How Come?

 

 

How come we is say,

“I’s go out dey regular”

Rather than “I go out there regularly”

Like an English orator?

 

“I does be in the front row

When I watch cricket

And whenever I go

I does be looking at de wicket.”

 

How come that is not right

And it sound so nice?

Dis English ting dey want me talk

Only causing me strife.

 

Like I is a English man!

I is a bajan

And I proud to be

My faddah an’ muddah son!

 

“I sit in the front row

When I view a cricket game

And whenever I go

I look straight down the wicket.”

 

Dat does sound so strain

Dat it does gih me pain

But I have to learn to speak properly

Wuh is dah he suh again?

 

 

How come we grow up bout hey

An’ we hah speak like dat?

Dat doan make sense to me

An’ dat is my fact!

 

Another ting too:

All o’ we words getting’ change up!

When I tink bout it

I is got ta chupps.

 

De wicket was de three stumps

Now it is de pitch

And now yuh got three slips

Nuttin’ seem to stick.

 

Fuh dem international people

The pitch is de playing field

And de batsmen is now batters,

What a stupid deal!

 

I recall leg breaks and googalies

Now duh got ‘wrong uns’,

A ball could only swing two ways

Dem like dem tink I dumb.

 

And cricket balls growing too

And getting big pun de batsman

And all o’ dis confusing

De bajan cricket fan.

 

 

How come we stan back

An leh dem change up evating?

We wuh hah be stupid like dem

Cause we en tinking.

 

Um en only in cricket

Dem is udder tings too:

Like words we come along hearing

Now dey talking bare boo.

 

I come along hearing ‘dayta’

Now dem Amerkans saying ‘dahta’,

Believe is ‘buhlieve’,

My belly is bust wid de lafta.

 

You could uhmagine dis?

How come it get so?

An’ we got some poor great bajans

Talkin’ like dem, dough!

 

When I buhcome Amerkanize

I gine talk de same way

But as fuh now in de present

Dah caan happen bout hey.

 

We does talk bout ‘building up’

Now I hear it is ‘building out’

And it en on de island nuh more

But on island; mek muh shout!

 

 

 

How come we talkin’ so

Like we lookin’ fuh a identity?

If um en puzzling to you

Um is puzzling to me.

 

I wud rather talk my bajan

Than buhcome a fake,

Cause leh me tell you here and now

Deceitfulness I hate.

 

Funny era we livin’ in

Or should I say funny ‘ehra’

Cause dat is de correct ting now

According to de United states of Amerka.

 

Ask “Gabberts” bout we culture

An’ you wud see wuh I mean,

Doan get more Amercanize

Now dat we get rid o’ de Queen.

 

We practices changing

And we speech changing too

But you see me, I is de same old bajan!

How about you?

 

Stewart Russell © January 24, 2022

 

For Our Children

 

 

I implore us to consider

These precious gifts from God,

It’s a wonder, giving current trends,

If we’re considering them at all.

 

Often, they inhibit us

In our chartered lifestyle

And we wish to abandon them

Every once in a while.

 

They are often not planned

As we go about our quest

But were conceived at a moment

When we attempt to destress.

 

They often struggle with identity

Due to lack of attention

And this deficit fills their lives

With much apprehension.

 

In lots and lots of cases

Their daddies have gone away,

They see them from time to time

But they have little or no say.

 

 

The mummies for the most part

Become the one in charge

But especially with the boys

Mummies too, may be at large.

 

This has become the norm

For a very long time,

It’s time to put these children

At the forefront of our mind.

 

Very early in their existence

They become aware

And whether they are boy or girl,

This poses no fear.

 

But a group among us

Say they are too young to know

So, give them as long as they want

To decide which way to go.

 

Until they have decided

We can call them neither he nor she,

“They” is gender neutral

Hence, “they” it must be.

 

What ludicrous confusion

We have introduced to them!

Hence, I am begging, spare a thought

For our children.

 

Adults have become trapped

Of their own volition, I must add,

And this gender fluid nonsense

Is becoming a fad.

 

 

If tomorrow morning I wake

And I become tired of who I am,

I can there and then decide

I am neither woman nor man.

 

Genitals no longer determine

The gender I am

But my feelings stipulate

Whether I am woman or man.

