59 and Counting

 

 

My name is Bim

I’ve a birthday coming up,

For fifty-nine years I would say

I’ve had a mixed cup.

 

59 Independent years

Since that night in ’66,

With PM Errol Barrow I thought

All would be fixed.

 

In Nineteen-Seventy-Six

He was voted out

And with the change to PM Adams

I was having doubts.

 

But PM Adams did well,

The Opposition on his heel

And I continued to truly flourish

Moving on with speed.

 

But very suddenly,

PM Adams passed away

And I must confess for me and others

That was a very sad day.

 

PM St. John took over

And his stay was very short,

Due to a rejuvenated Errol Barrow

That made St. John snort.

 

Barrow followed Tom Adams

In the land of no PM’s

And I was thrown into mourning again

Almost without end.

 

Erskine, the Educator,

Took over from PM Barrow

But confusion occurred in the DLP

Making them shallow.

 

A leadership contention

Led to a no-confidence

And the motion headed by Owen Arthur

Led to an election event.

 

Enter PM Owen Arthur

A mix of Errol and Tom,

A leader in the regional movement

Making me feel warm.

 

 

 

With a spring in my step

I surged forward again

Where before it had seemed to many

I had become lame.

 

Under Arthur’s leadership

I was doing very well,

Three terms he was Prime Minister

And I truly excelled.

 

Three PMs died in office,

PM Thompson was the third,

PM Stuart took over from Thompson;

To him the others deferred.

 

Thrice in my history

I have had caretaker PMs,

Namely: Sandiford, St. John and Stuart,

S’s all attend.

 

Stuart gave way to Mottley

Who loomed very large,

With two thirty-love mandates,

She is definitely in charge.

 

 

 

Her major challenge to-date

Was the Corona Virus,

COVID-19 was its nomenclature

And it was very tough.

 

Curfews were imposed

Along with working on line

And with every waking moment,

COVID filled the mind.

 

PM Mottley did well

And alleviated my fears,

I even accommodated some Trinis

Who were in despair.

 

I gave safe harbour

To some tourist ships

Since nobody else was inclined

To offer it.

 

A snap election was called

While still in COVID

And while it baffled me intensely

It was another thirty-nil.

 

Independence in 1966

Republic in 2022,

And I have come a very long way

But still much to do.

 

 

 

My 1^st President’s tenure

Is coming to an end,

I thank God for her stewardship;

She’s a faithful friend.

 

Four years almost past

Are fleetingly like one,

She is royalty with a common touch;

It’ll hurt to see her gone.

 

Fare ye well, Dame Sandra,

When your term is done,

Like PM Barrow, you were the first

And this none can outrun.

 

I have weathered storms

Of varying kinds

And currently widespread reform

Is uppermost on my mind.

 

Same old, same old

Under the guise of reform

But the truth be told as I, Bim, see,

Talk is still the norm.

 

 

59 and counting

Though not quite there yet,

Looking forward to anniversary #60

Hoping my needs are met. 

 

Economic stability,

Education and social needs,

Moral and spiritual reclamation

And doing noble deeds.

 

Raising up my children

In the fear of the Lord

And reestablishing across my schools

His Holy Word.

 

 

 

Just a note from Bim

To restore my former beauty

And to every Bajan here and abroad,

This is your civic duty.

 

Stewart Russell © November 18, 2025

 

 

 

For What Do We Vote?

 

 

 

For what do we vote

And do we get it

And if we do,

To what extent do we profit?

 

Do we vote party

Or do we vote individual

And how does either

Benefit the people?

 

What really do we get

When we cast our vote?

From my recent recollection,

Very little of note.

 

Let me define recent

And say for argument’s sake,

The last two decades,

Relatively here of late.

 

This is across four PMs

And you know who they are,

Of course, the present PM

Is an international star.

 

Elections are usually lost

Not generally won

And fairy tales saturate the air

From the boom of the gun.

 

Those in are pulled down

Regarding perceived failures

As the “wannabees” paint

A most enticing picture.

 

So, we vote for a promise

They won’t do like the other

But we end up invariably

With the same bother.

 

Too many Ministers!

But they are increased, not cut,

And the Government that’s in

Digs a deeper rut.

 

Them that were vilified

In order to capture the vote

Get even more big contracts

To keep the state afloat.

 

A vote for freedom!

What an alluring slogan!

And after the initial illusion…

Still at rock-bottom.

 

All that changed

Remains almost the same,

A little more exacerbated

But little we’ve gained.

 

 

For what do we vote

And do we ever get it

And if we do,

To what extent do we profit.

 

Reform/transformation

Bombards our ears every day

But the change anticipated

Is forever delayed.

 

Monies unaccounted for

At least, that’s how it appears

And if not to you

Surely, to me this is clear.

 

$0.40 dollars per litre

At every single petrol pump

Must be a significant amount

At least, by my account.

 

This tax on petrol

Raised over the last five years!

Surely, we should see it reflected

Here, there or somewhere.

 

It was earmarked for roads

But the roads still deteriorate

As more money is borrowed

To improve their state.

 

And the money borrowed

At home and abroad,

Are we borrowing from Peter

To pay back Paul?

 

And as the grass grows

The horse starves for food

With presentation and oration

Being comfort to fools.

 

Two parties as I see it

In opposition to the people,

The people being the Government

Seen as unnatural.

 

A democratic divide

Which favours our rich leaders

At the expense, I dare say,

Of the most vulnerable.

 

Trickle down policies

That scarcely trickle down

And the occasional handout

When things are brown.

 

A powerless people

But possessing pseudo power

Waiting every five years or so

For one glorious hour.

 

 

For what do we vote

And will we ever attain it?

I am not sure we ever will

But I know who profits.

 

They have it good

At the taxpayers’ expense

Having even robbed the poor

Of their commonsense.

 

The plantocracy reigns

And we are still enslaved

As we suck up to our oppressors

Deluded and dazed.

 

With a brand of politics

Drunkenly partisan,

We vote for who and not what

To our own destruction.

 

Stewart Russell © February 28, 2024