Poetry Series
Echo WalkerJacobs
- poems -
2
Echo WalkerJacobs (May 8 1978)
My inspiration comes from Londyn and G
I consider myself to be real - and straight - i hate fake people i think that we
are over shadowed by what we want to achieve and we block out our true
selves and charaters - we can only find our true faith if we are willing to be
ourselves. when you make this decision you will see that only true and real
things come.
when you are a writer it appears that you were never born and you will never
die for words are eternal
I love life and I love my family thats my biography
3
Come to Antigua
Come to Antigua my Motherland and meet her sister there Codington
How beautiful they are together
Nested in the Antilles of the eastern seas
With caves and coves to explore the Devil’s Bridge is only one lure
Ms. Sheryl’s Heights will surly entertain taking even the breathless gulps of air away.
So many forts with buried gold, treasure maps and stories untold
Sweet sugar mills and so much more she has in riches you'll never be poor
Her Sister has many temptations too, an exceptional lagoon, birth sanctuary and sand
dunes.
How beautiful these sisters are cloaked in blue seas and sparkling pink and with sands
Privacy you sure will get while eyeing any sunset.
Yes come to Antigua
Where culture of our African heritage has transcended
Come taste our local treats galore
Some slice up, Ashum. Dutty Gal, trambrin stew mango chutney and peppermint too.
Fungi and Sailfish; Pepper Pot; Roasted Selfish, Steamed Crab Backs
Trust me they are oh so good you’ll be flying back for more of her tasteeee treats.
I’m not going to tell you much more
Come to Antiguan- Meet her friendly people
taste her award winning Black Pineapple
Dance with the pirates and drink lots of Rum
Antigua and Barbuda, what a succulent pair
No other island in the sun can every compare none not even one
Come to Antigua and you will see that her beaches are only the beginning of me.
Echo WalkerJacobs
4
Like making love
It’s like making love my writings you’ll notice
If I’m not inspired to come I cannot see
If my focus is off I cannot complete
If I only get distracted the longer it takes, for my juices to flow and nourish my brain
If you cannot keep my attention, then I just move on
to the other pages I turn too
for spice is life, what I need is simply sweet delight.
Maybe some chocolate cake
and a quiet place to reminisce
Where the waves meet the sand and swash and back wash has no plan.
I need a clean and gentle breeze to caress my face
New love, it’s sent, its embrace
Sometimes just to watch the mongoose show its face.
Somewhere that has its shelter enclosed a nice little quiet cove
Maybe in Willkies or English Harbour maybe Town
Where I can release my inner most tensions and thoughts of peace are easily found
if I need to get naked I can in this place, freedom has no price, time isn’t a race
I can seduce the beach into deceiving the trees
My pen moves oh so franticly caressing my need, the ink makes the page quiver as I
need to write down each and every word; each and every phrase each and every
whisper
My pores are open my senses are sharp
my inspirations comes as sweet as the climax only from my heart
I’m content, falling back as the last word is written to end my thought.
Echo WalkerJacobs
5
The Man of the House
Five years has passed
And I am still in cub
365 after 365 has gone
Yet I only have one room
Promises are being broken by this man of my house
He keeps me locked away in a prison
For he’s the master and I’m the slave
The paper he says makes him the man
For marriage is a cage and evil plan
I cannot hold two jobs to make a buck
cannot work longer hours to even move up
cannot beg a ride
cannot talk on the phone
cannot cook unless I’m told
I must always be satisfied with what he provides
Consistently he belittles me
Insults me and takes away my freedom and dignity
Isolate me from people
Just any one….no contact, no privileges
no monthly stipend does he give
yet I’m expected to give him all he demands
as some sick payment for providing to lodging me
every night I lay confused, in a corner asking myself is he my muse?
for if it weren’t for this man in my house,
I could not write I would not doubt?
I am so lucky that he allows me to have these friends
best friends pen and paper book and head.
you see this man of the house he’s hard
I cannot sing, nor dance, nor chant
I must always be a lady a house wife a mom
the woman that every one admires for keeping her man
I wish for once my voice could shout
Get out! Get out! you evil louse.
There is no more wood to eat away, only a thin and fragile minded house.
I wish some one could sweep him out
like dust from my feet I would brush him out
alas only my friends the book the paper my head and the pen
will only know how I can win
I write what I want my hopes to be
I write what I need, and it helps me be free
to cope with the madness that echo’s in my head
for now this man of the house stays
until my friends can plot the ways
and tell me how to sweep him out
unfortunately no matter how you sweep,
you can never get all the dust from under your feet.
6
Echo WalkerJacobs
7
The Pages of my book are blank.
The pages of my book are blank
I have no melody to right
No journal to log
I am dead!
Lifeless is my pen
It does not breathe nor flow to move my thoughts to page
My fingers can no longer grip it
I’m scared!
As I flip through this blank lifeless world
Wondering if anything will every be written
If inspiration will come; with who and what?
So deep in taught I cannot see what is right in front of me.
The pages of my book are blank
As my finger tips touch the leaves to turn
I smell the oldness, dust and musk and
Envision the wrinkles the line creates
I’m all of a sudden drawn to these pages
as excited as a lamp fly is to light
I flutter a bit closer bringing book and pages into my sight
a little closer now up to my nose
I close my eyes inhaling the comfort the oldness brings
I slowly morn,
lick my lips and swallow hard.
It hits me as a ton of bricks
BAM
The light bulbs comes on … and slowly the pain of realization goes
As my inspiration lies in the blankness of my books eyes
The pages of my book are blank
but now I can see what inspirations life has for me.
With pen in hand I take a stand
The challenges are great, but I will never back down
forward movement without a frown
a deep resounding sigh I gave as the ink hits the leaf and the pages start to breathe.
Echo WalkerJacobs
8
What is Love
When you think of love what do you see?
Is it a touch?
A smell
A face
A dream
When you touch love what do you feel?
Is it warm
Is it soft & cool like the evening breeze?
Is it a comfort after a hard days work?
Is it the rest that comes when you’re at ease?
How do you know its love?
How does it smell’ like slow cooked soup or ginger bread?
How does it look; is it a wide eye wonder at your first picture book?
Is love when I see your face smiling back at me ironically but oh so passionately?
Is it love when you touch my hand and embrace my face looking in my eyes form that
special place?
Is it love when I smell your skin so clean and fresh of sun ripened berries or apple
crème?
Is it love for me and not for you?
a folly of fear a drink of dew
A dream of me a dream of you,
Alone and oh so far from you
A dream of you a dream of me
Together the two of us makes we?
How do you know its love?
Cause I see, I feel, I touch, I dream, the comfort of love is serene.
Echo WalkerJacobs
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