The Story about a Grackle

(Modern Sonnet rhyming aabb ccdd eeff gg)



(Video without Audio)
At half past nine on a bleak Monday morning,
A blackbird entered my house without warning,
Unlike a scaredy-cat in search for some food,
Was seen caught in a snare with a scary mood
.
This bead-eye grackle could not find the way out
Because mirage in its eyes cut the bird's clout;
The squawking black beauty tagged the window pane;
This two-legged winged creature with a birdbrain.

So the blackbird could not find the exit route;
Kept on slamming glass-pane in frenzied pursuit;
The grackle found itself on a glassed barred cage;
Its freedom in wings it dared not disengage
.
Wow! The door opened with hands it did not see;
Out flew the Bajan grackle in cherry tree.

© Paterika Hengreaves
January 3, 2010/Cassia Drive, Barbados

All that to Say

(Rhyming abab)


















The New Year is dawning on us;
Janus looks into our eyes;
Past and present we still discuss,
Yet marvel how time really flies.

Resolutions do come and go;
But wear I must, the common touch;
Know what flies on red flag doth show,
And the meaning of such-and-such;

Drop not the ball on "Golden Rule";
Going green is not an option;
Greediness always finds a mule;
Riding the poor, much too often.

Candles, smoke and those butterflies,
Are symbols on carded poem
I sent to you, I summarize:
The godliness of each totem;

Each candle light doth show the spread
Of God's love, for all of mankind;
He clears the smoke, that makes eyes red,
Answers to prayers are well defined.

Butterflies show life is fragile,
Yet beauty in life still doth dwell;
Frowns we erase with every smile;
Hope is there with the New Year's bell.

The future is in our hands,
The paths are there; tread without stealth;
To folks near and in far-off lands,
Happy New Year, peace and good health!

© Paterika Hengreaves

The Talking Pigeon Pea

(Rhyming aabb)



Would you please tell me why I have this name?
I am befuddled, but who must I blame?
You'll find me on continents and islands;
Growing in heated fields, and backyard lands;

Sustenance farming is good and is wise;
Plenty benefits look us in the eyes;
Now that jobs are scarce and are in the tank;
Go plant pigeon peas, he said point-blank.

From dried pods with six-grained pigeon peas,
In July, these seeds Pat sowed between weeds
In a hole, in the ground so I could grow,
And for three months my growth was really slow.

Grounded on ridge, at the back of her house
Far away from grazing sheep, goats and cows;
I took my place among her other trees;
My six-month green dress blows in torrid breeze.

Five fingers keep dropping stars at my feet;
Ackees split their reddish balls so discreet;
My boughs droop from pods packed like a sardine;
The light of which, you can see in between.

On sea of green, my yellow flowers sway
In clusters, seeping boughs with fragrant spray.
On Christmas Eve, Pat picked my ripened peas
With gentle hands, while ignoring the bees.

On kitchen table my green pods did rest;
She shelled each pod, with apron on her dress,
In preparation for the Christmas dish
Of green peas and rice, with turkey and fish.

© Paterika Hengreaves
December 24, 2009/Cassia Drive, Barbados