Ode to Sweet Revenge - Ground Zero Never

He is cleaning House;
They want it done with lightning speed
Such a measure was not required
Of former Potuses

Different benchmark and strokes
They demand of President Barack
Doesn't matter what Obama does;
Cold water poured on his back

Blackberry they vowed to weed out
From among their bushes
For bush teas give strong Constitution
To forget the two wars with hidden goals
That tanked their economy;

Have no axe to grind
Don't live in stars and stripes land
Yet senses keen straining pulp from facts
You serve through space
On special interest buffet plates
So from afar vision clear with a mind
That gets at the core of the bones;
Findings shared with blood relatives
Born and bred Americans
So here the beef feeding
My head on a tropical island;

Let me tell you folks in Uncle Sam's land
With forgetful and selected memories
Some of the startling facts
Truthful hearts dear not deny.

He pledged to get that bastard
"Dead or alive" failed; Why? The economy tanked
Wall Street engineers mix steel with play-dough
Fat cats hold tight their money and their loot;
Madoff’s clans, Oh how did they glow
Dirt in the laundry reaching sky high;
Washing machine agitates on wiki leaks assault
And by George! Two full terms served
In that great mansion in Washington

Rejoined family fortunes
In southern Texas far from Wilmington
Leaving the dinner table with heaps of left-overs
For Maison Blanche newest tenant;

The first black President rode into Washington
With dreams like Martin Luther King
More mess to clean than by-gone slaves
Ever had in Deep South of the Mississippi;
President Barack Obama must start from scratch
Scratching his back

Oh how they wail when he takes vacations
Even though in his backpack he carries around
Is filled with what must be done
To put people back to work which strains his Brain
How he must get sacked people back to work
Amid deficit, tornadoes, hurricanes and the downgrade
In education and plenty schools
With dropouts with no stock and trade
A working vacation is all the luxury Bo can demand.

He is your elected President for blacks, whites,
And all the colors in between;
Let no class, gender biases, or creed divide
The democratic plank you hold so true
Acknowledge he got handed a heavy loaded "to do list"
Much more than others before

The world watches on
At Washington's lack of rapport
Why the tea-party serves him rock cakes with root-beer
And slapping him down with their mischievous narratives
Failing to grasp that the President strives for initiatives
And compromise across the aisle on policies
Beneficial for growing their economy and jobs
For the rich and poor alike; while keeping Star Spangled
Relevant to international eyes;
The mess handed him needs Clorox and surgical knives;
With everyone willing to pay to Uncle Sam honest tithes...

Bin Laden at large hiding for a decade
In a Packed enclave that feeds this beast
At the expense of the Stars and Spangled
The first black President vexed as hell
Without much fuss and cuss
Pledge on his entry to the White House
That he would capture and kill him
That man, the master mind of Ground Zero’s mayhem.

The throng not privy to the command to act
when he called on
His loyal and fearless Seals anon
President Barack Obama far from the bush
He delivered on his pledge
The beast he ambushed
In a manner that so well fitted
This beast's evil mind and six-foot frame
Tearing apart limb by limb,
For crimes against humanity;
They blasted his head off, in the dim
For God is good, in Him we trust His firm resolve,
Osama bin Laden loaded with lead a celebratory tragedy

Now in deed sleep in the Arabian Sea
To grow scales with his fish
Such sweet revenge all of US all along, did wish
On this tenth anniversary of Ground Zero
Heroes among the dead patiently waited for this.

Terror plants beware! The Spangled eyes will forever
Keep watch over your inhuman maneuver
And with all the Star Spangled might
Vows he will keep the sky true blue;
As we bury our enemies that do US harm in the vale
In full-scale we shall prevail

So on this Remembrance day
Of September 11 we will never forget to celebrate
The life of the dead and brave fighting guys
Reflected in Ground Towers, sky-scraping the sky
Having risen from their temporary sleep
The phoenix rises above the ashes; no more do we weep
Because it beams powerful light
And might on beds of forget-me-not
Ground Zero- Never!

Ground Towers Rebound with all its might
Blooming forget-me-not splendidly bright;
Democracy gives US that rite.

