A Lopsided Media

 

 

 

All lives matter

I am sure you will agree

At least in principle

Though not in practicality.

 

But you have a job

And a roof over your head,

Very unlike some

That daily face dread.

 

Lopsided I call it

Given the comparisons

For concerning luxury

Some have none.

 

700 on a ship

Desperate to do better

Leaving horrid circumstances

None of us would rather.

 

War torn lands,

Death an imminent threat

And nothing to satisfy

But constant regret.

 

Migrants we call them

In a disparaging tone

As they depart the horror

They called home.

 

Fathers and mothers

Their offspring along

Judged by the authorities

For doing no wrong.

 

Making a better life

For themselves and family,

Suddenly boat capsizes-

What a tragedy!

 

Could have been avoided

Is what I was told

But they were just migrants;

An unnecessary load.

 

 

A maritime incident

That was just brushed off,

Of no real importance-

On them we scoffed.

 

Little media coverage

Given to 700 lives

Trying to make a better life!

Just trying to survive.

 

From one news story

We switch to the other,

The former just a news item

Not worth the bother.

 

Five rich explorers

Trapped in the briny deep,

Around the clock coverage

Even as we speak.

 

Still trying to find out

What really went amiss,

And their rescue attempts,

A mighty long list.

 

 

A multi-national approach

All be it in vain

To rescue these explorers

Of billionaire claim.

 

From a wealthy existence

Just to view a wreck

When life for them

Held no obvious threat.

 

Unlike the migrants

Facing Hobson’s choice,

The bombs and the missiles

Silencing their voice.

 

For a moment there

These 700 did not matter,

When compared to the five

They were no bother.

 

 

Nameless they were

And this shall remain so,

Unlike those five explorers

Whose names we know.

 

Messing with our mind

It’s what the media does,

Determining what’s important

And what’s mere buzz.

 

Spare a thought please

For those 700 migrants

And the many more like them

With meagre existence.

 

Their type of adventure

Is a very necessary one

For day after day it seems

Like all hope is gone.

 

Unlike the rich explorers

Who also died at sea

But theirs was far different

As you and I can see.

 

 

 

It’s a lopsided media

Messing with our mind,

As I examine these incidents

That’s what I find.

 

Stewart Russell © June 24, 2023 

 

Now’s A Good Time

 

 

Now’s a good time to give thanks

Just in case you didn’t yesterday,

The worse of Storm Bret’s long past

Though the skies are still grey.

 

Yes, we had some wind and rain

But once again we were spared,

Let’s give thanks to God Almighty

For the fact we are still here.

 

A few may have received damage

Due to some falling trees

But there was no loss of limb or life

And for that we must be pleased.

 

Now’s a good time to give thanks

For consolations, not a few

And if you are reading this poem,

At least one of them is you.

 

Say a prayer for the unfortunate

And do so without judging,

Do not reflect on God as a Bajan-

It’s time to stop such fussing.

 

For God is no man’s debtor

Having never borrowed from man

Thus, never to Him ascribe partiality

As a part of His divine plan.

 

His ways are past finding out

And His thoughts are not ours,

Never must we stand in judgment

When hearing of another’s horror.

 

 

Just give thanks in everything

Even when we don’t understand

For everything works for our good

And nothing can thwart His plan.

 

Now’s a good time to give thanks

For the worst we have not seen,

All thanks to God for sparing us

From whatever could have been.

 

Our merciful and gracious Father

We praise You for this day;

For this time you have given to thank you,

We humbly and gratefully pray.

 

Stewart Russell © June 23, 2023

 

The Money Trap

 

 

 

Is it really possible

To be trapped by money

And I mean mentally possible

As well as literally?

 

Well, it appears so

Particularly given the facts,

Some have been so trapped

They could not turn back.

 

Picture a millionaire

A multi-millionaire even,

Yea man, way to go-

Not a problem!

 

Project even further

To a multi-billionaire,

With so much money to hand

He definitely gone clear!

 

There is nothing in life

That he cannot buy

And he could live on the hog

Till the day he dies.

 

Of course, at this point

Enters the money trap,

All of those multi-billions

Can’t bring life back.

 

I draw your attention

To the ongoing narrative

Where those five on a submersible

May not even live.

 

Five most valuable lives

Including the CEO

Battling with the grim reaper

Quite a distance below.

