Belize - - Old Wives Tale

February 2003, 2003

Submit your poems here.


Wake Up, Stand Up, Straight and firm
Listen with your eyes and see with your ears
The way your Belizean people squirm with tears.
You have the power in YOUR hands;
Listen to me and understand.
We the Belizean People
Are the rulers of this our land
Join together and show these politicians.

Youths, you ALL have a say in what's happening now;
Speak up, express yourselves and SHOUT it out.
Look around you and tell me what you see
Happenings of destructions and pure poverty.
How can you just close your eyes
and pretend you do not see....
the tearing down of Our Belize...Our Paradise;
Our Land Of The Free.

_________________ When one looses the power to laugh
One looses the power to think straight
[email protected]


You, Mr. Politician
Why the need for destruction?
You were appointed because of what you say..
We the Belizean People gave you our support and praise!
How can you sleep at night?
Do you not see us in your sight?
The outcome of your misdeeds
Has caused to perish...MY BELIZE!

You, Mr. Politician;
Why are you doing this?
Give me your honest answer I insist.
Do you not know that when you die
All your riches wil be left behind?
And this Mr. Politician is no lie.
Do you not know there's one greater than you?
One who you will have to give account
of all you've done.
When you look in the mirror tell me what you see;
Is it a reflection of a true human being?
Does making YOUR country punish
Gives you a certain thrill?
When you go home, do you sit and say,
"Boy, am I famished".
"Today was prosperous, I made a great kill!"

You, Mr. Politician
Who gives you the authority
To sell out my birth right and property?
Sure it's a good thing to have foreign trade;
Foreign positive investments even;
But why, MY LIFE, not spared?
Shouldn't we, your Belizean People be number one?
You sing the National Anthem as your song;
But do you focus on each word;
Do you feel their power?
Maybe not, for you do not know the Lord.

You, Mr. Politician
I cannot comprehend, the kind of mentality
You have towards your men.
Don't you know if you started acting responsibly
Your Belizean People will come together in unity?
Don't just make weightless promises because its election time;
Make positive promises and keep them as the church bell chimes.
If you gonna steal our money and give away our birth right
At least make sure your Belizean people
Have all they need inorder to live strong and upright.
You, Mr. Politician can see positive change
But start with yourself; Put your hands upon your chest
and call your name.


Man is unjust but God is just
and finally justice triumps.
Judging from the main portions of
the history of the world, so far
Justice is always in jeopardy
Because of man being foolhardy.
But what we reap is what we sow
We as humans never get tire
of hearing, "I told you so".
Sometimes our upbringing has nothing
to do with whom we've become;
When we reach a certain age
right and wrong is not unknown.
But we tend to want to do the wrong things
just so we can blame it on our upbringings.
Each man is responsible for his wrong doings
No one can answer for our misleadings.
So I leave you with these last words
Learn to pray and talk to the lord;
Justice in the life and conduct of the state
Is possible only as first it resides
In the hearts and soul of the citizens to abide.

The above three poems copyright by Orelia Dawson The essence of your perfume fill the room,
other thna the sweet music playing in the back ground,
the sound of your sweet wisper is all i hear,
so i yearn for a taste of your fire,
your fire to my fire,my fire to your fire.
the heat of your body drives me wild,
and the fire burns wildy,
still i yearn for a taste of your fire,
your fire to my fire,wild fire to wild fire.

by_The Kid called Kaoss

My Belizean Gyal

You keep me thinking...
You have me waiting...
I sit here by my window
and all I think about is you...
I have these feeling for you
and I can't tell you enough
how I feel about you?
My Belizeangyal
all I wanted to tell you
was that I LOVE YOU...
If we had met before
I think we would have
been ment for eachother...
So for now I wanted to
share these feeling
with you and show you
that I care...
Your Love Siego382...


By Clifford J. Palacio

Garifuna culture attests UNESCO
Is a masterpiece, a gem, a jewel, you know
To be preserved for all mankind.
Redefined by UNESCO, the language
Is now living human treasure
To be safeguarded for all mankind.

