Flying Fish

Oft in childhood recollection
of the beach,
many pleasurable moments
the mind did reach;
roaming the shores
of Half-Moon Bay,
naked bodies all splashed
with foaming spray;
while on hillsides
donkeys brayed.

So many wonders
of the Caribbean Sea,
feet all wet
and silver sands
on the knee,
as bleachers
and bathers
from far and near
chill-out
with their kith and kin
beneath
the trees of coconut
with water that is very clear.

Fisher folks have come
to throw their nets
as agile as ever
with no regrets
to harvest,
these flying fish

Steaming













deliciously















Floating in hot sauce

This is Bajans' delight.

They hurled those nets;
in frenzy array, so...

The aerobatics
are on disply in the air;
and the flying fish battle rages;

Callaloo plays the game
so... unfair!

Cou-cou on the stove top














dripping with okra strew...

Cou-cou done...


















Stands on plate!














Waiting for flying fish
to land,
while the wives of fishermen,
young and old
are crying every Easter morn
not knowing
what next they must do.

The war of words is too profound
For the gilded heads;
so they seek the lustre

of the ocean bed
in preparation
for...the eminent flight...

They quickly surface
the water
for viewers in sight;
leaping like a frog in midair,

then down again
with valour
and power.

These grasshoppers
of the sea now disappear...

Resurfaced again without dread...

Their pectoral fins outstretched;
they soar like a jet
the down with the nosedive,









Splash!

And they are very wet...


With submarine topography
on the ocean floor
a thousand feet below or more
such fervid flight incomplete!

For now they sleep
in a tropical ocean
that is so very deep;


Far...


Away...

From nets
and noise fishermen do keep.

© Paterika Hengreaves

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