And Then There Was Jetzzz

For the Children/Victims

2012-01-21T09:32:00.000-08:00

Wrote this poem for three (3) children in Dominica who are recent victims of senseless behaviour. I won't say anymore on the topic, let the poem speak for itself...

For Sophie, Rachel and Dahlia

They are our children too

By Nesta

Now what does that say about the justice system?

What about justice for our children?

Who really looks out for them?

Nobody cares for the innocent!

So sad, so sad are the stories,

No one seems to bother or worry,

Rachel, Sophie and now Dahlia.

Lonely tears that no one sees,

Silent cries that no one hears

Isn’t it strange coincidence?

That while one mother walks out of court

Another cries her heart out

That’s just too strange,

I felt compelled to shout out!

Scream out for them as they rest and wait,

Wondering why the world has sealed their fate?

Pondering what they did to deserve their death?

Their bodies may be gone but their souls aren’t at rest.

I see them too, on their knees praying

Hoping that they can protect the next victim.

The next fatality from our reckless behavior,

Who will be their savior?

When all is said and done

I don’t hate the mother or driver,

I just feel for the children;

The REAL victims…

Thoughts

2012-01-04T08:40:00.000-08:00

My friends always seem to inspire my poetry and this offering is no different. I took one line from a conversation that I was having with Michelle Belle (a blackberry conversation) and developed the rest of the poem around it. See if you can guess which line it is

Thoughts

I laugh out loud

Just to keep from crying.

If the rainbow is a promise

Then what’s the storm?

After all, the damage has already been done!

I’ve made so much from so little

Now I’m left alone to pick up the pieces

All is gone; left with only rubble.

I have to start over, back to square one

Run the race again,

When it was so close to being won.

It pains me to know,

But at least I’ve got the experience to lean on…

I’ve done it before

And I surely can do it again.

Walking through the blazing sun

Dancing in the pouring rain,

Living to see another day.

Light always follows the dark of the night

So showers of blessings will come my way.

From the ashes I am reborn

Walking with my chest to the sky,

As I hop, skip and jump through

This maze called life.

Wish me the best,

Please I beg!

But, not luck though,

There’s no such thing

When you’re divinely blessed…

Literature students review One Room Shack

2011-12-28T17:30:00.000-08:00

Here is another review of my book from two literature students of the Dominica State College. It was a class assignment that they critique a book from a Dominican author. I was very pleased that my book, One Room Shack, was selected. For comments on their book review check Dominica News Online but you can read the entire review below:

It is a rare race of Shakespeares and Walcotts that we live in.

Written by Delroy “Nesta” Williams, One Room Shack, a compilation of the aforementioned poet’s pieces is an initiative to publish his thoughts on an understandable range of topics. Mr Williams, a graduate of the Dominica Grammar School began writing at the tender age of eleven. Williams decided one day to go out on a limb and read his poems at the first Nature Island Literary Festival and got positive feedback; up until that time he was a closet poet. When asked what fueled him to publish a book he said, “Everybody kept asking when I was going to release a book and since no other young people were releasing books I did it to inspire others that they could also do it”

The poems are contemplations on topics such as; love, Dominica, opportunity, patriarchs, comfort objects, dreams, salvation, life and so on. The compilation opens with an acknowledgement of Williams’ humble beginnings in a “One Room Shack” which is essentially its (the compilation’s) namesake and ends with a poem called “Thank You” which shows the poet’s gratitude to his readers or audience for picking up his first book. The poem continues from the title, “For trusting your instinct/Picking up my first poetry book/If you take nothing else/From my rhymes and lines/Remember the spirit within us/At the core is divine.” This is someone who has appreciated his blessings and does not take them for granted. With a mindset like this, Delroy Williams can reach great heights.

During an interview, Williams stated that he wants to evoke feelings of understanding, love, self-pride and hope in readers. This was accomplished with words like ‘Dreams flow away like rivers to the sea lost among the oceans of the world, but a glimmer of hope still exists at the horizon just at the point of the sunset.

Williams’ poems are able to captivate readers as they are extremely easy to relate to. In his poem ‘Father Failed Me’ the lines ‘prison record passed from father to son not hard work, commitment or patience lifelines of past generations but rash, harsh words scarring the soul, as the world turns’ are words that almost anyone can identify with or at least understand. There is a strong Caribbean theme in his poetry; poems like ‘The Wanderer’, ‘Dominica’, Father Failed me’ and ‘De Dominican Gift’ are a few very good examples of the evident Caribbean theme. Although his poems are pretty straight forward they are still profound and able to evoke thought.

One Room Shack Mr. Williams’ first published book is to be launched on the 26th of November at Tiffany’s in Canefield. His second book which is already completed is called Moods and Attitudes. Hopefully and perhaps, his sequential works will be even better than the first as he grows as a writer.

Noting that the poems are not very close to the standards of Shakespeare, Walcott or Yeats, Mr. Williams has a long way to go, as this is a far cry from transcendental poetry. However, just because his poetry cannot compete with the greats does not mean that Williams has not published good poetry. In fact, he should be highly commended for his publication as not many people are brave enough to find means whereby to publish their work and have it stand up to scrutiny.

Written by Tamika Jude and Nellie Jules

One Room Shack: A review of Delroy Williams’ poetry publication

2011-12-22T05:06:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, I had a professional but small media debate with a Dominican columnist, Ian Jackson, about his article in the Sun newspaper entitled ‘Our Youths Simply do not care’. It became intense during a radio talk show where I even requested a recant from the columnist and an official apology to the youth of the island. Off course, he didn’t apologize, I wouldn’t have apologized either. But I made the appeal anyway. Now to get to the point, about a month ago I went to his place of work, the St. Mary’s Academy, to provide him a copy of my book One Room Shack. It is my debut publication and I asked him to do a review for his popular column. I was hoping that he would be professional and he proved to me that he indeed was. Let me say, that I had already had other discussions with him since our radio debate so we had already buried the hatchet, well whatever hatchet there could have been since I didn’t take anything that was said between the two of us personally but instead as two strong-willed individuals who had strong but opposing points. Below, is a verbatim of the column as appeared in the Sun, a few days after my book launch, perfect timing if you ask me.

The Review:

The title of this latest poetry collection is interesting; one could say even it’s an oxymoron as Delroy ‘Nesta’ Williams goes way beyond the confines of his One Room Shack to reflect, dream and even question rhetoric or philosophical in content, unveiling the rich potential of the youth leader.

Sometimes he admits being stuck not knowing “which direction to take” in life’s trials. He cries out in words from his soul even while admitting his “burden is mine alone to bear, but I’ll carry it with pride.” He searches for self, identity, love and meaning; he cries for love; he surmises that he ‘wished I coulda make it right’; or to the ‘Untitled’ he concluded that ‘maybe one day, when I’m old and gray, I’ll comprehend”.

Nesta is introspective and deep in his writings and sees a poem even in innate objects as the eye of a “Teddy Bear” who listens to his every complaint. He’s “never one to judge or caste blame” or make demands as others he once loved so dearly in his life.

Nesta’s ‘One Room Shack’ cries out for a listening ear, not just for his own sentiments but for the youths whose father have failed. “Sons slipping beyond rescue now mother cries… while father hides”. Indeed this is a reflection of our own failings as a society to be examples and be there for our sons, in particular.

In Nesta’s own words he craves a “time of seclusion” but wants to stand out; he wants his moment, to shine, “an opportunity to stand out”. Isn’t this the dream of every youth who picks up a musical instrument, goes on stage to perform, or engages in study or some vacation?

Ironically the poet acknowledges some uncertain but wants to “congregate” and be “invisible in the crowd blending in among the mob” in which he finds comfort. For amongst his peers the fears subside. He laments in ‘Tears’ which has been exhausted because there seems to be no more left to quench the desert of pain he feels inside.

“Life can be so cruel” expresses Delroy Nesta Williams; he says so many times we walk away in defeat when victory was moments within our grasp. Nesta can be direct or metaphorical as in dreams where “aspirations washed away by worldly erosion”. Deep stuff for a debut publication.

Nesta is one of Dominica’s youth who once headed the NYC and this seems to be an extension of his work in representing their thoughts, dreams and aspirations, in search of warmth, love, comfort, still elusive to the travelling man”. He finds solace, redemption in his ‘One Room Shack’ at least it’s a place where he feels safe, wanted, belonged.

The title of this collection is so appropriate; as I read through the pages I see it as a representation of physical living conditions of thousands of Caribbean poor families who want to escape win its borders but still find comfort in its confines, for after all home is home; it’s not necessarily a house.

Nesta’s ‘One Room Shack’ is full of contradictions. In his smile there are tears or in his deliberate approach as he evokes imagery and challenges a society to unravel and provide answers to the many of the questions that is tied up in his poetry.

Though an English publication, in ‘De Dominican Gift’ the poet explores the use of dialect in a commentary on the political issues of the day from ‘red, blue and green’ angles. Satirically, he concludes that all this melee and rift “is truly Dominican gift”.

Delroy ‘Nesta’ Williams debut poetry is self published just as many of us who started on this road to put our thoughts to paper. His writing talent goes beyond poetry; he was the 2^nd place winner of the Independence Short Story competition.

He dedicates the compilation in honour of his mother. Support him; it’s good work.

Note:

Ian Jackson is an established writer who has published numerous books of poetry and prose. He regularly contributes articles on various aspects of Dominican culture to local newspapers and other publications. His most recent publication is the book entitled “Lyrics and Melody: 50 years of calypso, 30 years of Independence”. Ian is also a popular calypso artist known as the Black Starliner.

Nesta's new adventures

2011-12-17T09:22:00.000-08:00

I've been really busy lately, doing a million and one things and hoping to do them well too. Just in case you've missed me and wondering what i've been up to, i'm going to update you as I appreciate the people who read my blog, leave comments or just visit from time to time.

So what have I been up to? For starters i've been busy promoting my new book, the One Room Shack and i'm very happy by the positive responses that it has attracted. It's always good to get feedback and so I appreciate it and i'm very happy when persons tell me that they have enjoyed my work. Don't worry, One Room Shack will be followed up by a second book, Moods and Attitudes, i'm already putting the finishing touches on that one. I am thinking of including a few more poems in it before publishing in the summer of next year, just in time for the Nature Island Literary Festival. Be sure to look out for the book and off course, the festival as well.

I have also started a facebook page, to promote myself as an artist instead of simply having a facebook account. Someone mentioned that it would be a more professional approach to my writing and promotion of my work if i created a page. It's been created for just over a week now and I have just over thirty (30) likes, i.e. people following it's content. I am hoping to have it up to fifty (50) before the new year, baby steps I keep reminding myself. If you would like to follow the page, just click Nesta

In the midst of all that, I have also started a column for an online magazine, Da-Finest, do check it out. The column, The Chronicles of Nesta gives me a chance to broaden my readership and also tackle issues and ideas that I haven't done or didn't think of doing through my blog. I won't abandon my blog, not at all, this is my fir... well second love, behind my poetry off course. If you want to check out the column's latest entry and leave comments or suggestions, then click here: The Chronicles of Nesta.

There are a few more things that i'm working on but once they are concretized you can be certain that i will post an update here.

Thanks again,

Nesta.

Street Walking

2011-12-16T11:54:00.000-08:00

So last night I was feeling bored and depressed and couldn't think so one of my friends suggested that I talk a walk. I went to look at a football game but 15 minutes after I got there the game was done.