Uraga, folktales also living human treasure,
Are rare collections of Garifuna legacy.
A master storyteller creates his tales
For hours spontaneously as he relates
His message, often singing a chorus,
Engaging the help of his attentive audience.

The music is added as a human treasure,
To be safeguarded and preserved.
Punta, gunjei, chumba, paranda,
And wanaragua are Garifuna wonders.
They are legacy, treasures from our ancestors.

The Garifuna spiritual values
Defined as living human treasures
Must be preserved, safeguarded
And protected for all humankind,
Proclaimed UNESCO.

The recognition is beyond comprehension
For those who chose, in the past, to jeer
Calling negative names their Garifuna peers.
The Garifuna subjected to tidal waves
Of insults, rejection, oppression
Resiliently emerged using the negatives
As spark plugs regenerating, rejuvenating.

Ready for reoccurrences familiar,
The Garifuna survived moving forward
Cruising along with the strong current
Until UNESCO�s rescue ship came along
Flying high the flag of Enfranchisement.

Oh Land of The Free! Where are we?

They told us to turn our heads so we can't see
And they expect a few words to inspire me!
Words are cheap, words are like the wind
Cost of living hitting us hard
We're doing a mighty spin.
Tell us please Oh! land of the Free
What is it that we must be Proud and Strong for?
To be a belizean living poor?
Parents are crying because of no food
All the money goes to the Novelos Dude.
The kids get no discount to travel to school
and yet we belizeans must act like their fools
Be Proud and Strong they said
More like, Turn your head and play dead
brownskingyal said.

Orelia Dawson


Every ones life is thugged out,
While the hood kings come out,
Taking care of their dirty business not caring for the niggas lateness,
While they trying to sell their drugs to the blindness

Hood songs make presence,
Marking the pain and the essence,
the pain the hood has offered,
The pain that the people have suffered-
Giving up all what they love
For all the things that they have dreamt of.

Hood song sing for me,
Sing for my freedom,
Sing for me to be free,
Free from this hood,
That makes me strife and loot.

Pain causers and pain killers,
Subjects that cause my soul to die
Leaving my mind to lie,
Causing my body to cry--
To cry for what has been lost.

by Teresita Sanchez


Standing in of you feeling like a damn fool.
How could you do this to me,you answer me with these words."Things aren't the way it should be."
I smile, you laugh then my face was serious again and yours too.
Strict by an idea you turn and said to me baby I think, things would be better if we start brand new.
Your look,your touch is what move me;
It help me to realize what can be.
your lips it mean so much, your touch can lost so long;
Even when you're not around

by Anfragenie burgess


I don't know what I'll do without you mom
W hen I grow up you'll live with my family and I on a farm
Because when I grow up I want you to remain calm
Not like a silly old crazy storm.
Mom, you're the kingdom of the mind
Because I want you to live to see me at least when I'm thirty-nine
So wherever you are just be kind
For I believe this will make you be fine.
Mom, you're the winter evening settling down
I believe you really and truly need a crown
Because to me you're so strong
With you, my family and I, I believe nothing should go wrong.
Mom, the point I'm trying to bring through is that I love you
And I don't care what people may say or do
I even love you more than my dad if you didn't have a clue
And I say to you, thanks for my middle name EBU.

Author - Aniki Ebu Lopez

by Radiance M. Thompson

Slow me down Lord
In the midst of Life's schedule
Keep me quiet during the storm of the day
Bring me into Your calm shelter
Make me enjoy You in Your special way.

Slow down my thoughts to become Your own.
Open my heart as I kneel before Your throne
Make me sleep though there are lions about
Cause me to BELIEVE ONLY, and not to doubt.

Slow me down that I may see
Those around who are lost in misery
Slow down my steps to be a great witness
Of Your love, hope and blessedness.

Slow me down Lord, Slow me down.

man a dead fi coco,
man a hide under bed fi coco,
man a kneel an a beg fi coco,
man a loose dem mind fi coco,
man a escape from jail fi coco,
can't afford the coco
man a teck gun an rape the coco
x-mas time man a buy apple and grape fi coco,
man neva late fi coco,
drop hook and bait fi coco,
hour after hour man a wait fi coco.
coco is a lethal weapon,
man loose dem foot and hand,
fingers and toes, ears, eyes and nose fi coco,
only jah-jah knows why men do these things fi coco.
some chap grass ina hot sun hot fi coco.
spend dem last, what an idiot just fi coco,
not even talk about fight and lust, man when unu wha
larn you can't trust coco.

by Jose Rodriguez aka Pice

Love is love...

