is blocking traffic and......the voice let go a loud string o' epithet about “coolie” then more epithet. (The voice is not “coolie”, meaning East Indian people of Guyana).“Oh, it want me to move!” I mentally scratch me head like the skinny chap in Laurel and Hardy.I turn to my right to see why the voice want me to move...I am in the path to where it want to park.  I look behind me to check how much space I got to reverse, a police van is two car spaces away.I guess I should be writing with outrage and all o' that but, the truth is, that voice must be a bully to everybody in its life, heaven help its modda, its woman or women and its children. I don’t know if the voice been thinking that I was deliberately, superiorly taking my time, and its puny ego couldn't bear the weight of it, of being ignored, so it froff and fume like a fool.The policeman in the van ain't pick he teet, as we would say...the police ain't get involved.I reverse.  The voice calm down and rush to where it want to go. “Come forward,” Sam the air-in-tyre fuller-upper man say and fill the tyres.Later, I think, if it was me, and I did want to go into the spot where the voice did want to go, I woulda drive to a place where I could turn, then I would park behind the car that I think is deliberately blocking me, and I would wait my turn.But that is the problem with civilised people like me. I ain't got a voice that can froff and fume and I refuse to cultivate one. [...]

Molasses in them pants.



See me here!

Back home.

I am trying to blog from my mobile.

Does anyone do it?

Is it difficult?

If it's not, then I can blog quicker instead of having to boot up de pooter, etc etc.

And I can read your blogs and comment quicker.

But then...I forgot...


Still in South Florida...


Birthdays, parties, cakes, a circus, rain, sun, workin' in de garden, a visit to relatives who took us to their home and taught me tons of gardening tricks...

...aaatichooooo...yes, I know, every time I come dis side, I ketch a cold...

Whose moonlight...?


"Whose moon can it be? How can anyone stake claim when it was created for all? What drives us to always stake ownership, to grab, to clutch?"

Read more MOON STUFF here!

Other blog....


Well, I hope y'all notice that Google got Beethoven out there today...?

Cos, y'know, yesterday was Beethoven bir'day.

And Noel Coward bir'day.

And my bir'day.


But, anyway, de real story is...not dat it is a story-story, cos these days, I am saving them for books
ever since a certain writer read reams and reams of my blog to do research for a novel, using my word 'cocoon' and my idea of music and leaves, and trying to learn Creolese....and by the way, my Uncle from London say he did meet that writer in Guyana and he wasn't impressed with the writer or de book (which pleased my wicked little heart greatly)... real story which is not a real story is that I start dis other blog to write about my travels to, and life in, other places, the people I meet from far-flung corners of the world (yes, de world is full o' corners)...

No Ban.


Well, they let me in.

But I guess is because plenty people don’t know that this here place is a part of Merica.

At the airport, my mother greet me with wrap-around Ray-Ban dark glasses ‘cos she had eye surgery the day before.

Is delicious-sunny today. 

Soon, the whole place gon be so packed with tourists for the winter, it gon start leaning over (as my sister say).

Buenos dias, Florida!

Sucking teeth at de world!!!


“Stchuuuup.”That is the sound of a thousand and one expressions without you speaking a single word.Is the wordless sound of vexation. But depending on the context, with amusement on you' lips, it can mean, “Ahh man, you joking, who you think you fooling?”With one long “stchuuuuup” and you' eyes looking thin and mean, you can cut a big man down to li’l boy size.With a short “stchup” and a snicker, you can tell a rival gyal that she is nothing.In de Caribbean, whether you' ancestors wuz born in Africa,China, India, Portugal or England or here, suck teeth is the cross-culture language without words. Li’l children do it; old people with only gums suck they teeth too; aunties, uncles, mothers, fathers and all the rest, do it.To suck you' teeth, you got to: Pout you' lips in a li’l pout, clench you' top and bottom teeth close-close. Push the tip o’ you' tongue against you' teeth. Suck in air...stchuuuuu….when you want to finish, close you' lips…uuup.When you become expert, you can even do a side-of-you-mouth suck teeth. This you do when you joking with you' friends and one o’ them say something nutty.Stchuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.S'all I want to say today, lookin' at de news today, at men warring, how men love to war...[...]

The Day of the Umbrawla.