So still feeling bored and depressed, I decided to walk through the streets of Roseau. I must reiterate that this is a normal thing for me, although I never really do it when I’m in such a down mood.

Roseau was quiet, as it normally is, with only a few people and vehicles. It was a perfect night for a stroll, or dwivay as we say in créole, except for the cold breeze that seemed to follow me everywhere. I started to think about everything and nothing all at the same time. A million thoughts ran through my mind and in trying to make sense of it all, I started to rhyme. I started to smile too, when I realized that I was creating a poem from my random thoughts. So I took at my blackberry phone, I never leave home without it and started to just jot down my thoughts and arranging them as I walked along the dark streets.

The poem is as much about my thoughts as it is about the streets of Roseau itself... Those of you who know the city at nights may attest to that once you've read the poem. So here it is:

Street Walking

By Nesta

Street walking got me thinking,

Got me realizing,

That everything in life isn’t as it seems

And though we may look for the good all around,

Sometimes only the negative can be found...

It's times like these that we need to be strong...

When we feel like our world is crashing down...

When your screams go unheard,

Everyone is busy is their own world...

How can this be my reality?

So much negative encircles my positivity...

Street walking is leading me to this unknown destination,

The beginning of nowhere,

Hope I end up somewhere,

Where my tears of words will find the tissues of ears...

And life begins to make sense again...

My sole request as I make it thru these lonely streets and dark alleys,

That life won't leave me lonely...

That someone will join me along my journey...

To hold me up when I get knocked off my path,

To give me a joke when I need to laugh...

I'll return the favour too cause I know you'll need me soon,

When life tries to upset your mood...

Street walking got me listening to myself and the sound isn't good,

It is like speaking out loud but drowned out in a crowd...

Street walking gave me a chance to exhale,

Now I can breathe freely, inhibitions out of my system,

Putting things in perspective, no longer dejected,

Street walking works and all is not lost...

All is well, out of street walking comes a story to tell

Michael Xavier feature

2011-12-06T09:16:00.000-08:00

Every now and then I feature a poem by someone other than myself. I do it for various reasons. I might know the person, the poem might have been an inspiration to me or just because it got my attention...

This time around I am featuring a poem by Michael Xavier whom I met during the Commonwealth Caribbean Youth Leaders Summit when I was still the President of the National Youth Council of Dominica. He is actually from Guyana and is a very talented person but never knew he was a writer. In fact, I know him as a field hockey player, although I must admit I have never seen him play but he must be good because he is on the Guyana Team.

To get back into the poem now, he sent me a love poem to get my opinion and then sent me the featured poem as a second example of his writing but what was to ensue would surprise even me. We started to freestyle (all this in a Blackberry group with other friends from across the Caribbean) and we just vibed for what seemed to be like almost an hour or even longer. He calls me the Boss of Poetry but i'm telling you he impressed me with his skill and wordplay as well...

He calls the poem Contradiction by that too is a contradiction as i prefer to just call it Untitled as I personally feel the title doesn't go the piece justice... well enough of my rambling now, enjoy the piece and feel free to suggest a title if it evokes one from you:

Contradiction

Blackened skies the place is cold

Saddened cries there's no one here to hold

Droplets of rain fall like tears from my eyes

Like our love washing away from all the lies

You stop, stare and breathe for a while

But there is no hint of happiness no reason to smile

For a love once had is now lost

All disappeared at an unworthy cost

Unbearable it seems, this pain I never felt

My heart grew heavy on my knees I knelt

Wishing and hoping all for a better day

Face buried in my hands, only realizing there is no other way

For no matter how hard I try or loud I shout

This time its over, our fire is out

Happiness blooms like flowers in the spring

A fire kindles like an infant bird stretching its wing

Blue skies reveal smiles that warm the heart

Like a symphony orchestra each performing brilliantly their part

In such a way that brings peace to mind

Like our love, it’s one of a kind

It’s together forever, to never be alone

A love found, it is cast in stone

To brave the storms and endure the cold

Never on your own, my hands to forever hold

And I’ll have it no other way; it will all be for you

It’ll be like a fairy tale ending, but for us, it’s true.

And before I end this note, here is a piece of my freestyle poetry in the Blackberry group (I was asking the other members of the group to join in):

Where's Jason and Ato?

I'm waiting on them to join in

If I wait to long my words will start spoiling

Are they in their rooms hiding?

In fear, that they won't be able to keep up

This isn't a competition

Just a chance to speak up

So raise your voice

Make the right choice

Join in singing the chorus

or just write a verse or two...

If your name is Jacque then add your heavenly touch

we expect very little or so very much

I would like Feno to add her ten cents,

When she speaks she awakes my every sense

Where's Bella? the one I want to meet

She's always in here, I hope she joins this track meet

Run the mile, keep hope alive

Who have I forgotten, I hope no one

because we will need all the manpower to sing this song

This anthem most be heard, in the nooks and crannies

Spread the word to the youth, grandpas and grannies

Spread the word to all and sundry

But please do it cheaply

Because the youth aint got much money, lol

and the rest as they say it, is history

Short story performance

2011-11-15T19:48:00.000-08:00

I think I have found my performance niche... I don't really like performing poetry, don't like doing plays (never remember my lines) but reciting short stories... now that's my thing.

I hope I'm not rushing to conclusions here but I have a good feeling about it, plus I got some positive feedback. I just need to give it some positive attention and work on my craft a bit, get used to it, voice training and so forth and then i'm good to go, I think.

You might be wondering how I came to this judgement so here goes the story. I recently won second place in the Dominica Independence Literary Competition where I submitted a short story called Hair On My Chest. The prize giving ceremony was tonight and as part of the showcase, the awardees had to recite an excerpt from their story and let's just say i really enjoyed myself on stage.

The video may not impress you but I have truly come a long way and I am confident that if I devote some time and energy to it, I can get a lot better. Anyway, you be the judge. The video isn't the best quality, I used my trusted blackberry phone so listen closely.

I have already secured a second performance and will be at the Anchorage Hotel on Thursday 17th November, 2011 as part of Word, Sound and Power - Teen Expression.

See you there!

give me something to write about...

2011-11-06T18:09:00.000-08:00

So I was feeling bored tonight, just browsing through facebook and I had this idea, so I put out a request for my friends to suggest a topic for me to write a poem on:

Here is the status: I need to write something, give me a topic, any topic, I need to write a line, a verse, a rhyme... something metaphoric or even a simile... I need to write something, somebody suggest something quick...

and Rude Gyal Casimir suggested the topic that I wrote on (took me about five minutes to write it):

Why do you want to bring me down?

Inspired by Anelia Casimir

Is it jealousy?

Why the envy?

I just don’t understand

You don’t even know my story

But you would want me to be history

I’m not rich

I’m not even that beautiful

Only smart enough to fool you

For you seem to feel the need to covet me

Resentment for what?

In spite of all that

I shall rise about it all

And even offer a hand

To get you off the ground

For it must pain you to feel you’re beneath me

When I only see you as an equal

I wonder where this all comes from

Is it me that you hate?

Or what you think I have become

I wonder if it isn’t just greed

That makes you see me this way

Or maybe even foolish desire

Because you feel the need to just like me…

Do enjoy...

2nd place - not that bad

2011-10-31T17:52:00.000-07:00

I keep surprising myself everytime I take a chance with my writing. Firstly, my book has been a huge personal success and i'm not judging based on sales but solely on the positive feedback that I have gotten from the people who have read One Room Shack. Now I find myself getting some awesome news on my way home today.

My aunt told me that she heard my name on the midday news. It's not a big deal to me as I am always in the news but lately I have been quiet, not really in the spotlight as before. She continued to tell me that I had won 2nd place in the short story competition. To be honest, I had even forgotten that I entered the competition. I did so without any thoughts of winning - expecting more seasoned writers to come away with the top prize - but secretly I wanted to win.

Well I didn't really win but I am still happy with what I have managed to accomplish, 2nd place isn't that bad and to think it was my very first submission in the short story competition, my very first short story too.

So here is the short story: Hair On My Chest - it was already available on my blog and I had gotten some positive feedback about it, hope that you enjoy reading it and as always, I would like some constructive criticisms if available.

Thanks again and do enjoy.

Nesta

N.B. the short story is actually an excerpt from my first novel, David and I, soon to be published... I hope

Untitled and Unfinished

2011-10-29T16:29:00.000-07:00

Just like the title of the work, this poem will remain untitled and unfinished... because I wish it so:

Untitled and Unfinished

I miss our midnight phone calls

Those private conversations

That always put me to bed

You knew just what to say

I remember every word too

The ability of my mind

To retain your words

Every pronunciation

Yes, every enunciation

Still etched in my brain

The sound of your voice

As the cold wind blew

Through the trees outside my window

The ability of your mind

So great, so sublime

Knowing just what to say

Calming my ruffled nerves

Getting me to see things beyond myself

The world through your eyes

This is all gone, here and now

all I do is twist and turn

Can’t even lay down my head

Or close my eyes

For, I see your face

I hear your voice

You haunt my nights

Like howling ghosts

Harrowing at me with such guile

That my neck hairs stand up with pride

At full attention

Unwarranted celebrations

The independence that I wanted

So dependent on your presence

I’ve made a mistake

I know it now

But this ego of mine

Won’t let me apologize

So I continue to bear this agony

Sleepless nights, helpless days

I accept it as fact

But won’t sound the words

That you were my better half

So incomplete that I malfunction... (to be continued... maybe)

my poem is featured in Caribbean Youth Vibes

2011-10-19T18:29:00.000-07:00

My poem Teenage Pregnancy is featured in the October issue (no. 25) of Caribbean Youth Vibes newsletter on page 8. The newsletter is developed and distributed by the Commonwealth Youth Programme Caribbean Youth Centre and focuses on youth issues and activities within the Caribbean region.

To get a copy of the magazine, download here

To submit your articles or stories in future issues of the newsletter, please contact:

Natalie Yearwood

Communications and Information Assistant

Commonwealth Youth Programme

Caribbean Centre

Homestretch Avenue, D'Urban Park

Georgetown, GUYANA

Tel: 592 226-3064/8565 Ext 25

Fax: 592 226-8371

website: www.thecommonwealth.org/cyp

Elesha is a writer too

2011-10-19T18:05:00.000-07:00

This week I'm featuring a poem from my long, lost cousin Elesha Kelian George (Faustin). I came across her poem/note when I was browsing through Facebook... yes, I'm a Facebook junkie... a minimum of three to four hours a day too.

Now to get back to my cousin, I didn't even know she writes at all, my family has a way of keeping their talents locked up in a closet... especially my sister Ezra George, who I must admit is even more talented than i am, she just needs to take some time to construct her thoughts.

Well to get back to my cousin, here is her poem/note:

You're Just Not Good Enough

Who am I today a vagrant gone astray
Maybe an angel on the good days
Am I black or am I white today?
A thousand back lashes screaming you're Just Not Good Enough either way!

Is my nose too wide, my hair too tough
My feet's too big and hands too rough
Is it that I'm Just Not Good Enough??

Being loved, feels like I'm hated
On those dark days not even affiliated
The ones who's suppose 2 care
Can't even be there...
Won't play their part
Unaffected by the fact that they played your heart...Just Not Good Enough to be a part of their selfish pipe dreams
That they hold so close to their heart
Pushing you farther apart with the notion that you're Just Not Good Enough!