Emotions move up and down at a fast rate
Grab hold of my heart before its to late
I wanna spend time like forever and be more than jus a friend
Never call yo my pal and come together like paper and a pen
Closer then my next of kin
I can't breathe your my oxygen
I'm burin' with desire
Re-lite my fire and take me even higher
I know where it begin
Take it in consideration
My love is deep and it has no end
I'm patiently waiting
For out time ... we will be facing
Eachother, cross my heart, I'll never place no one above ya
Feeling my warm embrace under the cover
I wanna be your bestfriend and your lover

Love is love...

Dark Rain

Dash thru the darkness which brought upon lite
I'm two degrees Celsius increase the Fahrenheit
sweat moving swiftly, heart rate moving calmly
mind shift smoothly, i remember the day u laid upon me
apparently I'm rocking steady
but i know I'm not ready ... ready for love, 143 numerically
love the love but it very in different ways
many days i sit thinking its a faze, but yet i know my heart is trap'd in a maze
how do i end this hunger?? ... how do i end this love craze??
i can't hold on much longer. but i know this distances will only make us stronger
i went from lust to love and pain to more pain
storm on me until i can't stand the rain

"Love is Love" & "Dark Rain" submitted by:
Marcus "SLeeK"Miller
Lawndale Ca, USA
In Dedication to:
Salomie Andrews of Dangriga Town,Belize

Resurrection (swiming lessions)
comments to: [email protected] (Ernest Bevans)

In that land where the soul devides
The roaring ocean tides lunge till bursting
The seawall barracks brace st.cathrine,
St.George, that eager emblem & Baron's lite house.
Are all choked with white sea foam and idle lovers.

Down jail lane my Father takes me by the hand
lead me like a lamb towards that savage sea...
Over the edge he hangs his young side of beef
Him Abraham, me little moses off the privy's pier.

My eyes burn with the hostile sweat of neptune.
My mouth bitter with salt sea and tangled kale.
My head's cool with the white rush of sea and moon.
My first Baptism in sea and my first resurrection.

Meanwhile Far, far away in New York at twilight...
The freeway's deadly gray curves races the Hudson
and flows like an electric river of headlites
streaming As one long and winding vermillion eel.

The Bait

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines, and silver hooks.

There will the river whispering run
Warmed by thy eyes, more than the sun.
And there th' enamoured fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou to be so seen be'st loath
By Sun or Moon, thou dark'nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset
With strangling snare, or windowy net:

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest,
Or, curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait;
That fish that is not catched thereby,
Alas, is wiser far than I.

by Deborah Chambers

Our Nation Sorrow

Please lets take a time out to pray
For our heroes and innocent victims
what has befall us on this most horrific day
September Eleventh Two Thousand One
from those who did this wicked sin;
A day never to be forgotten.
Fellow Americans, keep heart and faith
for good always overcome evil
no matter what time or date.
We always say things happens for a reason
But for the life of me,
it's comprehension has no true meaning.
We all need to stand FIRM in our belief
lift our heads to the heavens
and pray for those in grief.
Say a special prayer for our nation's leaders
that God may grant them knowledge
strenght, hope and faith
To make the right decisions for our nation

Aurelia A Dawson
Astoria, NY
Copyright �2001 Aurelia Dawson

Jack Sprat

By Erwin Jones,

Rememba Jack Sprat
Who cudn't eat no fat
And his wife
Who cudn't eat no lean
Well, now
Jack and his wife
Eat anything
As a matter of fact
A day can't pass
If them nuh buy the chiniman cat
...ah mean...chicken.....whatever

What is my mama's first name

By Erwin Jones,

Dear lork,
As I pray this day,
I ask you
To please guide my tongue
To find
The right words
To say.

