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Local Affairs
By Bryan Bailey
In my time, not so long ago
We were a people who showed more gratitude
You know a little manners goes a long way!
Granted, in this country there was
A clash of two different cultures
UnityAt times, it felt as though we were
Defending our backs like soldiers, but
Although it seemed like tings were very bad
We ALL had the determination
To pull together with what we had
I am getting to the point, so don’t rush me!
Island Unity! Bajan, Jamaican, St. Lucian
Trinidadian, Antiguan, West Indian
Tell me now, where is it written that
One Island is better than another one?
We all came from Africa to the West Indies
You know the sunny isles over so!
So why is it, in business, that we can
Never seem to pull together?
Always arguing and cursing each other!

Man, from those early days to now
We should have advanced a lot more
The little corner shop Mr. Brown had
Never expand from these shores
Charlie opened up a food shop
On the high street last year
This morning I hear him close
Due to lack of support and business care

We must pull together as a community
And stop the hating and backbiting
Time to invest in ourselves
So that we can come out fighting
Whichever Island you come from
Be very proud of that fact
But remember, WE ALL ARE ONE
And Island Unity is where it’s at!

By Rosetta Stone
When I was small, a tiny little child
Not more than eight or nine
My sisters and I had this thought
A fervent dream we hoped would become reality
A picture of a family – our families fully grown
Not just sisters and brothers but of
Mummy and Daddy living in the same street
In a row of houses, houses occupied
Accommodated by Grandma, Grandpa
And Aunts, Uncles and Cousins too
A family community!
The way we remembered it back home
Home, back home in Jamaica
The family never lacked anything
There was always someone to step in
To take over; to love; to comfort
To wipe a falling tear, then care
Sweet care was like a running tap, it never stopped
Grandparents moved about, softy like early dew
Strong, fit, like the sun enveloping, they stepped in
Needing no instruction written on parchment
They’d been here more than once before
With ease, settled, Grandma gently rocked
The latest little bundle of joy
In the warm, soft folds of her arms
Passing on the family history
Meanwhile in fields of rich, golden brown
The chatter of surprises from young voices
Rise and fall while shadows miniaturize
Until no one has one at all and it’s left to Grandpa
To explain yet again where they’ve gone
And the secret of their return
Eyes shine and hands clap, it is clear
Grandpa is master of the show
Later, together feeling strong, they toil on
While babes sleep in hand-made cribs
And toddlers in beds that Grandpa made
Covered with soft embroidery sheets
Grandma had sewn lessons of the basic
How to sow and grow, survive in life
To live and grow old are passed on
And stored, cherished so they would never perish
I am still small, little, some say like a doll
My family and I don’t live in houses on the same road
Yet in our hearts we do!


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