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Catullus 101

Multas per gentes et multa per aequora vectus

Carried through many nations and over many seas

advenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias,

I arrived, brother, for these wretched funeral rites

ut te postremo donarem munere mortis

So that I might present you with the last tribute of death

et mutam nequiquam alloquerer cinerem.

and speak in vain to silent ash,

Quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum.

Since fortune has carried away from me you in the flesh

Heu miser indigne frater adempte mihi,

Atlas, poor brother, unfairly taken away from me,

nunc tamen interea haec, prisco quae more parentum

now in the meantime, nevertheless, these things which in the ancient custom of ancestors

tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias,

are handed over as a sad tribute to the rites

accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu,

receive, dripping much with brotherly weeping.

atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.

And forever, brother, hail and farewell.

Adonais written by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Why Black People Act The Way They Do Dr. Joy deGruy Post Traumatic Slave...

Friday, December 23, 2016

Ode to a Swing Bridge Bulldozed

For donkey’s years Bajans did ride throughout
The length and breadth of country, the Leeward;
Vintage now! This bus was ugly indeed
With rails like a zoo-cage on every side,
It kept human cargo safely inside,
Canvas drapes rolled up to bring in the view,
Inside it commuters could not find loo.

Its snail-pace haste put passengers to sleep;
Thirty miles kept at bay the “arm of law”.
Into Lower Green, gear and brakes applied;
These “cool cats” got off with their heads held high
Up Broad Street to watch Chamberline fly by
Bubbling with pleasure were those gals and boys,
Laughing from ear to ear in city noise;

Now in the square, guys stood on the boardwalk;
Saw tourists round Nelson still on the slab
Looking down Broad Street at posh merchant stores
Heard not the pleas of hawkers shouting out,
Nuts, sugar cakes, comforts, hey! They did shout
Near the Bridge, they too, came to see it swing
And twirl itself to land on its west wing.

‘Twas an august event for country kids;
On parents’ lead excursions into town,
True pictures whizzed by from the northern drive:
Trees, fields and buildings along coastal sea
The marble dolphin spat for them to see;
As they walked on Chamberlain’s outstretched arms,
They viewed the marvellous deep with its charms.

They saw Fielding’s stevedore bridge quartet
Those guys bellowed the bridge lyrics out loud;
Hands on here, Victoria! Hands on here!
Lock all the bolts now and hold on real tight!
Now heave to the left then spin to the right;
Swing now Chamberlain, and swing to the west
Real wide on Duncan’s side, you must now rest.

Oh Chamberlain! You deserve to rest now
And view all sorts of cargo passing by
In this temporal groove, the Careenage
Of still waters ’neath arched extremities
With trade from Caricom communities;
As pleasure crafts sail with the cool sea breeze
For you give them shelter from angry seas.

To your north stand political towers,
The Cathedral and heroes in the Square,
Your frame preserved the tracks, stains and bruises
Caused by every thing flowing over you;
Some have mishandled you and raped you too;
Yet your NISE arms swung with pride and beauty;
Your rest deserved; you have done your duty.

Oh Bridge of fragile frame you have reached now
One hundred and thirty-three years this fall.
With Indians’ feathered quills they wrote ‘bout
The blood, the sweat and tears of by-gone slaves,
Your blows from hurricanes and killer waves,
Yet, your timbered heart did find common ground
With Wolferstone, and Chamberlain, profound!

With tears in our eyes, they bulldozed you down;
Took some of your parts to Heritage Park
Vintage now in maritime museum
Never more will you swing your arms again
But your glory and honour shall remain
With new technology you lift your frame
From dust you rise, thanks to a City Dame.

Bridgetown the mega town of this small isle,
Rejoices with your megabytes software;
Best wishes to you from us here and there
Welcome your new arms, as you lift them tall;
Never more shall we let you rot and fall,
For with Barrow close by, pleases all Dames;
Boost sales from tourists and the World Cup games.