Today at school
I felt like a dame fool.
I lost my frigging pride and shame
When I told my teacher,
Is my mama's first name.

She didn't believe me,
And told me, I mustn't say such rude things
That I must kneel and pray,
Pray for my terrible sins.

And dear lord,
I realy don't know what to say
Because B*TCH is what
Daddy calls mommy
Every bloody day.

So, my lord
Of power and rain,
Please lord,
Tell me,
What is my mama's first name?

A capsuled analysis of 500 yrs of misuse of People and their Property by Hostile, Foreign Alien Invaders,who keep them in Concentration Camps that they call Reservations; while they continue, uninturrupted, licensed and Franchised, the Holocaust of America...

They said that we wereHeathens,They said we had to learn--
They came into our Paradise,They wasted cut and burned.
They told us how they owned our Land,built towns and their railroads--
Shot Eagles,Passenger Pigeons,Deer,and the Buffalo.

And then they brought to us their gifts of Whiskey,Guns,Disease--
Burned Homes,took our Women,tried to put us on our knees.
When food was gone in winter long ,gave us a reservation--
And told us that someday we`d be a part of their new nation.

They said that we were Heathens,we should learn about their god--
They said when we were civilized, things would not be so hard.
Made great treaties they wouldn`t keep,talked honor and dignity--
Brought captured people from other lands in chains,and showed us slavery.

Oh,yes,we have so many things to thank the settlers for--
They took from us our Mother Earth and taught us to do war.
We know that we`re still Heathens, even in these modern days--
Five hundred years have now gone by;we still can`t live their ways.

And in ten thousand years and more,if cold wind yet still blows--
And coyote,wolf,and wolverine hunt in the winter snow.
Maybe then they`ll realize their value and their worth --
And know that they can never own,The Heathens Mother Earth..

These precious words were spoken to me by the voice of my soul.

by Keiwaton/Philip

Won the Voices of the South Award of The Southern Poetry Assn. 1993

By: Terri Coffman

A thousand heartbeats -
A moment in time;
Hot breaths mingle -
Bodies entwine.
Love's sweet surges -
A cry of life;
Making love -
Between a husband and wife.

By: Terri Coffman - Copyright 1997

Thunder rolls and lightning flashes;
Outside rain beats down.
Inside bodies and sheets entwine -
She wears him well.
Heartbeats echo a primal one;
Virgin passions collide;
A blend of abandoned, stormy need -
primitive and poetic.
A combination of desire,
Direct and penetrating molten fire
And haunting fragments of flowers in the rain.
Searing passion and fragile innocence -
The alchemy of equal parts
A nearly holy thing.
No pleasure more exquisite
Than this great gentle pain.
Waves build and roll and crash to shore
And in their wake - sweet sleep.
Night colors deepen; painting the land
And in her garden - Love's seed.

What have we done to our children?
What have we done to the childhood of
a child,the mind of a child,the smile of a child,
these are the things I wonder about,whenever
I see a wispy,fragile,charming child,who has a
heart so cold yet pure as gold,who seldom smiles,
for the child is harsh,because the child is afraid of
being loved or to show love.

What have we done to our children,
the heart of the child is hard like a fine cut diamond.
The eyes of the child seems blank and spaceless,
as the material child cannot see, nor hear,and seems
not to care,because the child is not cared for and
watered with love.

The child withers,becomes dried up from within,
as there are regrets,bitterness,coldness,and fear to love.
The material child does not know how to love nor be loved.
Teach the child to love, to care,and to share.
Remember the child is a part of us,
The whole of humanity.
         BY katstan

Jack Is Back

By Erwin Jones,

Jack is back!
You dah mus wah idiot
fi seh dat.

Jack neva gone wah way
as a serial killa,
Jack mi di plan
di right time, di right place
and di right day.

And sad to say
po' Jackie Malic and Erica, unfortunately,
became his next prey.

Jack dah wah serious person
I believe, he work with the devil.
Noboddy inah dem correct mind
would a kidnap wah chile, big afternoon
and muchless during the day,
fi go rape ah and cut off ih hand
way up yonda, pan di western highway.

Dah time fi policeman find Jack
And mek di bugga pay.
Dis dah serious business
Dah no time fi play.

