Jamaica

Soft blue clouds in the sky

Muted reds of bird feathers in disguise

Bright green canopy where beauty hides

Turquoise blue waves no wipe out tides,

Paradise

The ping-ping of steel drums overtakes the ears

a canvas rendering of melodious sounds, rakes

feast… on post colonial plantation picnic

fresh pastries, sandwiches made of the finest meats…

white glove service on manicured greens,

thirst yearns essence of mango laced lemonade and black tea

reggae, soothes the passive soul, a colorful pageantry

the tribal needles through coconut palms

surrendering to banana prawns

and pineapple groves

not a care

dancing with mouths wide open

that is the Jamaica I once knew

My Jamaica

Chicka

I can hear you singing

high up in the willow tree

I can hear you singing

But mine eyes cannot see

Chicka chickadee come and meet

Óne of your many fans

you could come down and sit beside

î can lend á hand for you to grandstand

Í can hear you in from the thickets

please jump to a less leafy tree

where a lonely watcher can spy, perhaps a spruce or pine

your black capped head and complimenting bow tie

One of nature's many models yet to debut in VOGUE

Your everyday attire, all dressed up with nowhere to go

Your stunning all white shirt with double breasted grey tailcoat

its green stripes and black toed shoes

chicka chickadee, i hear you rustling through, taking off

flown, flying high; disappointed

But won’t hold against

c 2025 Carl k Harris