To be in their life
To be their dreams
Not Even Good Enough to be in their schemes!??
Wonder girl or I wonder girl??
That this life did a number on you
Tried to make a number out of you
One more addition to the statistics of being Just Not Good Enough...

With life being a choice and death being a decision,
Like Wizzy said I guess I gotta make a decision!
To live like the angel that I envisioned
Or to be part of your trapped vision
Its time to rid myself of u, circumcision
Refused to be tied to the lies that I'm Just Not Good Enough!

This day I'll Be More Than Enough
My unattainable dreams as you so refer them will not be handcuffed
Your thoughts or image of me and who you think I should or shouldn't be
That decision was never up to you
And now I know better!

I'm sitting here having a break through
You'd see me grinning and can't figure out why, after you've tried to
Erase the crises of the corner of my smile, I still smile!!
My chalk white teeth blinding
Like a thousand suns, the ones you tried to burn!!

(Ahahahahahahaha) x2

I start laughing hysterically at the thought that you thought you could wipe away my joy! Peace of mind and serenity!!
You're looking at me wide eyes, going crazy!!
Don't you know that you can't burn the sun!??

The sun will shrivel you to nothing
Like the nothing you made me feel
All these years and I used all those tears to OUSTED your fire!
And heat up my burning desire to live
And live FREE of you and what you made me out to be!
A liar! A thief! A killer and drug dealer
I was bitter as HELL just where you wanted me too be!
But I overthrew Hell's fury over your ills of me!
The pain melted away!
Because hell's fire is HOT!!!
And I felt the heat all the life you wanted for me!

But I'm to blessed to stay in this mess
Heaven sent I am, the redeemer of your past and the psychic of your future
I was not meant to be at the bottom of the food chain
I am beast with brains..a MONSTER!
I am to be feared loved and respected
Not something you can stand on but someone you can stand along with
Through the hours of the day and horrors of the night
I am like a Phoenix!
I burn then I RISE!

Written by: Yours Truly
Elesha Kelian George a.k.a Elapop

Copyright ***

Click here for more of her notes/poems

Rambling

2011-10-08T22:39:00.000-07:00

Rambling

Every now and again I start a poem that I just can't finish so I put them in a pile. I have folders full of pieces of poetry, sometimes I manage to put two or three of them together and they fit so well together and form this magical unit but tonight is not one of those times, lol...

I’m just going to share a few of my ramblings... some about love, I know, I know... as much as I don't want to admit it, love does find itself in a lot of my poems and notes. So here are my latest ramblings:

Rambling No. 1

I just love that girl,
wish I could tell her so
but she's so preoccupied with the world
busy behind the bling and the finer things
clothes, cars and the diamond rings.
she can't see far beyond all that
I’m willing to give her all of my heart
so quick to ride with the biggest baller
she can't even hear me when I holler

Rambling no. 2

I keep looking at your profile pic
looks like you've got the sweetest of lips
I wanna stare deep into your eyes
look within your soul
hold you tightly in my arms when you're cold
I hope I do one day
gives me something to look forward to
dreaming of tomorrow, today

Rambling no. 3

I want my damn rib back

Why you may ask?

Because I’m tired of being under

attack

Men this and men that!

Nobody ever offers us our gift back

I want back what is mine

I may be selfish; I may come off as conceited

But have any women ever said thanks

No, not once

You would think something is due us

That a female would acknowledge the sacrifice

Leading to their very existence

Rambling no. 4

So much promise

But no purpose

Can’t see myself

Far beyond the present

Need a change

An out of body experience

Don’t like the image

Staring at me in the mirror

This sense of isolation

Sunken in sudden depression

You might just see these pieces in future work of mine…

Remember I warned you!

18 to Life

2011-10-08T21:25:00.000-07:00

I want to apologize because I havent blogged in a while, i've just been so busy writing skits and poems that i didnt find the time but i just wanted to share this poem, would appreciate some feedback, please. It's kind of raw and I haven't really looked at punctuation as yet...

18 to Life

by Delroy Nesta Williams

I got 18 to life

And I didn't do the crime

I got 18 to life

Forced to serve the time.

From the moment of birth,

Wasn’t given a chance on this earth

And i'm stuck with this prison sentence

Somebody, tell me what's next.

How can I make amends?

Restitution is for some, not all?

Who will help me overcome?

Stuck here for 18 to life

Simply because I was born poor,

Because my mother didn’t wait.

She spread her legs; victim to my father’s bait

Now she’s left with this little baby

All on her own.

18 to life,

How will she cope?

No job, no man and a little boy

And welfare really doesn’t care.

So I’m stuck here

Trapped within this prison

She was barely a child herself

Where was my father figure?

Surely couldn’t have been this sperm donor

And then they wonder,

How I got 18 to life

Without yielding a gun or knife.

I cry myself to sleep at nights

At the thought of living out my life

Within these broken down walls

I wake up in the early morning

Afraid to open up my eyes

If only I could move away.

But I’m rooted to this place,

Like a tree planted by the rivers

Ohhhhhh; What a rat race.

18 to life

And for what?

Simply because of my birth place.

I need to find a way out.

I will come back for you, mommy

Oh yes, that’s a promise.

Without a doubt...

I’m not sure when as yet,

But by these hands

I’ll break down these walls

Because I can’t stand the fact

That I might be stuck

In the ghetto all my life.

I just can’t serve 18 to life...

Mimi, my cousin

2011-09-25T06:19:00.000-07:00

I hardly ever talk about my family on my blog... I don't know why either, guess I never really had a reason too or it just kind of slipped by mind.

But either way I am proud to present my cousin to the world, lol, well at least to my friends who follow my blog. I am sure that the "world" know about her more than I could promote her, seeing that she is doing her "thing" in Canada. She recently launched into singing and sent me this gem of a song "Love's Intersection" where she is featured in a song with Blackheart. He has done songs with J. Cole and Drake, household names for those who follow R&B and Rap Music.

So check out the song

and just in case you enjoyed this one, like I think you will here is a bonus track, just because I appreciate my followers and i'm proud of my cousin too.

congrats MIMI and continue making us proud...

New poem; Ghetto Yout Song

2011-09-21T13:45:00.000-07:00

Just finished this poem and wanted to share it as soon as I was done... do enjoy

Ghetto Yout Song

I mean no disrespect

But wat de fuck do you expect?

Dis is de truth

An nothin’ but de truth

Tings jus too damn hard for de youts

Went to de bank to take a loan

De officer ah watch me up and down,

Like I come tief at his home.

Jus tell me I cyah get de money

Instead of pretending every ting nice

Dis not no land of milk and honey.

How dis poor ghetto yout

Ah get collateral, ah get land paper?

De man gimme de run around,

De system send me a rob an tief,

Cuz I tell him a Pound mi born

Ah Roseau me come from.

Where de bed of roses?

So nothing for de poor, black yout?

Best I tief a ting for true,

Sell a pack or two.

Is dat de system ah send me to do.

There’s anger in my voice,

Cuz I doh have a damn choice

Dey pushing me against de wall,

All I can do is scream an bawl

Hoping someone will hear my call.

Someone, come to my rescue

Lead me from dis place, so destitute.

Is not like I want to commit a crime

But dere might jus come a time,

When that’s all I can see

As my way outta dis misery.

I need to help myself,

Somebody tell me what’s next

What should I expect?

When all I want is some real respect!!!

ONE ROOM SHACK released

2011-09-07T09:17:00.000-07:00

PRESS RELEASE

ONE ROOM SHACK, the debut poetry publication from Delroy Nesta Williams, comes from a special place, his heart. And within his heart is a myriad of issues and ideas that were egging to get out. One Room Shack can be described in one short phrase, simply special. Special not only because it is the first book from the author but also as a dedication to the “mothers” that have influenced Nesta’s life.

The poems address various issues including poverty, failure, personal struggle, “faith and hope… but the greatest of these is love.”

Mr. Williams is the Immediate Past President of the National Youth Council and by all accounts an advocate for various youth issues, some of which come through clearly through his poetry. He attributes his love of poetry and writing from an early exposure during his high school years at the Dominica Grammar School and his interest in creative arts.

ONE ROOM SHACK contains poems and thoughts that all can comprehend and take as words of discovery, wisdom, comfort, warmth and inspiration. The book also signals a transitional and developmental stage in his writing and personal life as well. We encourage you to share in the moment and make it your own.

FREE EXPRESSIONS POETRY COMPANY is proud to release this publication, ONE ROOM SHACK, Delroy Nesta Williams’ labour of love to the World…

For additional information please contact:

FREE EXPRESSIONS POETRY COMPANY

56 LIME STREET, BATH ESTATE

ROSEAU

COMMONWEALTH OF DOMINICA

cini26@hotmail.com

1 (767) 615 5881

I'm sorry Mr. Jackson... you are so wrong...

2011-08-26T06:46:00.000-07:00

Response to Commentary by Ian Jackson

I read with great eagerness the article penned by Ian Jackson in the Sun Newspaper of August 22^nd, 2011 titled “Our youth simply do not care” only to be disappointed in the facts as stated and in the rash conclusions drawn from a poorly researched commentary. It felt more like Mr. Jackson was venting his disappointment than being objectionable in his criticism (I was expecting them to be more of a constructive nature). Maybe, I too, had too high of an expectation and for that I apologize to the writer.

Mr. Jackson goes on to use the example of the attendance and polling results at the National Youth Council of Dominica’s (NYCD) General Assembly as a primary example that the results “confirm the youth’s denial of themselves and their inability to organize and certainly a lack of motivation and direction as a unit.”

I would like to honestly ask Mr. Jackson: how does one (1) National Youth Council’s General Assembly election confirms that youths do not care? I see this as more of a social issue than a mere youth issue. If we look at the other elections, i.e. village council or by-elections, what is the voting trend? Is there a massive turnout of voters? The greater issue at hand is the fact that the youth get pigeonholed to a social (general) issue to give it significance, using young people as scapegoats, something that this writer has also done in his “Internet Children” calypso.

What troubles me about the writer’s assumption is that the he uses one instance to generalize about the entire youthful population. Every objectionable writer knows that generalizations are made based on trends as observed through data analysis usually other a significant period of time and not on one instance, especially when it pertains to human behavior and attitudes. This gut feeling analysis holds no water, like straw baskets.

To sit idly by and generalize on the state of youth affairs and their behaviors from second hand accounts (Mr. Jackson wasn’t present or hasn’t been present at a General Assembly of the National Youth Council in over five (5) years) is misleading and a rash judgment.

It feels like the judge has tried the defendant even before viewing the evidence at hand, a clear case or irrational analysis of the matter at hand.

I feel this article is disrespectful to those who worked tirelessly at the National Youth Council, often with little or no support from the “adult” population. This article also belittles the achievement of Miss Fenella Wenham (not Miss Jonella Williams) in becoming the first female President of the National Youth Council.

The article goes on to say that “one can’t say that we hear the voices of the youth on issues of national relevance such as Voters versus National ID cards or debates and discussions on integrity in public office… have they organized marches to sensitize their peers on AIDS or are they waiting for adults to do it for them?