How many more children
have to become victims,
to these gruesome killings,
befo we find Jack
and mek the bugga pay back?
Dis madness have to stop.

And Parents!
unu have to play unu part.
Teach unu pickney the right things
befo dem start, creep, walk or talk.
Stop Skylark!

Left dem soap opera lone.
Mek sure unu know,
weh part yo pickney go,
befo dem leave home.

Teach dem right from wrong.
Mek dem know no tek nothin
from no man.
I am talking to you father
I am talking to you mother
Mek dem know, no get in a no car
with no stranger.

Mek sure you know
weh part dem gwine,
because, Jack might be lurking
around the corner.
Believe me, ih done show we, already,
this time ih might just grab
yo son or yo daughter.

Jack is back!
You dah mus wah idiot
fi seh dat.

Jack neva gone wah way
as a serial killa,
Jack mi di plan
di right time, di right place
and di right day.

My Name Is Marijuana

By Erwin Jones, Hi,
My name is marijuana
I entered this country through the waters
At the borda, And the skies, in a Cessna.

I'm very old
I've seen many lands
Many people.
I'm used for good and evil.

2000 years ago, I was used as a herbal tea in China.
My origin though, is still unknown.
Nobody knows for sure,
Stories about me have always been told,
Once again I'm on a world tour.

I travel a lot like the breeze
Swift, cool, high and low;
Sometimes fast, sometimes slow
But I usually get where I want go go.

So, like the breeze,
I'm now in Belize.

Like fire, I am used for both good and bad.
but it's SAD
to see how I'm used today for mostly bad.

Of course this is not good news
Cause in Belize I'm seriously abused,
Misused, and outrightly confused.

I'm used by almost everyone
From the common man
To Babylon and Politicians,
Oooops�.Yes Politicians.
They also abuse and misuse me
To get high when they try
To forget
Belizeans plight of ignorance and poverty.

This is a secret between you and me
Because I care.
Many Politicians are responsible for me
Being here.
Selling me they get rich�
And buy fancy cars,
While young people get caught with me
And sent to punish behind bars.

Open your ears now, young fellow
There's something else you need to know.
My best friend is cocaine
When we're together
They call us primo.

Together we have done damage
We've had many young people
Kicked out of college
We've made lawyers behave foolishly
Like they don't have any knowledge

We destroy
We can make a man behave like a boy
We're hotter than hot
Colder than cold
We would make a man
Sell everything is his household.

We have made a son killed his father
A father raped his daughter
Friends turned enemies
Mothers aborted babies
And yet I'm still abused
Misused and confused?

My friend, to be honest
I can't be trusted
Don't take me for granted
Someday I'll have you busted
You'll go to jail
Without no bail.
I'm very dangerous
Stay away from me

If you want a future in Belize
I would encourage you
To leave me be
After all, my name is Marijuana.

A message from the Poor
by Erwin Jones

you remind us of the plant
that works so hard night and day,
to produce her precious nectar,
to have the honeybee that comes from afar
to take it away.

you remind us of the poor little child
who's mother is dead,
who dearly believes in her little head
her mama has gone away
and will be back to comfort her�someday.

you remind us of the goodness and warmth of the rain
that could sometimes turn into a beastly hurricane.
why�do you bring us pain?

why does the poor have to suffer
from your corrupted game?
why do you come to us in sheep clothing?
pretending to help us in times of need,
tricking us with lies born from greed.
blinding us, so we don't see the wolf within.
why do you come to us in sheep clothing?

you win our trust and take our vote,
then you leave us amidst ignorance
and poverty to battle our sinking boat.

You appoint yourself to high places
and quickly turn your back on our starving faces.
you who suppose to be our leader
have become our oppressor.
but this is just a reminder
we were the ones that gave you power.
therefore a message from the poor

coming election we will say�
corruption���no more
miseducation� more
unemployment��no more

VAT�.no more

evil politicians�.NO MORE.

signed. The Poor

Free Me By Erwin Jones
Free me from your probing eyes
Free me from your hateful thoughts,
And the way you look at me with despise.
Free me from your rumors and vicious lies,
You talk about me and never once told the truth,

You are nothing but a wicked brute.