 

 

In the briny deep

To view an ancient wreck-

The Titan visits the Titanic

No lives on its deck.

 

The Titanic meaning

Of great force and power-

An unsinkable sea-craft

Ending in horror.

 

Then you have the Titan

A colossus, a giant,

From all the tests done-

Definitely reliant.

 

Life is more than words

Or billions even

And death is not put off

By demigods or demons.

 

It is an appointment,

That is as much as we know

And whether rich or poor

To death we will all go.

 

And so, these five souls

By all means very rich

Find themselves in a situation

That is as dark as pitch.

 

Billions of dollars

Were spent on this project:

A trip on the Titan

To view the Titanic.

 

 

Looks like a money trap;

Oxygen running out

And whether they can be rescued

Is in serious doubt.

 

Two other multi-billionaires

Are planning a cage fight,

One man with all of this money

Just don’t seem right.

 

Travelling to outer space

Is another of their hobbies,

They need to do much better

Spending their money.

 

It is a money trap

And will surely end in death

For money, as I see it,

Can’t buy another breath.

 

If you’ve got more money

Than meets your demands

Then helping the less fortunate

Would be a great plan.

 

Stewart Russell © June 22, 2023

 

Reshaping the Moral Code

 

 

Insensitivity and numbness

It doesn’t matter and apathy,

Completely irrelevant and outdated

No sympathy or empathy.

 

Could’ve been me but it is not

Once a principle but now it’s rot,

“It’s your worry not mine

I’m not anchored to any spot.”

 

Book of fairy tales and myths;

No more perhaps even less,

Let’s move on from ancient times,

Time for a moral redress.

 

No woman and no man

Time to include all that is trans,

What will we do with sperm and egg?

Man will come up with a plan.

 

No he, no she, no him, no her,

They and them seem pretty neat,

Change overnight and back next day,

Change even as we speak.

 

Stand for nothing

To include everything,

Be updated and become relevant!

Have an absolute fling!

 

Trans-man and woman

Trans-woman and man,

Sperm and egg will never collide:

A very unfruitful plan.

 

Yet these are “family oriented”

And want to have children

But if they mate from morn till night

“No children” will still be a problem.

 

Sperm to the back-end

Regarding the case of man and man,

But absolutely nothing doing

No matter how grand.

 

Women kissing and touching

And having a great time

But any chance of getting offspring

Can only be in the mind.

 

 

What used to be stark wrong

Is now considered all right

And those who do not go along

Are regarded as not bright.

 

These unnatural unions

Cannot propagate on their own

So, from where do they get a child?

From a foster home.

 

Governments in their brilliance

Are rewriting their laws

To accommodate this immorality

With its obvious flaws.

 

Wretchedness is passed off

As a modern-day virtue

And righteousness is denounced

As a mythical view.

 

The God-fearing and the God-like

Are being forced into a corner

With the so-called new morality

Gobbling up the former.

 

 

 

May God have mercy

Upon the souls of unrighteous men

Who, in an attempt to change His Law,

Exacerbate humanity’s problem.

 

The problem of original sin

And all its attendant consequences

When at first Satan, the Devil,

Breached man’s defenses.

 

“Hath God said?” He asked Eve

Back in the garden of Eden,

And today since anything goes

There is reckless freedom.

 

Stewart Russell © February 16, 2023

Poetry and Pan

 

 

Poetry and pan is where we are at

Poetry and pan, that’s a fact

Poetry and pan we play and you chat

Poetry and pan just an ad

And we’ll be right back

 

Come and hear the versatile Mark Forde

An anointed pan-man of that I am sure

With that pan of his he’ll give you a treat

You’ll be back time and again

Just to hear him play some more

 

Hear the poets at the Lodge Road church

Tinker with rhyme, rhythm and so much more

Poems of humour and some serious too

Poems of all descriptions

From the Lodge Road crew

 

Poetry and pan is what we’ll share

Poetry and pan is just what you’ll hear

Poetry and pan you won’t regret you came

But if you do

You’ll just have me to blame

 

After that ad let me see if I can unravel

The intricacies of poetry with which we grapple

Then I’ll take a try at pan though not an expert

Starting right now I hope I won’t divert

 

 