These statements clearly come from someone who isn’t in touch with the realities especially as it relates to youth involvement in national and social issues. The National HIV/AIDS Response Unit will attest that the NYCD and other youth organization, groups and clubs have been key partners, stakeholders and participants in a number of their activities and have themselves of the past five (5) years organized numerous debates, discussions, marches, paraphernalia distribution and the likes with regards to HIV/AIDS awareness.

I can also point to more than one occasion where the NYCD openly and freely discussed the issues of National verses Voter ID, unemployment, crime and violence and various other societal ills on state and private media. Young people do discuss these issues and many others too but Mr. Jackson must also be aware that there are more avenues for discussion now than before and simply because the radio/television sources are not the chosen sources for youth doesn’t mean the absence of meaningful discussion.

I honestly think that the article should have given as much focus and credence to the other “school of thought” and should have even explored the influence of the behavior and attitudes of the “adult” generation on the “sewo” generation. Again it shows that adults are quick to judge youth without realizing that they are as much to blame for their attitudes and behaviors.

The outcomes and conclusions from a more concrete analysis would have been more fruitful and would have garnered more respect from me.

Clearly the author of “Internet Children” didn’t want to wait for it, or work hard to build his conclusion, he wanted his judgments now and he didn’t want to work for it!

There is more to be concerned about in this article but I think these points are enough, at least for now.

Delroy N. Williams

Concerned youth

An Amen?

2011-08-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

My newest/latest poem:

An Amen?

So can I get an Amen?

Now that straight men

Walk crooked like gay men.

When laymen get to lead

And the skilled take a back seat,

Just what do you expect?

When those who should show respect

Those who fought for these ideals

Suddenly in 2011 become speechless!

When we are only loud

In the comfort of our homes,

But become ants

When in the land of ‘giants.’

We shrink in morality

To offer others comfort for their atrocities.

We have clothed immorality

In so many garments,

We can’t even decipher

If it’s natural or synthetic,

Oh how we’ve become so pathetic!

How the biggest and the brightest

Can be lead to their doom

By the ruthless

And just sit by in silence

When we flock to the radios

As agents of deception and miscommunication

Instead of enlightenment and education.

We spew words of hate and animosity

Fostering this state of injustice and injury.

When the courts rule with selective authority

A poor man doesn’t stand a chance,

If the legal system functions by happenstance.

I’m afraid some will take justice into their own hands

What then will happen to this land?

So now can I get the AMEN?

Keegan Maharaj erupts with Issues and Ideas

2011-08-15T08:26:00.000-07:00

This is just a video clipping that I took of Keegan Maharaj during the Issues and Ideas (InI) session/workshop at the Nature Island Literary Festival...

No need for too much talk or anything, just listen to the young man and you are bound to feel the vibe that was emanating throughout the three days at the "little" festival of WORD, SOUND and POWER...

For photos of the events at the Nature Island Literary Festival or to contact Keegan Maharaj

Poetry meet Roseau Market, Roseau Market meet Poetry

2011-08-15T07:38:00.000-07:00

The Roseau Market is always a bustling environment of onlookers, buyers and sellers looking for the freshest of quality fruits and vegetables on a Saturday morning in the small city of Roseau.

However on that particular Saturday, there was something "new" at the market place, as the smooth sounds of pan music and poetry elevated above all the hustling and bustling. The Poetry and Book Exchange had been organized as an outreach activity of the Nature Island Literary Festival to expand the audience of the festival in the hopes of drawing larger crowds to the University Centre in Dominica.

The reason I am babbling about the activity on my blog is because I actually performed/read poems from my upcoming book at the market. I did three poems from my first and soon to be released poetry book One Room Shack: The Dominican Gift, These Words and one of my favourites Can I, a piece centered on attracting the opposite sex...

It had been almost a year since my last poetry reading and although I was a bit nervous I did my best and followed that up with a reading at the Literary Festival of The Kalinago Girl... Expect more readings from me soon as I am getting the hang of it... who knows maybe one day you may just catch a video clip of one of my readings on my site...

Be one the look out! Remember you were cautioned, lol... oh and I did walk away with a number of books, had to take part in the book exchange too, but off course!

Images (c) NI Lit Fest

my first haiku

2011-08-15T07:21:00.000-07:00

It's always good to try something new... sometimes just for the experience, to find out if you would be good at it or for constructive feedback.

I like to dabble into new things especially when it concerns writing. I did that a few years ago with performance-type poetry and although I haven't mastered the craft I and others (my fans, colleagues, friends, readers) have noticed a vast improvement in my work.

Every year, the Nature Island Literary Festival holds a number of competitions during the weekend activity and every year I let it slip by without participating. I wanted this year to be different so I attempted a haiku, which is a type of Japanese poetry. I had been exposed to it during my time in Japan a few years ago. I can't recall the actual year though.... which may be a sign that i'm getting old but let's get back to the point at hand now.

This is my attempt at a haiku:

Perched in the tree top
sweet songs of nature's hymn book
Song birds, sweetly sing!

Comments and criticisms are welcomed but be nice, remember this is my first attempt and I do not want it to be my last... lol.

My First Poetry Publication... One Room Shack

2011-07-29T12:29:00.000-07:00

My First Poetry Publication... One Room Shack will be available from next Tuesday August 02nd 2011 at a cost of XCD10.00.

One Room Shack is a reference to my humble beginnings and illustrates my challenging childhood. One Room Shack contains poems of love, hurt, poverty, inspiration, faith and love of country and people.

For more information please contact me at:

Free Expressions Production Company

56 Lime Street, Bath Estate

Roseau,

Commonwealth of Dominica

cini26@hotmail.com

1 (767) 225 6367/615 5881.

Chapter 1: Cricket in the Streets

2011-07-25T10:08:00.000-07:00

First chapter in David and I, the book that i am currently working on. Please enjoying reading it, i'm awaiting feedback and constructive criticisms.

Thanks

Chapter 1 Cricket in the streets

One of my most vivid memories as a young boy growing up in Gros Michel was playing on The Oval. The Oval was what we referred to a small section of Lime Street where we all gathered to play games. We named it the Oval after hearing of cricket stadiums in Trinidad and Barbados called the Oval too. Dominica didn’t have its own stadium so we decided to create our own in Gros Michel; our own “Lime Street Oval.”

Whether football or cricket, the competition was always intense and even more so if we happened to be blessed by the unexpected but welcomed rain shower. A downpour always seemed to take away all thoughts of tiredness and rejuvenate us. We could go on for hours at a time, as long as we were soaked (drenched) by the blessings of the sky.

I remember getting up very early on Saturday mornings, eating breakfast and then rushing out the door to join my friends to play a game of football or cricket. Another blessing about being a boy at that time, chores were tasks for the girls and we were left to roam freely, just as long as no one reported us for fighting or stealing, the two cardinal sins at my home.

That Saturday was no different; we had been playing for hours. It started out as a game of football then changed suddenly to an intense game of cricket. Out came the “caca” rubber balls, bats made from the coconut branches, cardboard sheets as makeshift pads and glory cider branches for stumps.

I always enjoyed batting, never liked to be in the fielding team. Today my batting was on point, I hit cricket stroke after cricket stroke, and the ball seemed to like my bat. I was driving the ball like Sir Gary Sobers, with the occasional exquisite cut and sweep. I felt good and none of the bowlers came close to getting me out. I had only made one bad shot, I lofted a ball towards mid off but Maggie was fielding there, he couldn’t catch a cold even if it was flu season. The ball hit the palm of his hand and scooped out; he almost grabbed it a second time. He really had butter fingers. I could see the disappointment on the faces of his teammates.

I had lost count of my personal score but I was sure I was somewhere in the forties. 50 runs was a significant score for us, the team would have had to buy me sticky tablet from Ma Boyd’s shop for a whole week. I could already imagine licking off the black caramel from my finger tips. Ma Boyd sold everything from alcohol to sweets and we always went there for sticky tablet after the game. It was that or coconut cheese.

“Stop, Stop, I wanna play,” someone screamed from behind me.

“I knew that voice,” I thought as I turned around.

It was Shane. He was the best bowler in the village. He was so tall and strong; he could throw that ball from a mile away and still bowl you out. He was a sure pick for the national team in a few years. I often overheard the old men saying he could make the West Indies team. No one from the small islands was on the team, something about the selectors always favouring the big island boys. But everybody in our village was sure Shane would be the first to wear maroon. He would make us all proud; Gros Michel’s finest.

“I want to play,” Shane shouted as he sprinted towards the wicket area.

“No, no,” I responded. “We done start wi.”

“Why?”

“Because we done start to play and you cyah join.”

“Just throw a coin, heads or tails and I go join any of de teams.’

“No, we start already and it not fair.”

“Anybody have a coin?” he asked, with total disregard for me. We never agreed on anything, he always got his way though; he would bully everyone if he didn’t.

“I doh want you on my team!”

“Okay, I will jus play for de other team ner,” he responded as he grabbed the ball from the bowler’s hand.

“You cyah bowl, you just come wii,”

“So? I want to bowl you cause I know you fraid me.”

“I fraid you? Boy doh make me laff,”

“Well let me bowl den if you not fraid,”

“Okay bowl den!” I responded. He had a way of getting us to do exactly as he pleased.

Now Shane walked back to the bowling mark. He stormed in to bowl but I had a plan. As soon as he approached the crease I walked away from the wicket.

“Bat, boy bat, you fraid man? Dwight, the wicketkeeper, scream out.

“Fraid who? Fraid Shane? Joke dat ner boy, a fly was in my eye.” The truth is I was shaking all over; I couldn’t even grip the bat because my palms were so sweaty. I didn’t know what to expect from him. He went back to his bowling mark, only to storm back towards me again. This time I could see the anger in his eyes, he looked like he wanted to just rip my stumps from the ground and break them in half.

I could see a river of sweat flowing down his face, right between his cock eyes. I was always troubled by them, I never knew in which direction he was watching and that made him even more difficult to read as a bowler. Cock eyed and bowlegged, he wasn’t the prettiest site as he ran in to bowl but he scared the hell out of me. For some reason he hated me and I guess I would have hated me too if I was always mocking my walk, talk and eyes. I could tell that he really wanted to “chikayay” my wicket. Again as he approached the bowling crease, I walked away from the wicket.

“If you do not bat, I will throw a beamer at you,” he screamed at me. I could see the frustration building up in him. He was panting heavily now, as he put alot of effort into his delivery strides. I was tiring him, my plan was working, I hoped. I was still nervous though, my palms still sweaty and now Junie was watching the game.

She was my childhood crush, the love of my life, back then. The prettiest girl in the neighbourhood and she liked me, well I thought she liked me. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, I couldn’t and I would never forgive myself for that. I had to bat and I had to be brave too.

I would stay in the wicket this time and play a stroke. As soon as I turned my attention back to cricket, I remembered that I was facing Shane, but it was too late now, he was already delivering the ball. I couldn’t evade the bouncer, no time to dock or no room to leave the crease. Before I had a moment to blink, the ball had already struck my left shoulder.

“Ahhhhh,” I shouted out, “I wasn’t ready.”

“Your bat was down, you was ready”

“Something was on my mind”

“Something, someone or Junie?” Dwight shouted from behind the stumps.

“Shut up ner boy” I sprayed as I rubbed my wound, it was already swollen.

“Just bat!”

“Just bowl when I’m ready”

“Okay, you ready now?”