Free me from corrupt ways,
And your pretended friendship,
Free me from your malicious gaze,
And your friendly pretense,
Stay away from me, you�re bad influence.

When I look at you
I see nothing new.
You�ve drunk from the cup of destruction,
Your heart is filled with corruption.

Free me from your political victimization,
Your empty promises and false realities.
Free me from your colonial masters,
He gave you tell-lie-vision,
The one eyed monster.


How can you be free?
When the white man controls your destiny,
From across the waters?
I am talking to you corrupt political leaders.

Free me from your New World order
Free me from your Columbus myth
He never did discover,

Free me from your indoctrination,
And your false religion,
Telling me Jesus was a white man,
And black people are cursed descendants from Ham

Free me from your false representation of our prophets
Moses white, Job White, Abraham White, Jesus White,
Are you trying to turn the world into puppets?

You painted everything to suit you
and your destructive plight.
So, you thought I didn't know,
Your false images were painted in 1505 by Michelangelo.

Think again Joe!

Free me from your Pope
Your Anti-Christ with his false doctrines,
This is no joke.
The Vatican is reeked with sins.

Pure Evil!
Priest, Nun, Bishop?
It's not in the Bible.
Do you think I'm simple?

Free me from your illusion, delusion, and deception
Of a heaven in the sky.
A big lie!

Free me from cocaine, barbiturates and amphetamines
Free me from your World Health Organization
And it's deadly vaccines.
Free me from your pollution, and nuclear weapon.

Free me from your biological and genetical warfare,
Trying to control my genes.
Free me from your ungodly Philosophers,
And Devil worshippers.
Free me from your rapes, lies and murders.

Free me to be free, to be free. Free me!

Belize Da Fi Me!
Rite now ah deh dah Nu Yawk
Ah gawn downtown fi tek wah wawk
As ah wawk up an' down the street
Pichas a ded prezident dah
Awl weh ah si
Amerika dah weh ah mite bee
But Beleez dah defenateli fi mee
Ah push mi noze up
Eena di yeeah
An no smel' no salti sea
Enhi weah
Suwah wahta an dawg dudu
Drunkin' man vahmit, stinkin' gawbij
Dem dah di ting weh mi noze
Meet wid korij
Amerika dah weh ah mite bee
But Beleez dah di place fi mee
Fah di yongess eena kindagawden
Know fi handl wah gun
Deh 'ave no respek fi deh grahny
All weh deh du dah 'cus
An' teef y' moni
Ah ' tel yo; Amerika dah weh ah mite bee
But my Beleez dah di place fi mee.
Wah day ah gawn dah dis place weh dem
Kawl Koni I'lan
Ah git xcitid bekaws ah wah si som san
But ah' tel yo no
Di place did 'ave sun an sea
But dah no like di I'lan weh de dah BELEEZ
Di I' lan no 'ave no mangro
Jus' som lee bush weh gro so an' so
Wen ah wawk pan di san
Ah kud heah mi toes skreem
Di place filti, y gros me out
Ah hol' mi hed an shout


Camping At Turneffe Island

We sat inside our camp-house old
It's windows looking out
at things untold
The open door an easy entrance
for the sea-breeze damp and cold
Not faraway we saw the tourist lodge
looking dark and deserted
Against the blackened night
Whose stars shone it's luminent light
We all sat and spoke
of long time scenes
Of what we had become
or might have been
Of what we had once thought or said
of who's living and who's dead
The oil in the coleman lamp was done
There was no more light
as our faces faded from sight
Only our voices broke the gloom
as we sat and talk in our little room.

Orelia Dawson

Copyright �2001 Orelia Dawson


The sea ripples lazily to the shore
on the calm quiet day.
Her hues are aqua, azure, white and indingo
while yonder porpoise play at tag.
As a child and even now I wonder..?
Is this the same frenzied September Sea?

By katstan

Remember these famous words to a Belize Christmas song?

Good maanin miss lady
how are you this maanin
I come to make a complain
on this merry christmas maanin
hanasee got wa baby
hide am inna di long grass
Busy bee was passing
and sting am pan his .......