©Paterika Hengreaves
(Birthplace: Maycock's, St. Lucy, Barbados)

When the word was out that the historic swing bridge of Barbados would be demolished to make way for a modern technology lift bridge, I saw this as an opportunity to write a landmark poem that chronicles its life and the emotions it evoked in me. A little background to the locale of this historic landmark Swing Bridge is in order I suppose. So here it goes.

Two bridges span the Careenage: one that used to swing open and closed when larger ships passed, and another with the Independence Arch standing tall. These bridges echo back to when colonists first settled the land and found a handmade Indian bridge spanning the river. Chamberlain Bridge (the old swing bridge) stretches from Trafalgar Square to the other bank; the Charles Duncan O’Neale Bridge spans the river to the city’s main bus terminal on Fairchild Street. The Careenage is actually an arm of the sea that stretches inland. Bajans named the “river” Constitution River. In past years, merchants used the Careenage’s calm water as a place to dock their ships and to load/unload merchandise. In years gone by, Bridgetown used to bustle with men and women who carried heavy bundles of bananas, boxes of mangoes and avocados, barrels of rum, etc.

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Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Snow on the Mountain

(Sexain rhyming abacbc)

She loves her cat and her rustic garden;
Her green thumb is a plus for growing things;
A walk in the garden gives her free pardon,
For all those people who have done her wrong;
Such inner thoughts, give her the eagle's wings
To soar amid the clouds among the throng.

She misses her Christmas spent in the snow;
She sighs, this tropical place is boring;
Cane arrows and wild flowers are on show;
In her dreams she sees winter wonderland,
Where the snow drips on things like cake frosting,
A snowy Christmas is ever so grand.

This idea nurtured in her dreamy head;
Atlas! A twig planted not a seed;
Her plan was enacted nine months ahead;
As she watched her spurge grow in the sunlight,
In mum's garden she stood near her ghost weed;
A blooming white Christmas would be all right.

Strolling in mum's garden on Christmas morn,
A beautiful sight caught her by surprise;
On her euphorbiaceae not a torn,
But a crown of wee white flowers appears
During a torrid Christmas caught her eyes;
Like snow on the mountain, that name it bears.

© Paterika Hengreaves
December 2008/Barbados

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Speaking my thoughts with you (Paterika Hengreaves)

Weaving Words that’s Poetry

Allegorically speaking, poetry is the poets’ backpack they trek with through the mountains, valleys, streams, plains and moor in a cognitive environment. These poetry chefs search for the right ingredients to clean and season the poetry they cook for their readers. Ever mindful that their poetry must have the right taste and texture for folks still growing baby teeth, those with all their natural adult teeth, those who must wear dentures and those who like gravy, hot peppers, salads and potpourri. Ever mindful of this, poets select the best spices and condiments to add flavor to their poetry dishes. In advance, they set the weight and measurement then blend them well into the stuffing that goes into the poetry. When completed the poetry is placed on the serving tray with the presentation pleasing to the eyes in a manner that complements the poetry being served.

 Poetry is the manifestation of literature written in meter or open form.

Literature is the body of works recognized for having merit artistically. Poetry is a branch of Literature.

Poetic Expression is the art of spinning words together with imagination, emotion, passion, dreams, hope and an uncontained energy calling out to people around, as they listen and join in with the various personas in the narratives.

The poem is the product (the egg as it were) that emerges out of poetry written in elevated and imaginative language and must be handled with care.

Poet creates poetry. Convention dictates that male and female versifiers are called poets; poetess for female versifiers is no longer in vogue. Poets create poetry through a method known as versification. Apart from being the writer of poems, the poet is the voice in poems speaking from a specific Point of View through the use of carefully selected pronouns such as I, me, my, we, us, our, you, your, thou, she, he, it, her, him, they, them. These pronouns tell what voice the poet is using when communicating to readers of the poems. Therefore, the poet is not only the writer; the poet is the Voice or Persona speaking in poems.