2015-11-24T11:47:55.529-04:00 think umbrella is some ordinary li’l object? Umbrella got powers. We the people here say you must never, ever open a’ umbrella in the house or it gon bring jumbie - that is, ghost - into your home.Umbrella can bring entertainment too!Look at the sheepish expression on people face when their umbrella histe-up she hem in the breeze. Weyyyy-heyyy.Me Cousin can verify the veracity of such laughter. She was a student nurse in the Caribbean island where sun does bake people alive. She buy a brand-new brolly to shade from the heat, like girls do back home in Guyana. She would introduce a new concept to the island people, how they can stay cool in the heat.Cousin hop on a bus anticipating the opening of the brolly in the shining-bright sun. Time to hop off. She pause at the open doorway for dramatic effect. She whip out she brolly in front of she like magician whipping out wand, and press the brolly button. Whoosh...brolly fly off and land 'pon road, sprawl open for all the world to see everything underneath.  The whole bus rock with laughter to see such sport.Cousin with she bare-nekkid, lawless umbrawla-handle crawl outta de bus like Mary meek li'l lamb...[...]




Ah laughing at the Authoritative Manner in which people
making weird pronouncements about other people beliefs
dese days, without knowing what is truth and what ain't.


A lot o' ignorant Experts out dey dese days!

Hate is all over the news.


Who do you love, Mr. Hate?

I see you rubbing you' goat-fur hands, clacking you' sharp claws together, you' jaundice eyes gloating, wondering who next you can call on, to whisper in they head, to tell them what to do.

I see you arriving disguised as outrage, anger, pain, sorrow.  

And I see people listening to you, and they don't know that they listening to you. 

And that is the frightening part, when people ain't conscious that they listening and acting out what you tell them to do.  

I gone to pray for Peace to sit in me heart and in the heart of Man.

Sad thing, Mr. Hate, gon make people curse me for that.

My little corner.


Dear Everyone, all myjuicysaltyspicybittersweetharddarkhurt-filledhealing-seeking words have gone into my first book. And all the creative bits left over...I’ve been putting those into my mini-mini-mini garden in my pocket-size verandah.I wash de verandah floor, ah scrub it, ah push ah shove ah sweep and ah make a li’l book nook. There I sit and read the sky.I trim plants, I dig and poke de dutty with me bare-nekkid fingers.  I put orchid stems with coc’nut husks and charcoal in two clay pots that my lovely Irish auntie give to me, and into one big clay pot from my ol’ home. I shuve banana-skin and Epsom Salts into the orchid-pots and say, Heh, eat and grow.And what you know!Fortunately for you, the tablet that got all the photos fall down and broke so I can’t torture you with pikchas of the 3 little orchids eating, burping, saying their first words, taking their first bath, going for their first walk…[...]



People, I been seeing Ning-Ning recently, since mid-September.I don’t know what he look like, but trust me, I been seeing he.I draw a picture of what I think he look see see he?See what I mean? He so sly, before you look around, zips, he gone.I think folks in other lands call he Murphy and this here Murphy got a bad law. Either that, or Ning-Ning and Murphy is in cahoots to cause trubble.I see he fiddling with me Internet.I see Ning-ning in de car.I see Ning-Ning in de fridge.I see he in de water-system for a family office-building.I am tired of Ning-Ning.Tie-yurrrd!I want to throw he to the sharks, but them sharks themselves is seeing Ning-Ning these days with all them humans cutting off they fins for soup.  And truth to tell, even them sharks, with all they long-long teeth don’t know how to bite Ning-Ning.I going to drink a cuppa tea.[...]

From my land to yours...


...peace and love.

Also, to those celebrating, Eid Mubarak.

Birthday Ma.


My mother is seventy-nine today!

I can't begin to tell you all how I wish I was there to spend it with she.

She is one o' the most kind, caring, giving person you would ever meet. And I ain't saying it just because she is my mother. Ask anybody who ever come in contact with she...they gon tell you how she help them.  She even useta feed the village drunk when he come asking for food.



…fish frying, floating through the air…


People!! My nose is a food-hound! My nose love food so bad, I can be walking on the streets and my nose does holler out, “Mmmm, I smell cook-up…mmm, I smell curry, mmm, I smell metemgee with plenty-plenty coc’nut milk, mmmm.”My nose never been so happy since I move into this apartment.  For some reason, my neighbours food here is far more felt, far more smelt. Smelled.  Maybe it’s the closeness here.  In my old neighbourhood, them houses was big with spacious land to separate them.When these neighbours here is cooking, (which sadly is not every day), my nose is so glad, it does make me stick me whole face through the window…oooh…get that smell of fish frying, floating through the air, sea wind blowing in a sky so blue. From the day I arrive here, my nose demand, “Make a list, make a list of all the food!”Like a good slave, I make de list in the notes section of me cell-phone:Meat curry in a thick sauce, plenty spices simmering in the oilFish fryingChicken curry from Mr. D. house across the roadStew beefBread bakingBrazilian coffee brewingOmelettePastry with something rich ‘n’ jammy in itMetemgee with full-strength coc’nut milkToastGarlic breadGround beef with tomatoes, onions, shallots, black-pepperGarlicPopcornChicken bakingChicken fryingGarlic in hot butter Whenever I happen to read the list, how my nose does giggle with delight![...]