“Yes” I said nervously, knowing that my big mouth had gotten me in more trouble, as always.

“I’m gonna york you, right on your toes, look out,” Shane grinned at me.

“I need my toes,” I thought.

Now I was the one who was sweaty, had the river overflowing down my forehead, even into my eyes. Shane looked a blur as he approached me as I was having trouble breathing, concentrating on his delivery. I don’t even know what happened next, all I remember was the laughter of everyone and picking my bat from off the ground.

“Boy, play a stroke ner!”

“Bat boy, bat!”

The bat had been knocked from my grip. So powerful was the delivery that the ball found itself passed the boundary mark; the make belief boundary mark. I didn’t even have any time to realize what was going on but I wished that it would have been a single because I still had to face Shane. I decided the next ball would be do or die, I would swing with all my might.

Now I was ready, I wiped the sweat from my forehead, dried my palms and made sure that my grip was firm. My bat would not be knocked from my hands, not this time. Shane would not get the better of me, not this time, I was sure of it. It was my moment and I would not be deterred, I would not be intimidated, not by Shane.

“Let’s go, I’m ready,” I shouted at him, “give me your best ball.”

He just grinned at me, as he stampeded towards the wicket. I observed that there was a glimmer in his eyes but I hoped that he had also seen the determination in mine too. He sprung into action, leaped into the air and I saw that bright red rubber ball heading straight towards me. It looked even bigger than the full moon of last week, there was no way I would miss it. I was about to hit him for six runs. I smiled, tightened my grip of the bat and swung as forcefully as I could. It was my best stroke; well that was what I thought. I heard a crashing noise but nothing like I had expected. I heard shouts of jubilation, I saw Shane jumping in the air. I turned to watch my wicket, or what was left of it; broken pieces of wood, only one half-stump still in the dirt road. The others seemed to have disappeared, turned to dust. Something else was wrong, my hands were empty.

“Where de bat ner?” I asked, looking lost and bewildered.

“In Mad Lazare yard,” Shane shouted as he pointed in the direction of the broken down shack.

“How it end up dere ner?” I asked in disbelief.

“How you mean how it end up dere ner?”

“You doh know what you do den?”

“Awa, what I do?”

“De bat fly from your hand and end up in de man yard, you better get de bat eh,”

“Me, why me? Is not my bat ner,”

“You dat batting wii,”

“So?”

The debate was pointless; I had to retrieve the bat. That was one of our unwritten rules; whoever lost anything, ball or bat, had to retrieve it. It pained me when I realized what had happened, a blind stroke cost me my dignity that day. Broken wicket, lost bat was too much for my ego and now I had to venture into the unknown.

Tribute to the KING

2011-07-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

Fete Lacoudre is the annual feast of the Bath Estate Community and it takes place every July. I was pleased to be a part of the youth panel discussion on peer pressure - a lesson for parents on Monday 4th July, 2011.

But this post is about the events that occured prior to the panel discussion. I like to be early when I have to be anywhere especially when it relates to a formal setting and when i'm officially invited. So was the case for the panel discussion but i stumbled upon some unexpected activity. I met six (6) lovely young beauties bellowing out some old classics of the late, great Michael Jackson, yes the KING OF POP himself. He would have been proud of the effort and commitment of the young ladies but i'm not sure if he would have been have liked the "chopped and screwed' versions of his timeless tunes, albeit unexpected.

I happened to capture three (3) songs: Man in the Mirror, You Are Not Alone and Thriller. Off course, the videos are blackberry quality so sound and lighting are not the best but I do hope it captures the essence of the performances:

By the way, the pageant is this Friday... wish the young ladies luck, I just hope none of them sing for the talent segment, just kidding around...

Boeri, I'm back

2011-07-04T08:16:00.000-07:00

I seldom do the same hike twice, well except for the Boiling Lake which i have done seven (7) times and counting.

At the invitation of my friends, I ventured back to the Boeri Lake on Saturday July 02nd, 2011. I brought my niece along too, she loves hiking, snorkeling and wants to be a marine biologist.

I still enjoyed the hike, albeit I was drenched in rain from the minute I left the bus. Did I mention that we were in the rainforest of Dominica, that records almost 300 inches of rain on an annually. The Boeri lake, Dominica's highest lake at over 2800ft, is situated near the Morne Micotrin (Morne Macaque) and is a part of the Morne Trois Pitons National Park, a World Heritage Site.

We were literally in the clouds and saw little in terms of view with the white mass all around us. The hike was very short, we did it in 30 minutes although all documentation indicates a hike of 45 minutes to an hour. It was easy except for the slippery stones, too many of them too, I think every one fell or missed falls.

Note to Forestry Division: the sign at the Boeri Lake needs to be changed...

Approaching the lake seems like a scene out of a scary movie. One of the hikers even mentioned that the lake looks like the one in the Jason's Friday the 13th movies... I had second thoughts about going in there but not the other hikers with a friend even thinking about swimming crossing the lake. He was alone in this adventure. I did soak my foot though... and I did take a dip in the Fresh Water Lake for 5 minutes, that water was just too damn cold.

All in all I can say that I did enjoy the hike but I won't go back for a third time, I pinky promise ;).

Poetry Offering: Colours

2011-07-01T06:06:00.000-07:00

The Dominica Writers Guild is currently organizing a call for poems under the theme Colours in preparation for the Nature Island Literary Festival.

Below is the poem that I have submitted, wish me luck... It is also in my upcoming book One Room Shack which should be out just before the Festival.

My Dominica

by Delroy Nesta Williams

Shades of green and everything in between

Encircled by seas of translucent blue,

Displaying wonders above and below

A beauty for all to behold,

Peaks that touch the sky

Stars that bless the night,

While the clear rivers quench the thirst

Of the land that grows it all.

Flowers of red, yellow, orange and blue

Birds of all sizes and colours sweetly sing,

The wind greets the hills and valleys

As the swaying palms speak to the flamboyant

Giving shade to the people below,

As they busily go about their day,

Each and everything mixed in.

For in Dominica they are well pleased

For here, Nature carefully prepares the way,

A path though full of bumps and bruises,

Potholes and ditches,

An experience second to none.

This is where all this is found,

Undisturbed it stands

Dominica,

shining jewel among other islands.

Chinese Invasion???

2011-06-27T06:27:00.000-07:00

Ever since the Government of Dominica pledged allegiance to the One China Policy in 2004 there have been public fears/concerns about the increase in the Chinese population in Dominica. More recently, certain business owners and radio personalities have led the charge about perceived ‘preferential treatment’ from the Government with regards to Chinese business and has called the moved an unfair attempt at undermining local businesses.

But it isn’t all that bad, truth be told. The Chinese have built the Windsor Park Sports Stadium, Dominica Grammar School and other such projects at little or no cost to Dominica or Dominicans, assisting the country with capital projects during a time when international assistance from friendly governments have dwindled and the international markets are failing.

The Ministry of Agriculture, where I work, also has a good working relationship with the Chinese delegation. We have been collaborating on various projects at the Hillsborough Agricultural Research Centre and also at the farmer/field level.

The relationship was further cemented this weekend (Saturday June 26, 2011) after a friendly basketball match at Lindo Park between the Extension service of the Ministry of Agriculture and the Chinese Embassy.

It was a strange game, the Chinese, who were widely regarded as the away team had a larger and louder crowd support, lol. They also had a larger team, playing more than twenty (20) players against the eight (8) that the agricultural service fielded.

The score was never close but it didn’t need to be. The Agricultural team outscored the Chinese delegation from the first minute so much so that the scoreboard was erased with about one (1) minute still left in the game. It wasn’t done in any way to cheat the game but more in gest as it was clear that the Chinese team could never have won and by that time they were mainly playing for fun. The last score I remember seeing was 59 – 26, in favour of the agriculturists.

There’s already discussion about a follow-up game but with serious negotiations as to the number of players allowed to be play in the game. Eight (8) might beat twenty (20) but there’s no way seventy thousand (70,000) can defeat one billion (1,000,000,000).

See a video clip of the game:

In the news!!!

2011-06-21T13:20:00.000-07:00

I've been busy over the passed two weeks and haven't been posting much on my blog. I've been on the campaign trail as I seek a second term as the President of the National Youth Council of Dominica. I also partnered with my uncle to host a Father's Day activity for the Blue Blue community, Bath Estate. The media houses have basically been my home.

Here are the links to the stories:

Re-election

Father's Day

Voter ID Cards

Mommy, I'm pregnant!

2011-06-18T09:01:00.000-07:00

Teenage pregnancy
By Delroy Nesta Williams

Mommy I’m pregnant
And I know you may be angry
But before you hit me
Or start to judge me
Take a minute and listen
Pay attention to me.

Mommy, you never taught me about sex
Or how to deal with the advances of the opposite sex
Never said a word about condoms.
I don’t even know the meaning of contraception
Far less for conception.

Mommy, the boys on the block made me feel good,
Saying things that you and dad never would.
Spoke to me in ways that I had never heard:
Told me I was beautiful, told me I was nice
Mommy, they complimented my sense of style.
Why didn’t you do it too mommy?
Why, oh why?
And now I am with child.

This foetus grows in my belly
The thought of teenage pregnancy overwhelms me,
But I promise my baby to do better
To talk to her, to love her.
I won’t neglect her like you did me,
I hope you also pass my message to daddy.

Times when I wanted his love and attention,
Instead he spent hours watching the television
All I wanted was an occasional hug and kiss,
To live in a house full of blessings and bliss.
You taught me to talk but never talked to me,
You taught me to walk but never walked with me.
I still want to say I’m sorry,
Sorry for this teenage pregnancy.

But now, I want you to talk to my little sister,
Because she’s growing up even faster.
She’s already getting the attention of the boys;
Mommy, don’t let her fall for their silly ploys.
She’s wearing seductive clothes, putting on so much make up,
She’s so busy to grow up.
I hope she isn’t as naïve as me,
Boys will definitely take advantage,
Because she looks a lot older than her age.
Mommy, talk to her please!
Don’t let her make the same mistake as I did
Speak to her about the birds and the bees.
It’s too late for me now,
But save her mommy, save her some how,
Mommy, please act quick
She’s already talking about *** and ***.

Mommy, before I leave
Know that from now on I will do better
And though I may have lost your honour
I hope it passes to my son or daughter.
Mommy although you had some part to play
I don’t blame you for this, no way!
I will tell my child how you loved me,
And how you showered blessings upon me.
There will be no resentment in my family
Not the type I got from you and daddy.
Motherhood awaits me and although I’m unprepared,
You’ve shown me what not to do.
So mommy, with a heavy heart, I say Thank You…

Sibling rivalry

2011-06-14T06:40:00.000-07:00

Move over Williams sisters there's a greater, more enthralling rivalry. Well at least to those who were present at the 2nd annual Hula Hoop Championships held at the Windsor Park Sports Stadium in Roseau. This was a major part of a fundraising drive by the Dominica Cancer Society under the theme Hoop for Hope on June 12, 2011.

For 5 hours and 34 minutes two sisters, Shantelle and Kiera Ettiene of the Massacre Primary School, hula hooped their way into Dominican history books. Special mention must also be made of Tiana Rolle of the Goodwill Primary School who also beat last year's record but had to stop at 4 hours and 18 minutes due to fatigue. She cried at the end because she just couldn't keep up to the sisters. I'm sure that sounds familiar to tennis fans who have seen the professional athletes cry after being defeated by Serena and Venus Williams.