Versification is a weaving process of the poets’ thoughts they use to feed the senses of their readers. This process requires the use of versifier tools; with each tool performing a specific task but at the same time, these tools work in unison to produce the end product known as the poem which can either be structured or unstructured. The six versifier tools are content, elements, form, measurement, sound effects and style.

Content is made up of facts, ideas and impressions which poets creatively weave together into the words in poems. The arrangement of content is dictated by the particular form, style and genre which poets use.

Elements refer to density, form, tone, speaker, setting, character, imagery, point of view, rhythm, symbolism and sound (euphony).

Form in poetry refers to the poem’s physical structure and familiar pattern that give shape to a poem.

Physical structure point to length of the verses, the methods applied to rhymes and repetition.

Familiar pattern encompasses specific types of poems which can be straight forward, open-ended, complex system of rhymes, rhythms and repeated verses within a fixed number of verses.

Genre in the poetic world means the type of poems characterized by a specific form as seen in epic poems, narrative poems, romantic poems, dramatic poems, lyric poems and free verse. Poetic genre enhances imaginative and emotional power of those who read poetry.

Mono rhyme is a rhyme scheme in which each verse has an identical rhyme. The term mono rhyme describes the use of one mono type of repetitious sound (rhyme) usually at the end of each verse.

Point of View is the perspective from which the poem is told. This helps the audience to understand who those characters are speaking in the poem. The poet does this by staging various types of voices or personas to narrate the poem to the audience, and is forever mindful not to present situations whereby the audience is turned off because voices are too boring, preachy or reveal overwhelming traits of narcissism.

The Voice What must be borne in mind is that the poet is not only the writer but is the voice, who speaks to the audience in three different ways with the help of such pronouns  I, me, my, we, us, our, you, your, thou, she, he, it, her, him, they, them. These pronouns tell what voice the poet is using when communicating to readers of the poems. Therefore, the poet is not only the writer; the poet is the Voice as well as the persona speaking in poems from a specific Point of View. Another thing, Voice is imagery, tone, pattern of sound, rhythm and diction.

Persona is the Latin word for mask worn by poets. The poets wear this poetic mask as it were, to change roles in poems they create. The mask allows poets to speak directly or indirectly to the audience by manipulating such pronouns as mentioned before: I, me, my, we, us, our, you, your, thou, she, he, it, her, him, they, them.

In Section I, the poet has taken on the mask of First Person Persona by using these pronouns: I, me, my, we, us, our as required when speaking to the audience from what is known thus forging an intimate relationship with the audience. The poet through the voice of the persona speaks from what is known or seen an immediacy, intimacy and sympathy are more intense when poets mask the voice of the First Person Persona, thus offering a deeper connection with the audience. This connection allows the audience to travel directly inside the poets thoughts. It is important to note that First Person Persona is referred to by such terms as First Person Narrative, First Person Limited and First Person Point of View.

The speaking mask the poet wears in Section Two is orchestrated by the use of such pronouns “you, your, thou”. In using these pronouns the poet evokes the voice of “Second Person Persona. Here the poet is no longer the protagonist. The poet’s role has shifted to the audience. Second Person Persona poems do create distance between the poet and the audience. The impression that always comes to mind is that the poet does not want to speak to the audience directly. It also conveys the notion of being too instructional thus making the audience average, idealizing or topical. These impressions could be the reasons why most poets tend to shy away from writing Second Person poems. Nevertheless, the use of Second Person Persona “you” is fairly common in poetry, and since poets do not want to wear the label of being “too aloof” the combination of the “you” and “I” is increasingly seen in poems. Examples of these Second Person Persona poems are displayed in Section II.

Poets from time to time write about their thoughts in third person so as not to be seen as always a First Person Persona character. What does the poet do in this regard? The poet wears the mask of the Third Person Persona in three disguises that of a Third Person Persona Limited Omniscient, Third Person Persona Objective or Third Person Persona Omniscient by using such pronouns as she, he, it, him, they and them. What is significant here is that there are various levels of cognitive understanding when poets choose to mask as these various personas as for examples:

When the mask of the Third Person Persona Limited Omniscient is worn the speaker knows all the happenings of the character, but not the character’s thoughts as depicted in those poems housed in Section III.