Poetry is a medium of expression

Just like music, drama, dance and art

These four along with a few others

Are each a part of the art forms chart

 

Poetry holds a special place

 Because of its rhyme and rhythm

It can give insight into so many things

Including religious beliefs, cults and schisms

 

It can depict an emotion

Or reflect a mood

It can make one happy

Or cause one to brood

 

It can teach a lesson

Or simply narrate a tale

It can grab one’s attention

Often without fail

 

I use it often

In so many ways

There is no chance of boredom

It can fill one’s days

 

Many a Bible story

I have used it to express

But I have also employed it

And many issues addressed

 

Most of my poems are long

And reading them takes time

But they can provide temporary escape

From the daily grind

 

They can be read quicker

Than a long drawn out story

They’re even easier on the eyes

And most of the time less dreary

 

So three cheers for poetry

And three hurrahs too

And a rousing round of applause

For what poetry can do

 

 

Pan is an instrument

Made from an old steel drum

Marked out and beaten; pun intended

They make sweet music, not just bum-bum

 

Two rubber end sticks

In the skilled hands of a pan-man

Such music can heat you up

Or cool you down like a fan

 

It can generate in you

All kinds of emotions

Especially when played by one

Who shows dedication and devotion

 

It can soothe the inner beast

Or wake one from slumber

Depending on whether it’s fast pace

Or the occasional slow number

 

 

 

One pan can be so sweet

And two even sweeter

Like a soprano pan and alto

Or Even soprano and tenor

 

Sometimes there are several

With four part harmonies

Sounding just like an orchestra

O that’s a thing of beauty!

 

Pan is one of the sweetest instruments

You’ll ever hear play

And in the hands of a pan-man

Man that would make your day

 

From classical music

To “spooge “and “reggae”

All of the Caribbean rhythms

The pan-man can play

 

Violins and guitars sound sweet

The piano and organ too

But none sound as sweet as pan

That is this writer’s view

 

So when you hear the pan

Don’t put it down

For to do so is an injustice

That makes you look like a clown

 

 

We are Caribbean people

And pan is a Caribbean thing

Would somebody please strike a pan

And let us start to sing?

 

Poetry and pan is good going together

Poetry and pan is great for any weather

Poetry and pan whether it’s rain or sun

At times it’ll be serious but we’ll also have fun

 

Give me poetry and pan; give me some today

Poetry and pan is here to stay

Poetry and pan is the Caribbean way

Poetry and pan are the art-forms on display

 

Stewart Russell © September 2017

 

How Do You Follow A Legacy?

 