I had a first hand view of the courage, determination and effort put on by these young girls as chief judge of the endurance challenge. At one time i also performed various other tasks (waterboy, supporter and security) as the crowd continued to cheer on these young ladies.

They could have gone on for much longer as neither wanted the other to win. They tried to trick each other into submission on various occassions each pretending to be tired and on the verge of giving up in an effort to fool the other. It didn't work. On more than one occassion the mother of the young girls asked them to stop and allow the other to win, that didn't work either. On one occasion, the younger sibling cried for a short moment but the older sister wouldn't let up and they were back at it again for another 30 or so minutes. She wouldn't be tricked into letting her young sister win, after all she was the defending champion and record setter at last years championship (4 hours and 5 minutes)

At the end of it all, the crowd encouraged and pursuaded the mother to put an end to the rivalry, citing fatigue, physical damage as major concerns. Both young ladies said that they could have gone on. They also attested that they would be back next year to outduel the other. We shall see.

More on the story, visit Dominica News Online or look at my 30 second blackberry video clip below:

I wasn't born to conform!

2011-06-09T09:43:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I feature work from other poets on my site, whether they are established, up and coming or new acts. The only difference with this piece is that the young lady doesn't consider herself a poet, although she has written and performed a number of well-crafted works. She has performed at various events including the Nature Island Literary Festival and is noted for her wonderful event planning and management of the Word, Sound and Power night at the Anchorage Hotel and even Roti and Poetry night at her own home.

This piece speaks to me and articulates certain of my qualities and beliefs as well. I do hope that you enjoy reading it:

I wasn't born to conform to society's norm.
by Shawna Johnson

My thinking may be a little off track,
to the majority of idle people,
my behavior may seem wack,
But I'm real,
that's the entire ordeal,
I'm a truthful fulfilling meal.

I don't gossip and join the negative crew,
If I inform u of news,
its to bring justice for u to pursue.

I don't walk around with my nose in the air,
But if u cross me and attempt to destroy my good name,
BEWARE!

I say hello to everyone I meet,
even paros on the street, I greet.

I'm a good friend to the end,
And if u can't fathom that notion,
Too bad for u, ur drinking a deadly potion.

There are not too many true people in this world,
walking this earth,
But I carry on,
looking for purity like a innocent birth.

I walk by grace and faith, not by sight,
Man is destruction,
I put on my armor like a knight.

I do work for charity,
never thinking of myself,
I aid others,
not packing away money on a shelf.
I desire to empower the next generation,
Go out of my way, without hesitation.

Don't be threatened by my knowledge and good ways,
Straighten up and leave the crooked maze,

I wasn't born to conform to society's norm.

P.S. Shawna enjoy your vacation and hurry back to the Nature Isle of the World... We already miss you

Roseau needs sporting facilities

2011-06-07T12:07:00.000-07:00

Every now and then as President of the National Youth Council of Dominica I am called upon to give my views about various national and youth issues. I did an interview last night about the lack of sporting facilities and opportunities for urban youth. Here is the outcome of this interview on one of the more recent internet news fora for the Caribbean region.

See the story here

Enjoy and feel free to leave a comment

This Carib Girl

2011-06-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

I wrote this poem over the weekend. It is about a Kalinago girl, the object of my affection/dejection. You will get the point...

This Kalinago Girl

I marveled at this young lady,

Sun-kissed skin, jet black hair

I had this yearning feeling,

Wanted her to be only mine!

I needed to make my approach,

Make the best of first impressions,

Because she had just the prettiest smile

That you ever did see…

Yes, that you ever did see.

But I was afraid

To bring to her attention,

This longing admiration,

So I adored from far off.

Oh yes, I’m in love

In love with this Kalinago girl…

Feelings still bottled up,

Enclosed in the back of my mind.

Failure to bring it forth,

Detrimental to my own mental health.

I’m ambushed by my own excitement,

Self-restriction causing me affliction,

Trapped by my very own feelings.

Such anguish in my very own soul…

Yes, in my very own soul.

Because I was afraid

To bring to her attention,

This longing admiration,

So I adored from far off.

Oh yes, I’m in love

In love with this Kalinago girl…

Time passed and feelings changed,

So admiration turned to resentment,

As fear overwhelmed me.

The kind words that encircled my thoughts,

Became overran by scorn.

So overthrown by dejection

The rose grow out its thorn

Suppressed emotions became released anger

Yes, became released anger.

Cause I was afraid

To bring to her attention,

This longing admiration,

So I adored from far off.

Oh yes, I was in love

In love with this Kalinago girl…

Hair on my chest...

2011-05-24T13:39:00.000-07:00

For your input...

Chapter 4 from my upcoming book “David and I”

“Stop it, leave the person’s child alone,” Mr. Lazare shouted with all the strength he could muster up from his feeble, rum-drained body. I could smell the alcohol from across the street.

“Old man, check you seen eh,” one of the boys screamed out at him.

“Ten to one is murder but twelve to one and a half; with me being the half and an old man perched up by a cane the one, was equal to genocide,” I thought.

I started to prepare myself for the pain of kicks and punches to my face and body. The odds were clearly not in my favour as Mr. Lazare crept across the dirt road. Even the small gravel in the middle of the street seemed to knock him off his path.

“What chance we have ner?” I thought. “We need a miracle wii.”

“Leave the boy before I take my cane out and beat each and every one of you,” he shrieked.

I was sure he would topple over as he said that. How he managed to get across the street is still a blur to me. All I can remember is Dwight, the leader of the bunch, running away holding his head, and the bunch of lemmings chasing after him. He had collected a solid stroke of the cane, right in the centre of his back, the finishing touches from what was left over from Teacher Roach.

“Boy, how did you find yourself in another mess?” questioned Mr. Lazare, his slight English accent even more evident than before. I could now clearly see his eyes; hazel coloured beads encircled by white, yellow and a deep red. The red, bloody stare seemed to suggest that he had been thru so much, surely had a lot to say, a lot more to his life than the rum-drenched days that I had come to know him for.

“Answer me boy, before I report this to your mother,” he continued to yell.

“I report him to Teacher Roach for cheating on de exam,” I sheepishly replied.

“You did the right thing boy, but nobody likes a tattle tale. It’s a good thing I came along when I did because you would have ended up with a few broken bones.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Thank you, Sir?” he mocked at me, “boy get my bags, you have to earn my security services.”

“Where he get all dem groceries?” I thought. I had never seen him with anything else but bottles of rum. Those bags strained me for the thirty or so minutes that I carried them. Mr. Lazare walked as slow as a snail and he insisted that I walk at his pace.

“You don’t rush an old veteran” he would yell out if I happen to get five paces ahead of him.

Finally, we had gotten in front of his gate. I placed the bags down and started to jet across the street to my home

“And where do you think you are running off to, young man?

“I going home; my moda waiting on me.”

“Nonsense, your job isn’t done until my bags are inside on the kitchen counter. As a matter of fact, you need to place them in the cupboard as well.”

Suddenly I had wished for the broken bones from earlier. An instant feeling as I realized that I now had to venture inside the rat infested sty that I had imagined Mr. Lazare’s house to be.

“Why me ner?” I thought as I tiptoed my way through the gates and stopped at the front door.

“Just push the door, it isn’t locked.”

“Me?” I questioned.

“Who else could I be speaking to? We are the only ones here.”

“Dat I afraid of wii,” I whispered under my breath.

The door creaked open and I got blinded by the light, well actually by the shimmering items all over the cabinet, table, and chairs. There was no place to move, it was like manoeuvring through the crowd at Carnival. I surely didn’t want to break anything, I didn’t want the wrath of Mr. Lazare to come down on me. I barely had a chance to survey the entire living room, with so much to look at, before I heard him behind me.

“Young man, the kitchen is that way,” he said pointing the way.

“Yes,” I replied.

Yes? Yes? Is that how your mother taught you to speak with an elder statesman like myself?” he scolded.

“Yes, Sir,” I quickly replied not wanting to anger him any further. “What is a elder statesman?

“You will find out one day, when I am ready to tell you,” he assured me.

His drunken assertiveness surprised me; I almost thought that he was pretending to be under the influence, maybe just to observe me closely. I finally made my way to the kitchen, squeezed in his groceries in what were already filled cupboards. You would have never imagined the fancy foods that I found in there, things that I had never eaten or even seen or couldn’t remember ever eating or seeing graced the shelves of his cupboards.

“My friends doh never going to believe me when I tell dem, never.” I thought as I finished up.

Almost on cue, like he had a surveillance camera hovering over me, Mr. Lazare called out to me.

“Young man, make haste… and please bring me the green bottle,”

“Yes sir,” I replied, as though practising my newly found love for courtesy.

Upon arriving into the living room, he motioned to me to get a glass in the cabinet.

“Not one, two, surely you would like a little refreshment after working so hard,” he laughed out.

I don’t know what was funny to him; that he got me to spend the past two hours with him or that I seemed to be exhausted and had no idea what was going to happen next. I still wonder if he had seen my frightened expression and only wanted to calm my fears.

“Sit down, it’s time that big men relax and have a drink after a long hard day at work” he chuckled.

I sat there as he wiped the glasses with this barely white cloth and filled the glasses. His glass was filled to the brim; mine just had enough to call it a sip.

“When you get to my age then you can fill your own glass,” he said laughingly as though he read my every thought.

“I wonder what your age be? Because you look like ninety five,” I thought.

He pushed the glass towards me as he breathed in the aroma from his own glass; a smile coming over his face showing how pleased he was.

“It’s been a while since I shared a bottle with anybody,” he said. “You’re not having your drink”

“I doh think my mother want me to drink rum”

“Nonsense, your mother would appreciate you stepping into manhood. The transition from boy to man is a delicate one, and it can only be helped with the right guidance. She would be thankful if she knew I was helping you along the right path,” he uttered as his English accent made a brief return.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Yes son, that’s the only thing I’m sure about, that and my age, I think” he laughed.

It did smell invitingly good; I could smell one of the herbs my mother used in her food.

“Dat must be good, Mr. Lazare doh have reason to lie,” I thought as I gulped down the mouthful that was in my glass.

“Ughh” I coughed up.

Slowly young man, slowly; leave the throw back for the grown men” he laughed.

“It burning my chest wii,” I squealed.

“It is suppose to burn the thirst time”

“Why you doh say dat before?”

“I can’t tell you everything about life, some things you have to experience and find out for yourself.”

I was sure he did that to me on purpose.

“Would you like some more, this time sip it slowly”

“No thanks ner, I going home now”

“Sit down and have a second, then you can go home, he shouted, grow some hair on my chest”

“Hair on my chest,” I said as I looked in my shirt.

“Yes, hair on your chest,” he confirmed as he poured me a second glass, this time a little more than the first.

“What I doing ner?” I wondered as I slowly sipped the second glass. It didn’t burn, just like he said; in fact, I liked it and I wanted more. I pushed my glass towards him.

“Can I have more? I need some more hair on my chest wii!” I laughed.

“Are you sure, young man?” he asked.

“YES SIR!” I confirmed with a firm slam to the table, which set the bottle and glasses jumping in the air.

“Careful now, young man, we don’t want to spill our drinks,” he laughed loudly.