When the mask of the Third Person Persona Objective is worn the speaker speaks about what is seen as the picture unfolds before the eyes but the inner thoughts of characters are not divulged in the poems. Such poems provide an impartial report with no interpretation or dialogue provided. The advantage of this narrative point of view is that the persona gives an impartial response and offers more speed and action. The audience must interpret. The down-side of this though, the poet cannot use interpretive language on actors in the poem, but must rely heavily on stating the actions and dialogue of actors in scenarios as for example shown in William Wordsworth poem the “Incident”. This type of Third Person Persona Objective poems are shown in Section IV below but before going to Section IV read Wordsworth’s poem, “Incident”.

(William Wordsworth)

On his morning rounds the Master
Goes to learn how all things fare;
Searches pasture after pasture,
Sheep and cattle eyes with care;
And, for silence or for talk,
He hath comrades in his walk;
Four dogs, each pair of different breed,
Distinguished two for scent, and two for speed.

See a hare before him started!
--Off they fly in earnest chase;
Every dog is eager-hearted,
All the four are in the race:
And the hare whom they pursue,
Knows from instinct what to do;
Her hope is near: no turn she makes;
But, like and arrow, to the river takes.

Deep the river was, and crusted
Thinly by a one night’s frost;
But the nimble Hare hath trusted
To the ice, and safely crost;
She hath crost, and without heed
All are following at full speed,
When, lo! the ice, so thinly spread,
Breaks—and the greyhound, DART, is overhead!

Better fate have PRINCE and SWALLOW—
See them cleaving to the sport!
MUSIC has no heart to follow,
Little MUSIC, she stops short.
She hath neither wish nor heart,
Hers is now another part;
A loving creature she,and brave!
And fondly strives her struggling friend to save.

From the brink her paws she stretches,
Very hands as you would say!
And affliction moans she fetches,
As he breaks the ice away.
For herself she hath no fears,--
Him alone she sees and hears,--
Makes efforts with complaining; nor gives o’er
Until her fellow sinks to re-appear no more

Third Person Persona Omniscient in poetry analysis is a technique where in poems the persona knows the feelings, and thoughts of every character in the poem as shown in the poems in Section V.

 Section I – First Person Persona Poetry

Poem #1
Avian Christmas Dish

Three days before Christmas of twenty ten;
Strolling as usual under cherry tree;
I was on my wild hunting regimen;

Feline behavior really sets me free.

Killer instinct does dwell in feline mind;
Predatory drives hunting daily sport;
Regardless of how well fed, teeth must grind.

Domesticated in home at Bridgeport...

On boughs my four padded feet stood supreme;
Among wet leaves and rising of the sun;
Birds among the green; I plotted my scheme;

Poultry dish wish my fearless plot was spun.

Through cherry boughs I scaled through early morn,
With every climb my wish grew out of sight;
“Come down Ginger, you are no leprechaun”;

That voice in my head was stern and polite.

A Whisks cat I am: I love to prey;
But church bells bellowed time for midnight mass;
Trees sang ‘Silent Night” and I had no sway;

Those black-birds chirped cherry-berry Christmas (December 2010/Barbados)

Please wait for the continuation

Saturday, December 17, 2016

Morning Glory in Triolet

The stillness of the lonely night;
Bows, to the dazzling face of dawn;
Those reticent stars no longer bright.
The stillness of the lonely night; 
Hides behind snowy fluffs of light;
Clouds float like bales of cotton drawn.
The stillness of the lonely night
Bows, to the dazzling face of dawn. 

Engulfs neglected shrubbery; 
Behind my backroom door; 
On barbed wire fence so motherly
Engulfs, neglected shrubbery; 
It coils and runs beautifully
Welcoming sun about to soar. 
Engulfs neglected shrubbery; 
Behind my backroom door.