How do you follow a legacy?
Maybe I should ask my father's father...
Next time I see him,
To understand the things that matter...
The elements of life and limb,
The moment we make friends
Or separate from kin.
I wonder what our elders would say,
Seeing our day to day,
Our ways and means...
Could they understand our theme?
Our modus, the scripts we follow...
But I digress.
Yet let me stress.
These words are a celebration
Not a query or question...
Not hearsay but reflection
On instances and spaces
Between two faces, two people,
Two men...
Let's begin!
We haven't always seen eye to eye.
We often stood toe to toe...
Respectfully, most of the time...
At times our minds align
By the design...
But could also go awry,
Crossing lines
Drawn in the sand
Especially when I, as a boy, felt as a man...
Attempting to show my hand,
My full house, the tight end, so to speak.
But many times over, my situation
Became bleak
Dire even...
The ruler had sired me then.
Showing me who was king...
Head of the table...
Demonstrating how able he was,
Still capable of me putting his paw down...
"You may be taller, stronger, better looking
But you would never be as ignorant as me."
I think back and those moments
Are shrouded in the heat,
The anger,
The point to be proven...
But the lessons always took root
Deep inside,
When you realise the lineage and
How it fills you with pride
The pride of being a man ..
Understanding why your father
Is your father,
Why his discipline and perception
Is what it is. Conviction!
What it is at his core,
But there's more.
Witnessed tears cascade down his face once ever in life...
But it wasn't at the passing of his wife
She's still here, strong and resilient...
Not at the going home of his mum or dad.
Even when his sister by marriage
Shocked us all...
And her partner dropped the mic,
SHR stayed in his zone...
And to each his own.
That's Stewart.
However, in theme
with the aforementioned scraps
And scrapes,
The head to heads we had
As father and son
A moment would come...
A day when it broke after so much bending
A confrontation,
Seemingly unending
Contending for the last undisputed spot,
Needless to say it hot.
Fiery...
But in retrospect, necessary.
How you ask...
Because when we remove our masks
And understood the task at hand
It's when I truly became a man
And my dad showed me the plan.
By right I should've been out the house
Residing elsewhere...
My without-a-care, laissez-faire approach
Met with a wall
A stall, may-day may-day...
That was it.
I felt.
No more home to come back to...
This is it... like MJs last show.
Would I go out like him?
Who knows...
But, yes a but...
Even after the blow up that ensued,
And a walk up to the airport
Searching my mind for clues
As to why... who dis man think he is??
Well I'm about to tell you...
Upon my return...
The sun had gone down.
The heat that flared like a summer day
Had eased to a cool breeze...
Indicative of the head space needed
To rectify and feel...
What was necessary to set things right. What a night was ahead.
I entered and sauntered
To the bedroom where he sat...
Awaiting my sentence,
Stewart now wearing the judge's hat
But amazingly...
As he turned and listened
My apology laid out in front of him
Instead of castigating,
He opened up, revealing
My son... he said...
It is I who have done wrong
The lyrics to this song
Would stay with me so long
The situation escalated...
Should never have been
Furthermore what should have ended,
We didn't have to begin
But let me say this...
I always hold you and your sister
In highest regard
The last thing I'd want, is to hurt
Or discard
The love I have for you...
Runs deep and true...
The most important things in my life...
Are her and you.
No balling, or bellowing,
But a simple quiet tear
Showed me his character...
In this moment we shared.
The man I knew, always stoic,
Clever and sarcastic
Was an open book,
Pages filled with love
I couldn't deny it.
We embraced and refreshed,
This moment was unique.
Unequivocally important...
To how we now speak
And relate, the challenges still exist,
But never cutting ties
As we know we'd both miss...
The conversations, the understanding,
Between man and son,
Man and father,
And we continue through life
To gather and learn,
Meander through turns
I maintain...
How do you follow legacy?
You seek to understand the paths
The ones before have charted.
The journey they started
And what they pass on...
As they live on through us
It is a must...
That we remember and cherish
Our fathers.

Love and respect always to
Stewart Henderson Russell...
There are many ways to be a good father
And I likely have made you figure out all of them but I want to say thank you for all you've done and continue to do for me and Lynelle. We are farther today, on Fathers' day thanks to you!

 

Michael Russell © June 18, 2023

 

Help!

 

 

Help! Help!

The shepherd heard the call

It was his sheep calling out for help,

At once he turned in its direction

As his heart within him melt.

 

He had heard that call before

From that very same sheep,

It had wandered off from the fold

Looking for grass to eat.

 

There was plenty in the fold

But it had spied a luscious patch

And it was now in serious trouble

As a viper on to it latched.

 

 

It had been oblivious to the danger

When off in the night it sped,

Away from the fold of the shepherd

Even though it had been fed.

 

But the shepherd was ever vigilant

He knew that this would happen,

Thus ensuring the safety of the others

He was quickly into action.

 

He snatched that lamb from the viper

And began to heal its hurt,

Unlike the uncaring hireling

He didn’t leave it in the lurch.

 

A reprimand was not first on his list

Its rescue was top priority,

This should be a valuable lesson

To us all and individually.

 

We get so annoyed at a brother

Who has wandered from the way

That we reprimand him all day long

And forget that we too have strayed.

   

First must be the rescue mission

Then we welcome him back

Then if necessary, the reprimand

But, please, no unnecessary flack.

 

 

Bear in mind, that sheep was me

When I was in the devil’s hand,

I shouted for help and Jesus heard my cry

I was released at his command.

 

He didn’t ask what I was doing there

Or who who messed up my view,

He simply did what he does best

That is to effect a rescue.

 

Satan had no choice but to release me

Once to the Shepherd I had cried,

His was a wonderful deliverance

And he is now working on my pride.

 

Help! Help! Can you hear that sheep?

That sheep that you criticized,

Help! Help! It could be me,

Just put your feelings aside.

 

Welcome him back to your arms today

Respond to his despairing cry,

Deprive the devil of his thieving catch

And a heart of compassion apply.

 

Stewart Russell © October 2019