 

Until then, call me they

And call my children they too,

They must be allowed to decide:

Not me or you.

 

So, imagine the offspring

Of a transwoman and transman:

The transman birthed the baby

But she is now the man.

 

 

Imagine how they both agitate

To secure a legal document

That would make the man the mother

And legalize their nonsense.

 

Imaging the precious gift,

Born into this gender-mess

And then imagine people telling me

That this is not madness.

  

The lines are truly blurred

Re: insanity and right thinking,

It is like, the man must be dead

Cause I saw him blinking.

 

“Please, please, I beg yuh,”

Like the Prime Minister often say,

Spare a thought for our children:

This is not the right way.

 

Stewart Russell © August 27, 2021

 

Fifty-Three Years

Fifty-three years, what does that mean?

I guess you would say middle age,

But for a nation, that’s pretty young

Though getting ready for adult stage.

However, it means, we have seen a lot

A lot from which we should have learnt,

Repeating the same lessons all the time

Means a lot of time will be burnt.

Precious, valuable, can’t recall time

With a lot of wasted effort too,

Two very precious commodities, these are,

I am sure that you share my view.

Fifty-three years of progress

And that we have certainly seen

Even though still appended to Great Britain

Since her queen is still our queen.

Shacking up in recent times with T and T

A satellite, you may say

And still searching for an identity

Now trying out the USA.

When the US sneeze we get a cold

This I am sure you have heard,

Nowadays it is all kind o’ flu

And I don’t mean to be absurd.

Presently we are obsessed with Trump

And how to impeached an apple

While we too have a myriad of problems

With which we seem not to grapple.

But remember, fifty-three is growing up

We are not yet old,

For a nation that is young

So as youth we can be bold.

Be bold in taking a stand for right

Even if against the world,

Be it the UK, the USA or the UN

We need to stand on God’s Word.

They may withhold their sanctions

When we don’t join them in their wrong

But if we stand on the Almighty’s side

He will make us strong.

Strong to take a stand

When many others fall like bowling pins,

Upright and bold and resolute

In God, we are bound to win.

Fifty-three years should be an eye-opener

Regarding our success and failure

And by learning from them both,

Enhance the prospects of our future

Praise and thanks to the Almighty

For all we have achieved,

Fifty-three years is about growing up

We need to do that with speed.

For fifty-three years we are grateful

Lord, we give you praise,

The lessons learnt, may we never forget

Let this be more than a phase.

We tend to have short memories

And repeat our past mistakes,

May we rise above this error

And stay on the narrow and straight.

Stewart Russell © November 2019

Who I Am

Tell me why it is

That whenever we are asked

Who we are

We give a name.

We treat to a name

As though it’s a summary

Hence good name and bad name

That’s the game.

So that if my name

Just happens to be you know who

Then I take on his importance,

Is that your view?

If he is a criminal

Then I am just as bad

But if he is important

I would be a good lad.

Does a name make a person?

Does a name make a man?

Is a name all one is?

Is that God’s plan?

There are some who feel

All Russell’s are family

But even if that’s so

Does it shape my destiny?

The correct response

To who you are

Cannot be a name,

That is wrong by far.

Don’t get me wrong

One’s name is key,

Certainly it’s important

Regarding one’s identity.

I am more than a name

Or a mere statistic,

I am a family member

With certain characteristics.

  

I am unique, yes

There’s not another me,

Not in the past or present

Or in the future will be.

My name doesn’t make me

I impact my name

And whether I am good or bad

I am to blame.

I could be a bad Russell

While the others are good,

Who a person is

Is even more than just blood

So that neither name nor blood

Determines who I am,

I could be a good person

From a very notorious clan.

Examine my conduct

Before me you criticize,

Because of my name

You should not me despise.

Though it may appear

The Russell’s is a good name

A couple years from now

It might not be the same.

For the good legacy left

May not be carried on,

As of the generations now

None maybe around: no not one.

It’s critical therefore

That we know who we are

Not simply by name

But more than that by far.

For who we really are

We will more than likely pass on

For generations to emulate

Long after we have gone.

We are a family,

A creed and a clan

And raising godly seed

That’s the Creator’s plan.

Who am I?

I am a child of God,

I am more than a name,

Time to spread that abroad.

Stewart Russell © January 2018