OH ADRIAN

There was once a marigold that lived near the ocean Her beauty is hidden from the public without a notion Her petals were plucked and carried across the ocean A ceremony of devotion she carried with distinction Fair maiden your Constance was pure with no fiction And rivals the flowers with distinction, with no retractions Oh Adrian my brother's waking thoughts are full of thee It echoes among the distant shores where you first met Living and loving in the sleep of corrosion he is sure to get This marigold has not withered in the seasons of her youth For Adrian my brother’s wife.

PLAYS BY THE POET

He was born on this date, in a one-bedroom apartment overlooking the stinking gutter of Micoud, he never went to London, nor spent time in England like his other siblings did. he did not know this place existed 37th Frith Road, London, UK. Owned by his biological parents, not able to sing the praises of togetherness, Yet his journey took him elsewhere, he was shipped to London Derry, then moved over to Moreau where he stayed a spell, then off easing his way to Micoud, and much later found peace and a home in Cannells. So much for 37th Frith Road. Yet they sing about his praises as if they knew him so well, I knew him well, but now my eyes are getting dim, and I can barely see the faces before me, but my memory still holds for perfection the times and places, that I have roamed, and the things dear to my heart. Like the boy who stood up to his Aunt in defense of his brother, a defiant young hero fist of steel, and again the big brawl fight with the children of Azaza, if I am not mistaken his name is Samieul, that same boy did not pull any punches in the reckoning, coming to the aid of his cousin Myers, later we would call it (Bish Coco) he had the young man begging on his knees to stop, he showed his true colors in the day he made a mess out of the Norman brothers, we called it (Showdown in the schoolyard) and there was that day he failed to return to Cannells bringing back the bottle of Koil to his grandmother, causing a showdown in the yard, grandma Leslie would not have any of that, to make peace between the two he returns with Grandmother, but without the bottle of Koil, it was four weeks later. He used to Race after school to catch the tractor traveling back to London Derry from Moreau, for a ride to his new home in Cannells, it was that or a grueling ten-mile walk back to his grandmother's home in Canelles, it was the tractor or his legs. The woods came alive hopelessly you panic, peeping through the branches was a boy carrying an enormous tree branch on his shoulder, the destination Ma Dar oven the breadwinner, and yet he was deprived of a single loaf, sometimes spent his time at the water's edge trying for a catch, to which he prepares for his food. The pot was always empty after every meal at Ma Dar's place, and if by chance he was speared a plate someone would devour it unknowingly. He collected eggs and tamarind, which he sold to raise money in which to satisfy his hunger, dry coconut flowers he hassle for Ma Dar to find favor with Ma Dar, for a penny loaf, for breakfast, he travels up and down the Mahaut road, cultivating a barren land to feed the hunger in a house of fourteen souls, yet that same boy was often being cursed by the same hands he fed Ma Dar, she wishes him ill daily saying to him, in her native language, God Will Punish you !, you will shit little pick Ax. Oh yes, I do recall many of his exploits, for yes I was there also for without him I don’t think I would be here today, the day he was born, so I pose this question to you, do you know Lambert, my brother, I ask you where the happiness comes into play, let us say he survives to tell it all, that is his business, for I thought I knew him well, and yet I did not know him at all. Kenvil G Atkins Lewis