“Our drinks,” I thought, “yes wii, our drinks.”

A lot of time had passed, in fact night was upon us now and I had to be getting home but I could barely move. My head was spinning, the ceiling seemed to be caving in on us, the tables and chairs seemed to be moving, I couldn’t stand up.

“I need to go home wii, Sir!” I said

“After you drank my entire bottle of rum, you just want to run off without as much as a thank you,” Mr. Lazare lashed back at me.

“Thank you, thank you sir,” I said embarrassed even in my drunken state.

“Get out, Get out,” he shouted. “Make sure the next time you bring your own damn bottle,” he shrieked.

I tripped and fell almost three times from his doorstep before I stumbled into my back door. My mother was in the kitchen.

“Delroy, where you come out at dis hour?” she said sternly.

“Mammie, I was by Mr.,” as I fell down.

“Mr. Who? Who dat Delroy, who? And wat is dat smell?”

“Lazare,” I said embarrassingly.

“You was drinking? You smell like a damn rum shop!”

“Yeeesssss, Mammie, jus a sip,” I murmured from my spot on the floor.

“A sip, jus a sip!!!” she shouted out.

By now all my brothers and sisters were standing in the kitchen door mumbling to each other, shocked at my drunken state.

“Joe, help your brother, put him on de bed, lemmie go and deal with Mr. Lazare, I go deal with Delroy when I come back,” she yelled as she stormed out of the kitchen door.

That was the last I remembered of that day. I wasn’t even sure if Joe had actually carried me to the bedroom. I woke up the next morning to find my face sunken in a pool of green, smelly vomit.

“Mammie my head hurting me wii, put off de lights,” I bawled, “my eyes hurting me.”

“Serve you right, get up from de damn bed,” my mother screamed at me.

“What I do ner? I questioned myself.

“You’re just lucky you fall asleep before I come back eh, you just lucky, Getting drunk with Mr. Lazare, you doh have good head boy? You better clean up de bed eh and wash de sheet before I knock you down this morning,’ my mother said still screaming out at me.

It all came back to me as soon as she finished. I remembered it all. I looked at my chest but there was no hair, not a strand.

“He lie to me wii, Mr. Lazare lie,” I thought.

Father, Teach Me To Pray

2011-05-12T10:02:00.000-07:00

This is my newest poem; still in edit mode, might still might change it around some time soon.

Father, Teach Me To Pray

By Delroy Nesta Williams

I want to revisit my youth,

Go back in time.

Just to talk to my father,

There is this question that I need him to answer.

Daddy, why you never taught me to pray?

As I reflect,

I’ve heard you curse,

I even saw you smoke,

But I can’t remember a word of prayer

That you spoke!

But Father I ask that you hold my hands,

Force my knees to the floor,

And to the heavens, stretch out my arms.

Recite to me the Lord’s Prayer

Or just scream out Proverbs and Psalms.

All I have to go by right now

Are the teachings of my mother,

Her words were comfort to my ear

And the lessons still linger.

But I would still like to know

The thoughts of my father.

RIP Bob Nesta Marley

2011-05-11T06:23:00.000-07:00

30 years ago today; we lost an icon, leader, teacher, rastafarian and most of all someone that we could relate to.
Today, I join the rest of the world in remembering his contribution to music, peace and humanity in general. Through his countless songs and messages, Nesta as I prefer to call him (my middle name is also Nesta) left us with timeless classics and a song for every situation.
Not much more can be said that hasn’t already been highlighted by about Bob Nesta Marley but I would like to thank him for being an inspiration to myself and the rest of the globe.
Thank you.

Below are the lyrics to my favourite Bob track:

Redemption Song lyrics

Old pirates, yes, they rob I
Sold I to the merchant ships
Minutes after they took I
From the bottomless pit
But my hand was made strong
By the hand of the almighty
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly
Won't you help to sing
These songs of freedom?
'Cause all I ever have
Redemption songs
Redemption songs
Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds
Have no fear for atomic energy
'Cause none of them can stop the time
How long shall they kill our prophets
While we stand aside and look? Ooh
Some say it's just a part of it
We've got to fullfil the book
Won't you help to sing
These songs of freedom?
'Cause all I ever have
Redemption songs
Redemption songs
Redemption songs
Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our mind
Woh, have no fear for atomic energy
'Cause none of them-a can-a stop-a the time
How long shall they kill our prophets
While we stand aside and look?
Yes, some say it's just a part of it
We've got to fullfill the book
Won't you help to sing
These songs of freedom?
'Cause all I ever had
Redemption songs
All I ever had
Redemption songs
These songs of freedom
Songs of freedom

See the video on Youtube

Excerpt from novel: David and I

2011-05-09T12:18:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a novel and this is an excerpt from it. It's about 40% complete so I just thought I would share the introductory prologue for some feedback:

David and I

Prologue

That’s all we really knew about him, Mr. Lazare, that he was the village “drunk.” And the villagers of Gros Michel weren’t kind to him; not at all.

Castigated and shunned, he spent his last years behind that broken down, corroded, galvanized fence that did a very bad job of hiding the mess that was his house. A wooden dilapidated structure, deposited there over two generations before my time. It’s amazing that the house was still standing; it looked more like a breeding ground for cockroaches and rats than a dwelling home.

But he wasn’t the sad type, very far from that; at times he reminded me of Donald Duck; when he was arguing with Mickey Mouse. Mr. Lazare’s voice could be heard at around 6:00 a.m. every morning, singing or rather croaking, over his transistor radio. He was my personal human alarm clock on many mornings; the old grandfather clock that always sticks out among the new furniture pieces but still felt at place in the dusty corners of many living rooms. Just like his house stuck out from among the rest on our street.

You could tell that Mr. Lazare loved calypso music, as he belted out the tunes of the Mighty Sparrow and Lord Kitchener. It may have sounded very bad to the passerby, but he knew all the songs; word for word and note for note too.

I didn’t see him much, except when he left his yard for his weekly trip to Ma Boyd’s shop or when he was coming from his fishing boat. He was always going out to sea but I never once saw him returning home with any fish. He would just be whistling on his way home. Once I even met him inside the shop but all he had bought was some batteries and alcohol. To me it was a very strange combination, but maybe all too normal for such a bizarre character.

My mother, in some way seemed fond of him, always smiling when she heard him sing; I had heard her mention many of his exploits, how he had been to England and made millions of dollars only to return to Dominica and throw it all away on a local woman. It was the kind of stories that you only read in books or see in movies.

Dominica News Online showcases my poem

2011-05-03T05:47:00.000-07:00

Please see the link below for my latest poem as featured on Dominica News Online:

Untitled

It's about loving a young woman who only wants to be your friend, a situation that i am sure every person has found themselves in at one point or the other.

Do enjoy and leave a comment to, i would appreciate it.

Nest@

Back at it again

2011-05-03T05:36:00.000-07:00

I'm blogging once more, after alot of issues... I managed to recover my blog, thank God for that... So to my faithful readers, i will soon be putting up some poems, short stories and other blog posts.

Stay tuned...

Jetzzz

Mr. President

2009-09-04T13:26:00.000-07:00

Obama ain't the only black President, I joined the ranks, lol. I wasn't trying to sound arrogant but I got sworn in last saturday as President of the National Youth Council of Dominica at its inauguration ceremony. Fellow members of the Executive Council include:

Carlyn Rolle - 1st Vice President
Damon Jno. Baptiste - 2nd Vice President
Fenella Wenham-Quamie - General Secretary
Larissa Andrew - Treasurer
Kinisha Browne - Asst. Secretary/Treasurer
Alvin Alexander - Publicity Coordinator
Kezia Augustine - Committee member
Priscilla Ormond - Committee member (she was absent on overseas duty)

We still have to add one person to the Council, a youth representative of the Kalinago people. Here are just a few photos of the event:

Tomorrow

2009-09-04T13:21:00.000-07:00

finished this poem this morning but i had started it yesterday. I was looking forward to today and wishing for the bad weather to leave and for sunshine and my cousin told me "tomorrow isn't yours, you have no idea what it will bring" and this just sparked a poem. Hope my readers like it:

Tomorrow
By Delroy "Nesta" Williams

If tomorrow never comes
Why long for it so?
The day is never promised
To do as you choose.
It’s a gift to cherish,
If we see the light at dawn.

Unless you make it to the dark of night
What it holds remains unknown,
Until it is lived.
Tomorrow can’t be distinguished
From any other day
And even then,
The lessons of tomorrow
May just escape.
Only to reveal itself,
When you least expect.

As a witness to today,
Grasp the chance of the moment.
Worry not about the morrow,
If it comes your way
Because it will flee from your hold.
It just isn’t yours,
It’s always running away,
Running off to another day.

Even if it grabs your attention,
Tomorrow avoids staring you in the face,
Always evading the eye glance.
Tomorrow is the girl,
That you hug in your dreams
But have yet to hold in reality.

Cow Comesse Again

2009-08-28T10:10:00.000-07:00

Every now and then something unusual happens to me while at work and it always seems to revolve around cattle.

This Wednesday, I left Roseau for our monthly staff meeting at Grand Bay and found myself again mixed up in cow "comesse." A cattle farmer had requested some assistance from my supervisor, unbeknownst to me, in Grand Coulibri, a farming community in the Grand Bay heights (near Tete Morne). At least, this cattle encounter wasn't as bad as the last one.

It was just the removal of a mummified foetus (see photo) from a cow. If you look closely you can see the front and back legs, the eye socket and even the umbilical cord as well. This is unofficially my photo of the week.

Nesta

New Kings of Football

2009-08-23T07:01:00.000-07:00

It's official now and nobody can doubt it, the Bath Estate Football Club are the new kings of football aka soccer in Dominica.

Last night, the newly crowned back to back DFA Premier League Champions and back to back Newtown Football League Champions, beat the stalwarts, Harlem United, in the Champion of Champions match at the Windsor Park Sports Stadium.

Although the team was hampered by the injury of star player Mitchel "Baggio" Joseph, captain and leading scorer Kurlson "Maxi" Benjamin scored twice to ensure that the boys from Harlem had no chance to disrupt the beautiful run that the boys from Bath Estate have been enjoying lately. Final scores Bath Estate 2 - Harlem United 1 (compliments Randolph Peltier).

For more photos, check out my Facebook album: Estate Champions

Blue, Blue...Estate For True

Nesta

poor crowds despite quality festival

2009-08-17T14:39:00.000-07:00

Once again, the Dominican public didn't grasp the opportunity afforded to it during the Nature Island Literary Festival and Book Fair. The second annual festival, although, one of high quality (except for the opening ceremony) was poorly attended by Dominicans.

The highlight of the festival should have been the hundreds of nationals flocking the University Campus instead the lawns of tertiary institution remained almost undisturbed during the weekend of Dominican, Caribbean and International Word Power.

I remember the Minister for Culture, the Hon. Laureen Bannis-Roberts, emanating from her bowels the need for more locals to pay more interest in literacy and creative arts (poetry, short story, etc). Despite the poor crowds, the few who stepped forward were pleased with the output from all participants. I only attended the opening ceremony on Friday Night and most of Saturday (I performed during the Saturday open mic session) but I came out of the event with even a greater enthusiasm for poetry and short story.

