Friday, October 21, 2016

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.

Friday, August 05, 2016

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.


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…


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...

Friday, July 29, 2016

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.

Friday, July 15, 2016

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....

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

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.

Monday, April 18, 2016

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!!!!

Wednesday, April 06, 2016

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.