© Paterika Hengreaves
(December 17, 2016)

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Want Our Country Back

(a rhyming Sestina)

We love cars, planes and the rustic garden;
A green thumb is a plus for growing things;
The garden song sings “We beg your pardon”;
To plants and fauna for the blatant wrong;
Such inner thoughts give us the eagle’s wings
To dream of soaring on clouds all day long;

Checking and logging all trees stretch time long;
Dry fingers casting spells on the garden;
Leaves falling to earth like parachute’s wings;
Compost beds breed all sort of nasty things;
Five-fingers starry eyes see miles of wrong
Trailing barnacles send no such pardon.

Beepee gulfed up a belated pardon;
This abuse on minds goes on way too long;
Polluting waters so insanely wrong;
Giant snails leave caustic slime in garden;
Their kiss of death breathes on all sorts of things;
Jets are the only things now with whole wings.

Pelicans walk like crabs; they have no wings;
While corporate greed gets “lone-star” pardon,
For oily fingers do drive gears on things;
The thrill of the drill marches deep and long;
We want our country back in the garden
As was, geico gecko this can’t be wrong!

Abusing nature’s hands that feed is wrong;
Heat in the House grew Atlantic flight wings;
Off he goes; drinks tea in English garden;
Him wearing crest of a southern pardon;
On his racing yacht’s main sail wide and long;
Shake down cherries bring smiles on earthly things.

We give lip-service to recycling things;
Pointing fingers at who is doing wrong;
This curse in the earth has gone on too long;
We abuse mother-nature’s heart and wings;
And mouth on spotlight gives stagecoach pardon;
No trump or be chased like Eve from garden

Among garden things name creatures with wings;
Nature suffers wrong; goes without pardon;
We wait all day long; oil waters garden.

© Paterika Hengreaves

Monday, December 12, 2016

The Barbados Museum

(A tribute poem in acrostic to The Barbados Museum - Historical Society of Heritage)

This present world they have left far behind;
Handed Henry Fraser their building code;
Engineered, with cognitive sparks entwined;

Behind the brick walls of a prison hole;
At St Ann’s, they see works of art displayed
Rose, as the Museum Age took control;
Brightening, their path down memory lane;
And, for this reason old things are treasured;
Digging at square roots enlightens their brain;
Oldie goldies warm still with heritage;
Stand, so silently communicating.

Musingly, they learn from their by-gone age;
Underneath their plateau, they trace their place;
Sum eighty-three years, St. Ann Bajan' sage,
Every time, artefacts surge from deep grave;
Unearth the cords that bind, the human race...
Museology broadens their knowledge crave.

© Paterika Hengreaves
December 12, 2016


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In plenty and in time of need
When this fair land was young
Our brave forefathers sowed the seed
From which our pride was sprung
A pride that makes no wanton boast
Of what it has withstood
That binds our hearts from coast to coast
The pride of nationhood


We loyal sons and daughters all
Do hereby make it known
These fields and hills beyond recall
Are now our very own
We write our names on history's page
With expectations great
Strict guardians of our heritage
Firm craftsmen of our fate

The Lord has been the people's guide
For past three hundred years.
With Him still on the people's side
We have no doubts or fears.
Upward and onward we shall go,
Inspired, exulting, free,
And greater will our nation grow
In strength and unity.


We loyal sons and daughters all
Do hereby make it known
These fields and hills beyond recall
Are now our very own
We write our names on history's page
With expectations great
Strict guardians of our heritage
Firm craftsmen of our fate

The tree that gave Barbados its name

Independent Barbados Shelved Guy Fawkes Night

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Halloween Poetry - Pirates of the Caribbean

Poems for September 11

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(Diastic Reading Through Procedures)
(Reversed Telestich)
No Friendly Sky Anymore
(in Diastic)
No Friendly Sky Anymore
(in Free Verse)
Nine Eleven's Broken Promise
(Iambic Tetrameter abab)
Ode to Sweet Revenge - Ground Zero Never
(in Irregular Ode)

Hello Sweden


Midsummer's Day Exquisiteness

Sample Didactic Poems

Didactic Poetry is intended to convey instruction and
information as well as pleasurable reading. It can assume
the mode and features of imaginative works by infusing knowledge in a variety of forms such as dramatic poetry, satire, parody, among others. There is the popular view that allegory, aphorisms, apologues, fables, gnomes and proverbs are specific types of Didactic Poetry because of their close affinity.