I wasn't going to let the poor showing deter me, instead I saw it as a challenge to get our young persons more involved in creative writing. Besides, the young people weren't the ones who were absent, although there could have been more youth attending the festival, there was a good percentage of them seated and even participating in the performances.

The highlight for me wasn't the opening ceremony or the performances but I actually prefered the workshop sessions. I enrolled in the creative writing workshop (last year I was enrolled in the poetry workshop) and my lecturer surely took me off guard. He wasn't what I expected, he was alot better. Colin Channer, noted Jamaican writer and best selling author, gave us daily sessions on improving our creative writing. He has unorthodox processes, well at least they are to me, but still I could relate to his methods and except for one time (where he scolded my writing) I was always engaged in what he was saying.

So now, I have partnered with a friend (Monelle Alexis) and we are going to start off a writer's club for young people who are involved in poetry and short story writing. It will be an avenue for us to critic our work and eventually assist in our development as writers and maybe authors (sooner if not later).

The Dominica Writer's Guild has also seen a sort of rebirth, a meeting is scheduled for this Wednesday to look at ways of developing the grouping. I'm looking forward to it but if those old bums, lol, don't engage the young minds, I am prepared to do so.

All in all, I think the festival reached its main objective and stimulated the minds of those interested in the artform. Oh, by the way, look out for my poetry book, it is in the final stages of edit.

Nesta

Weekend of Word Power

2009-08-07T05:24:00.000-07:00

Wow, this week passed by so quickly, with the holiday on Monday and everything else at work I almost didn't have time to take a bath (just kidding). The week has been mixed though, I finally put my final thoughts together and the first completed draft of my soon to be published book of poems (One Room Shack) is ready the for the editing table. If only I had someone who could edit it for me and as usual, as I am typing this post a friend comes to mind, Celia Sorhaindo, I think I will contact her.

Another thing also comes to mind, she just emailed me about the 2nd Annual Nature Island Book Fair and Literary Festival. If you're an avid follower of my blog, you would know that my first public poetry performance was at the inaugural festival and Celia even took photos (thanks again Celia).

I am not up for any scheduled performance this year, there is a rotation in place, but I intend to stick around for the open-mic sessions and seize the opportunity. I have some new work that I would like feedback about and I definitely want to get the crowd reaction from one or two of them.

The Fair/Festival officially begins today but I have been at the UWI Dominica Campus since Wednesday participating in a creative writing workshop behing facilitated by Jamaican author, best seller and professor Colin Channer. It is, so far, a wonderful and enlightening experience. With thousands of ideas running through my head, I am looking forward to starting my first short story but I want to ensure that my book of poems sees the light of day before I change focus. I have already begun my second book of poems and working with the title And Then There Was Nesta, a small derivation of my blog.

So now that I have been able to relate my week activities and even my future endeavours, if you are in Dominica this weekend, please stroll across the Botanic Gardens to the UWI compound to enjoy the best of local, regional and international poetry, short story, music and cultural performances. There will lots of books on display and for sale as well, hopefully next year my first book will be there as well.

Nesta

Saving You

2009-07-31T12:37:00.000-07:00

Just another love, (well heartbreak) poem that I pieced together from some rhymes and lines that I had scribbled some time back. Had them stored in my likle black book, the one I keep wiht me at all times...

Saving You

I had to set you free
I did it for you baby
It wasn't for me
That's how much I love you
I knew I would hurt you
So before our love grew
I had to walk out on you

You didn't understand it then
but I hope you get it now
I'm sorry I took so long
I trust it's clear to you now
I let you go
because i'm afraid to be loved,
because I love you too much

Too much to disappoint you
Too much to disappoint me
So I'd rather leave in regret
but with the knowledge
That I saved you from myself

by Nesta

Bangladesh turns the table

2009-07-31T11:54:00.000-07:00

I am a sore loser, why should I like losing anyways, it's not like I get anything from it, well except the lessons learnt but it's not like I want to learn anything from a loss. But somehow, it seems like the Caribbean cricket team, the West Indies behaves in the opposite and have become so used to losing matches that it has become an artform to the present generation of players.

I've always heard about the glory days, when the team were World Champs and could do no wrong, now it seems like they can do no right. I don't know much about the politics of sports but i'm sure that those involved in the regional management needs to be fired, just let go the entire board, the players, coaches and let everybody re-apply for the positions. Then through a careful selection process you choose those who you feel can do that job or to hell with everybody, you just hire new people and build from the ground up with a new crop of young players who haven't yet been influenced by the greedy and power hungry.

The players are as much to blame as the West Indies Cricket Board. Hey, I would even blame the legends of the game, the commentators and some fans. In fact, everybody who has somehow contributed to the state of the current game needs to go. I am of the mindset now, after seeing them under-perform in two one-day internationals that the bunch of overpaid employees should all be axed. It is not just the losing, its the manner in which they lose, they showed no enthusiasm, no real determination to fight it out until the end, I hate to see the state of the game.

But as usual, nothing is going to get done about it, we are just too laissez-faire and have come to accept mediocrity within all aspects of our island-life. Lord help the Caribbean game, once a source of pride and power, now a sight of shame and promise without purpose. Shame on them.

In the meantime, I did enjoy the environment at the Windsor Park Sports Stadium; with the moko jumbies, lapo kabwit, digicel girls and carnivalesque atmosphere. I would love another national event soon, but maybe football next time around. Another defeat at the Windsor Park for the West Indies might just send me to the grave, the supporters grave that is, never to return again. We only had one real thing to cheer about (the century by Dowlin), but the crowd cheered on everything because moments like these are meant to be cherised. So now the history books have to be written, Bangladesh first series win in a One-Day International came against the West Indies team in beautiful Dominica. My country has to bear the shame of the shameless team. Ah mag way sah

Nesta

Cricket and more cricket

2009-07-27T08:25:00.000-07:00

This time I am talking about the sport and not the insect. I haven't posted on my blog since last weekend and that's because I was a little busy and just didn't have the time to seat down and type. I think I needed the week off as well.

But i'm back and although I dont have any poems to post (building up my collection to have in my new book), I do have a electric experience to rant and rave about. Yesterday I was at the Windsor Park Sports Stadium in downtown Roseau, well actually I was next door since I live in Roseau to witness the first International One Day Match between the West Indies and Bangladesh in Dominica at the brand new (open to debate) venue.

I had a first hand view, because as an usher I had access to more facilitaties than the average fan and I did take advantage of that. I didn't get any autographs, the Head Usher frowned upon that type of interaction with the players, but I did manage to talk to a few of them and even found myself in the party stand (no free food or drinks though).

What I most enjoyed about being there was the crowd's energy and how supportive they were of both teams during the game. The thousands didn't bother which team was performing well, every run, four or six was cheered (for those who don't understand the sport this can be very complicating). Off course, I didn't have much time to really watch the early hours of the game as I had to be ushering the fans to their respective seats but I was able to witness the demise of the makeshift West Indies team at the hands of the superior Bangladesh team.

It was almost like waiting on the obvious after the first hour of West Indies batting innings, all that was debatable was the number of runs that the team would achieve and the margin of defeat. I was disappointed in the team's overall effort but there were still moments of brilliance and times when the whole environment made me observe in awe at everything going on.

I will surely do it again and very soon since I am up for volunteer duty again on Tuesday for the Second International One Day match, let's hope the Windies can square up the series. I got my fingers and toes crossed, Wish us luck...

Nesta

For official information and statistics on the match: http://www.windiescricket.com/ or http://www.cricinfo.com/

Event-full Saturday

2009-07-19T12:15:00.001-07:00

Yesterday started so wrong but ended so well, alot better than I had expected. There were alot of bumps on the road but by the time the day ended it was a smooth ride.

After a hectic morning and bad weather making my way to Castle Bruce (East coast of Dominica) for the 8th Bi-Annual General Assembly of the National Youth Council, I was re-elected President for my first two-year term but my second stint at the helm of the Organization. I have a team of rookies as well as experience players as it relates to youth work and youth organizations but i'm hoping for the best and we continue with the good work that we have started.

If I thought the bad weather of the morning was passed and it was gonna be all sunshine for the rest of the day, then I was dead wrong. I found myself in the midst of a traffic jam in Massacre and Canefield because of floods. Yes the land of many mountains floods, well flash floods anyway. With waters reach near half way up the vehicle I was driving, it felt like something from out of the movies and it wasn't just in once location, we had to cross three different large pools of muddy, dirty water. The ladies were scared but still found some strength to take photos and giggle away from time to time.

And if you thought that my day was over and the excitement was done then you are still wrong. Last night, my team (Bath Estate Football Club), of which I am a former player and PRO won our second Newtown Football League Championship in two years, yes back to back champions, beating our bitter rivals 2-0. What makes the victory even sweeter is that earlier this year, we were beaten by the same Cesseme Street team 3-0. Revenge is so sweet.

Off course we had to flaunt our victory with a motorcade/parade through the streets of Roseau and Newtown making them fully aware of who the real champions are, hats off to the Estate Boys. Blue, blue...Estate For True.

Summer Day Camp is over

2009-07-17T13:18:00.000-07:00

The National Youth Council closed its door today on the 2009 Summer Day Camp (Arts and Expressions; Changing Lives) much to the disappointment of the students but mostly the parents. The two week camp had its graduation ceremony this morning where the participants put on a show for the few parents and media officials who showed up.

From song, dance, skits and even a exhibit of work made up part of the event. A number of parents made recommendations to improve the camp but the most telling idea was to increase the camp from 2 weeks to a month and from a morning camp to a full day camp.

To the innocent bystander this may seem a simple and practical suggestion but the real issue is that the parents need a centre where they can dump off (for want of a better word) their children so that they could be the responsibility of some one else. Dominican parents can be something else, lol.

I enjoyed every minute I spent at the camp and the kids (hope the haters don't take me to task for this word) really enjoyed their every moment and a number of them looked sad to finally walk away from the Dominica Public Service Union halls.

Well at least they got something to look forward to next summer and we anticipate a bumper crowd of children. This year we had to accomodate a lot more than we anticipated, almost double the number we really had projected that would participate. So until next year...

Nesta

Rabbit Festival Returns to Cockrane

2009-07-15T14:57:00.000-07:00

I'm surely gonna be there.

Last year I didn't get enough meat but this year i'm going up to Cockrane from the early hours of the morning.

I have to get my fair share, I love rabbit meat.

I cyah wait eh boy

Dream Poem

2009-07-10T12:12:00.000-07:00

Wrote this one a few days ago, basically speaking to people about holding on to their dream and pursuing them but at the same time not becoming slaves to them. I hope this message is clear in the words.

What’s in a dream?

Dreams flow away like rivers to the sea
Lost among the oceans of the world
But a glimmer of hope still exists at the horizon
Just at the point of the sunset

When the sky turns from blue to a pale red
Then we see the power of the dream
The inspiration it brings, to see beyond the ordinary
Pushing intellect and creative capacity

The future of our world
Lies within those not afraid,
Nor captive by the dream.
Willing to separate idealism from reality
But still reach outside the box,
Beyond physical or coloured boundaries

But who holds the match to ignite that spark?
Who to fan the flames?
Prevent the fire from burning out
For there’s so much preoccupation with life’s leisure
That the dreams are left with no caretaker

Now that the rains have come
Aspirations washed away by worldly erosion
The substance of our subconscious floating away
Rushing by the currents of the river
To the emptiness of the deep blue sea

by Nesta