Below is the first poem that I ever wrote in 1984. I woke up in the middle of the night needing to write and it came tumbling out of my mind into my fingers onto the paper. The imagery reflected in the poem was clearly visible as if I was there experiencing the horrors of the enslavement of Afrikan people.
THE PROUD AFRIKAN
One day I looked within and saw
someone else
not myself as I was or used to be
but a new self
a self that travelled back in time
to a far off past in a distant lane
a land that I knew not
And there I saw in the distance
the agonised faces of my brothers and sisters
the chains had been loosened
but the scars remained
deep in the minds and hearts
of the proud Afrikan
my spirit sank
my mind recoiled
from the cruel reality of the enslavement of Afrikans
could this evil really have happened
I thought aloud
no one answered me
And so my mind as it raced through time
was filled with speculation
for the horror and anguish
there before me
daring me to open my mind to the truth
of what was done to the proud Afrikan
Our ancestor’s tried so hard to be brave and strong
and I can feel within me
the stirring of their spirit
as I behold the lash upon their backs
scarring them for life
could this be true, I asked myself
that human beings carried out this evil
this shameful cruel abuse and terror
and nearly destroyed
the proud Afrikan
Who did this evil to us Afrikans, I asked
from somewhere far off in the distance
came the reply
fellow human beings destroyed
used and abused the proud Afrikan
as I looked on my eyes enlarged
the horror came nearer and nearer
threatening to engulf me in a sea of unreality
I must get back I cried
back to my world of safety
Too late, too late
said the voice of the proud Afrikans
I didn’t blink as I recognised
the crease of pain upon their brow
and felt my heart break
that they should have suffered
such shame, torment and terror
for the Arab man and the white man’s greed
Time has move on
but still today they are here
still oppressing, the proud Afrikan
so , people
don’t expect me to smile or laugh
at your crude jokes and insensitivity
for they touch the heart of me and mine
for we bear the scars of the proud Afrikan
This next poem is on a lighter note and is about an experience I had when I started my nurses training at Kingston Hospital in Surrey. It is self-explanatory and some sections are written in the Jamaican language.
Tark Pash
Mi memba when
Mi start nurse training
Uppa Kingstan aspital
Wi hafe ina school
Fi six weeks
Well!
Having gained entry
Tu what ah cansida
Tu bi
De moss depressin werk ina de world
Which nobaddy
Shud du
Unless dem pay dem a whole heap ah moni
Ah wus canfrunted by de senior tuta
“lawd”
she tark pash
de oman ask mi politely
ina her well cultivated voice
if mi wus baan unda Bow Bells
“ah weh she ah tark bout”
mi she tu myself
is weh Bow Bells
hafe du wid me
soh mi tek mi courage
ina mi han
an ask her what she mean
she tell mi she
“ah ongle people
weh baan unda Bow Bells
is real cockney, soh
now dat mi going tu be nurse
mi fi cultivate new tarking”
“bway!”
she shud ah si
how mu insides ah laugh
mi she tu myself
mi cum ah Inglan
cum learn fi tark like white people
now de oman ah tell mi she
mi tarking like de wrong
white people
“Bway!”
yu can’t be yuself
ina dis yah world
The Question of Love 
What is love
Many have asked the question
Well here I am with the answer
Love is that compelling feeling
That renders one weak
And incapable of resistance
To that loved ones request
Love I tell you
Is that emotion
That torments your every waking minute
Moving you one second to heaven
But reminding you
Again and again of the agony of hell
Love I say
Holds the world captive
It never dies
For it makes us all believe
Again and again
That this time
We have found our perfect love
That this time we have found our soul mate
That this time
We have truly, truly, found love