© Paterika Hengreaves

Ode to Black Pudding and Souse

(Irregular Ode in Pentameter)

Small chattel-house where she was born and raised
In Maycock's village, her ancestral home;
Bare-foot youth on Sunday evenings did walk
Rope leashed black-belly sheep and goats, to graze
Weeds and grass on dust roads, with out boardwalk;
Mindful of cane-fields that grow planters' cash;
As arrowed canes swayed before cropping bash;

Those cane-sucking youths watched Broomfield's sweet teeth
Skinned and strained, sweet crystals in crocus bags;
They lived just a stone-throw from grandma's house;
She sold villagers black pudding and souse;
In enamel plates without paper-bags.

Once each month early a Saturday morn,
The butcher came; slaughtered her homegrown boar,
To prepare for her unique Bajan fare;
Black pudding and souse she sold with great care;
Advents stance on this Bajan dish made clear;
Leviticus eleven be aware.

Black pudding and souse I have recipe;
A relic from days of by-gone slavery;
Handed down by grandmother Emily.
Legend says that colonial masters
Gifted to blacks; they owned in this country
Specific parts, carved from their butchered pig:
The head, feet, tail and the offal; Darwinly
They believed, slaves were full of infra dig
That matched, their "fine-china from calabash";
Look at pictures below and toss your mind:
Prime cuts of hog for themselves; they did stash;
Feasting on shoulder chops, loin chops,
Spare ribs, bacon and ham in posh housetops.

Back in the village folks are thinking now
How best to make delicious new cuisine
That blends various parts off their master’s sow;
Who among them would do what, when and how?
Maxine was given the pig’s head to clean;
She cut it in two parts and removed brain;

Pam Smith-Skeete cleaned ears, tails and sow's trotters;
Tossing them in iron pot that squatters
Boiling in salt on dried peels from the cane
Cooking done; set aside for meat to cool;
Cooled meat cut in slices off bones in bowl
Of pickle made of salt water, lime-juice,

Cucumber, few red peppers diced, not whole;
Now sits in larder garnished with parsley;
Souse now in pickle marinates coolly;
This dish of ingenious necessity
Waits, for boudin noir trail joints to roll in;
Clean logistics worked out for pudding skin;

Black pudding, English name for boudin noir
Pig's blood captured in bowl with vinegar
Poor pig hangs in the air, head down is silent;
Blood gushed from pig's head like opened hydrant;
On hell's ground pig wailed 'oink, oink damned tyrant';

Not so, just doing the job says Nellie:
Block all clots, we must from sausage entry;
Use cheese-cloth to ward off transmigration,
And stir, stir away, the coagulation;
That bloody blood; don't want it thickening
Tanti now is cleaning the chitterling
Intestines, yanked from monogastric pig;
She cleans filth, slime, fat from guts' swirling jig.
Faecal matter removed entirely;
Meg prepares the casings for black pudding.

Minds boggle, how folks clean well, heaps of gut;
Water from stand pipe in a small mud hut;
Rounds of guts she cleans meticulously well;
No tips from Department of public health;
Just tips from wise old heads to her did tell:
Cut the guts in equal lengths with clippers;
Rubbing hard with the pads of your fingers
Like when you wash clothes, cut mucous with lime;
Plenty salt and spoon to remove the slime;

Now turn inside out with this cane-trash stick;
Now clean all over again and again;
Blow up guts like balloon so clean and clear
Plunge in salt water for hours remain.

For hours henceforth guts steep with salina;
While Marge grates sweet potatoes in tin bowl;
Adds thyme, sweet marjoram, Bajan sugar
With mixed shallots, and dash of clove powder;
Blends bloody ingredients make mixture
Loose consistency, casings will control;
Kay packs casings with mixture not tightly ;
Using funnel, fills casings not fully;



















Just like grandma force-feeding her turkey;
Old-fashioned tool; but yet very sturdy;
Ties each casing's ends to make sausage roll;

Coils of sausages in bottom of pot
In boiling water, one hour to squat;
Until potatoes in natural casing
Are as firm to the touch, in the testing;
And are not busting their skins, and burning.

Little did these slaves know that their culinary arts
Would be a dish pleasing so many hearts;
Oinks, joints, blood, tears, of ingenuity
Have made unwanted pig parts, real soul-dish
Where the rich, the middle class and poor folks
Eat, black pudding and souse with much relish;
A bold statement that cut off racial yokes;
Where those folks on tiny coral island,
Gushing waters of true democracy.

Food, a way to most hearts in many ways;
Served on high days, and holidays,
Independence festivals, crop-over and,
Never at Easter, that would be gross.
Black pudding and souse still in great demand;
This soul-food, deep in culture and sucrose.

© Paterika Hengreaves
September 2011/Barbados