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Hurricane Preparedness Watch
If Words
Rhyming For So

Too Sweet

Royal Wedding Cake for Prince William and Kate Middleton


Limerick Poems



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Laugh it Off
She Asks
Wiener Souse

Barbados' National Festival of Culture July 1 to August 1

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Kadooment Day

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To all the people in New Zealand

Thank God only minor damage has been caused by this 7.0 Earthquake in New Zealand's North and South Islands.

Kia ora

Robb Kloss - Musing from Aoteaora
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National Anthems of New Zealand

Anthem 1

Māori Version

E Ihowā Atua,
O ngā iwi mātou rā
Āta whakarangona;
Me aroha noa
Kia hua ko te pai;
Kia tau tō atawhai;
Manaakitia mai

Ōna mano tāngata
Kiri whero, kiri mā,
Iwi Māori, Pākehā,
Rūpeke katoa,
Nei ka tono ko ngā hē
Māu e whakaahu kē,
Kia ora mārire

Tōna mana kia tū!
Tōna kaha kia ū;
Tōna rongo hei pakū
Ki te ao katoa
Aua rawa ngā whawhai
Ngā tutū e tata mai;
Kia tupu nui ai

Waiho tona takiwā
Ko te ao mārama;
Kia whiti tōna rā
Taiāwhio noa.
Ko te hae me te ngangau
Meinga kia kore kau;
Waiho i te rongo mau

Tōna pai me toitū
Tika rawa, pono pū;
Tōna noho, tāna tū;
Iwi nō Ihowā.
Kaua mōna whakamā;
Kia hau te ingoa;
Kia tū hei tauira;

English Version

God of Nations at Thy feet,
In the bonds of love we meet,
Hear our voices, we entreat,
God defend our free land.
Guard Pacific's triple star
From the shafts of strife and war,
Make her praises heard afar,
God defend New Zealand.

Men of every creed and race,
Gather here before Thy face,
Asking Thee to bless this place,
God defend our free land.
From dissension, envy, hate,
And corruption guard our state,
Make our country good and great,
God defend New Zealand.

Peace, not war, shall be our boast,
But, should foes assail our coast,
Make us then a mighty host,
God defend our free land.
Lord of battles in Thy might,
Put our enemies to flight,
Let our cause be just and right,
God defend New Zealand.

Let our love for Thee increase,
May Thy blessings never cease,
Give us plenty, give us peace,
God defend our free land.
From dishonour and from shame,
Guard our country's spotless name,
Crown her with immortal fame,
God defend New Zealand.

May our mountains ever be
Freedom's ramparts on the sea,
Make us faithful unto Thee,
God defend our free land.
Guide her in the nations' van,
Preaching love and truth to man,
Working out Thy glorious plan,
God defend New Zealand.

Anthem 2

God Save the Queen

God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save The Queen.
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us:
God save The Queen.

O Lord our God, arise,
Scatter our enemies,
And make them fall;
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks;
On thee our hopes we fix:
God save us all.

Thy choicest gifts in store
On her be pleased to pour,
Long may she reign.
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice,
God save The Queen.

Note: The second verse of 'God Save The Queen' is commonly omitted.

Edmund Hillary


Today's Featured Poem in Blank Form

Charlie Douglas
by Bob McKerrow

Guests Poets' Poems


Centre Piece

Centre Piece
Yellow Candles

Ohio Sunrise July 6, 2007

Ohio Sunrise July 6, 2007

Quoting Maya Angelou

Education helps one's case Cease being intimidated by strange situations