Poem by New York based Jamaican, Melonie Hall.

So Much more!
A Tribute to all Service Workers
I now realize the greatness in me.
I am so much more,
so much more than
what your eyes see,
Today I find myself
in a position of servitude,
but I am so much more
than that. I have
dreams and aspirations,
you would not believe,
with my tenacity, I know one day that
I am bound to succeed. I am
so much more than what
you perceive. In pursuit of the
American Dream, I found me.
I anticipate success,that awaits.

Peace and Blessing to all. Please let this be an inspiration to anyone who circumstances may have forced you to detour from your dream. 'What you do for a living does not defines who you are. Nanny, House Keeper, Maid, Au-Pair. You are an integral part of the American culture, I hope one day the Domestic Industry will be given the long over due respect. One Love!

Excuse me
standing on one leg
I'm half-caste.
Explain yuself
wha yu mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean when Picasso
mix red an green
is a half-caste canvas?
explain yuself
wha yu mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean when light an shadow
mix in de sky
is a half-caste weather?
well in dat case
england weather
nearly always half-caste
in fact some o dem cloud
half-caste till dem overcast
so spiteful dem don't want de sun pass
ah rass?
explain yuself
wha yu mean
when yu say half-caste
yu mean tchaikovsky
sit down at dah piano
an mix a black key
wid a white key
is a half-caste symphony?
Explain yuself
wha yu mean
Ah listening to yu wid de keen
half of mih ear
Ah looking at yu wid de keen
half of mih eye
an when I'm introduced to yu
I'm sure you'll understand
why I offer yu half-a-hand
an when I sleep at night
I close half-a-eye
consequently when I dream
I dream half-a-dream
an when moon begin to glow
I half-caste human being
cast half-a-shadow
but yu must come back tomorrow
wid de whole of yu eye
an de whole of yu ear
an de whole of yu mind.
an I will tell yu
de other half
of my story.

John Agard is an acclaimed British based Guyanese poet, author and multi-disciplinary artiste. 

The sun does not

The half-dead stumps of chopped down trees reflect
the passage of a hurricane; the sun
does not. This wicked sun bruising the half-
side of my face speaks the truth of who I
am.
I step briskly by my known strangers,
invisible solid shape of my retreat-
ing presence gone in a hurricane rush.

Behind me now: the spider-limbed brown of tree
branches spread across the morning's walkway-
before the enterprise of mission
in the bright sunday aftermath of storm;

and my mind somewhere in between the two,
remembering half-wet clothes left on the line.


Lime Cay, Jamaica

The body of this bay curves tenaciously;
nothing more sweet as this Lime Cay.

I stand erect on the edge of reason,
watching the waves splash its breasts;

touch its nipples, reaching the long
line of its belly.

That is when I get lost in the button,
drunk on the hips of this island.

There's nothing as sweet as this Lime Cay,
not even the gentle sip of summer's lemonade.

Sunshine

in the pitch black of night
a darkness brightened by light

a delicacy where crudeness was
divine design
a created excellence

buzz

life between decay
and hopes of a new day.


Dog

Immaculately poised like an angel
along the emerald floor of pavement
just before the golden gate of a place
called home-
dog, like Mephistopholes,
will steal your soul with just one glance.

You are Faustus: the glare in his eye
is the human weakness; man's best friend
or whatever else he's called;
dog- is the example you should not follow.
The indolence and insolence of his leisure
is your your life's toil

and when that final return to the soil
consumes,
dog will still be here

with God

waging war against the hosts
of heaven and hell

trying to conquer your world.

Nicholas Alexander is a Jamaican poet whose works have been published regularly in the Arts section of both The Gleaner and Observer papers here. He is also an educator as well as a doctoral candidate at The University of The West Indies.