Close your eyes and go back, Before the Internet or the MAC, Before semi-automatics and crack, Before Hattieville Ramada, and all the problems with Guatemala, Before SEGA or Super Nintendo when life was simple and air conditioning was your open window.

Go way, way back. I'm talking bout playing hide and seek at dusk, sitting on the veranda, eating hot Creole bread and butter. Seferino, Eustace Usher and Everall Waight on Radio Belize. Red light, Green light (those are games, we had no traffic lights in Belize). Powder milk (AKA Klim) and a potted meat sandwich for lunch was dandy. Kottobrute, tableta, stretch-mi-guts, wangla and goatshit for candy. Boil corn and ducuno from Fullmoon Bevas on Hydes Lane. Macobi (pepitos) seeds from Bredda Roy or Don Marin at Holy Redeemer. Playing caparuche or gamma in the neighbour's yard, Hopscotch, marbles, ludo, snake and ladder, Jacks, cricket, Mother May I, Say, Say, Say and Ring around the Roses. Hula Hoops and racing bicycle rims. Bradley's lemonade (all flavors were lemonade) and 2 panades for 5 cents. Dit's meat pies (1 for 5) and Happy Hour's cowfoot soup (only 35). Black shoe polish on mustaches to get into Eden, Majestic, or Palace, Crossing kinnel iron, a nude dip at barracks. The smell of the sun and lickin' salty lips.

Wait ...... 10:30 Sunday morning matinee, Superman, The Three Stooges and Bugs. Back further, listening to Reverend Matthew and Chichi on the radio. Catching needle cases (never knew their real names) off the clothes line, Making your own kites with kite paper from Angelus Press and flour paste. Making sure roaches wouldn't eat your kite by putting kerosene in the paste. Playing sling shot or using rubber bands with orange peeling to sting maclala. Remember when walking from New Road to New Market seemed far away? And going downtown on Albert Street seemed like going somewhere? Ghost stories at bedtime, climbing trees, gathering black berries and mangoes. An ice cream cone from one-eye Mallick on a hot summer day, Tuti-Fruti, Sour Sap or maybe Sugar Corn. You found his other eye, you say? A burger and coke from Shammah's drug store on Queen Street, A million mosquito bites, flit, fish (for mosquitoes) and sleeping under nets. Kerosene lamps, gas lamps and candles. Etnas (one-holed kerosene stoves), chamber pots and the good old white bucket. Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, playing house (oooh, I liked that). Steve Reeves and Gordon Scott, when all leading actors were "the bwai", Sittin on the fence whistling at girls passing by. Sliding down the rail of the steps, catching a splinter in your ass. Jumping on the bed (if you had one) and pillow fights. Running from Catate and Dilo till you were out of breath, And laughing so hard that your stomach hurt. Being tired just from playing. Remember that?

I'm not finished just yet. Eating Klim with sugar, kawsham too. Remember when... The sneakers at Bata for girls and boys were called puss? And you were ashamed to wear them at school cause they only cost a dollar? When it took five minutes for the transitor radio to warm up? And you listened to championship fights and that was fun? When nearly everyone's Mom was at home when the kids got there? When every kid owned some type of dog? And how you cried when they poisoned yours? When five cents was a decent allowance, and 10 cents a miracle? When Saldivar bread went up 2 cents and everyone talked about it for weeks? When you lined up outside Jail at 5:00 AM for hot jail bread? When you'd reach into a stinking, muddy drain for a penny? When girls neither dated nor kissed until late high school? And jukking behind convent or up by Haulover was cool? When girls wore quindolyn to church every Sunday? And your clothes were always clean and pressed, even though you didn't have many? And we'd all have to be at the 8:30 AM mass on Sunday or else? When you got brawta from the grocery store regardless of how much you bought? And 12 cents American cheese and a pack bread fed a family of 8? When laundry detergent had free glasses, dishes or towels hidden inside the box? When any parent could whap any kid and nobody, not even the kid, gave it any thought? When being sent to the principal's office was nothing compared to the fate that awaited you at home? When you wore two or more pairs of short pants under your long pants to ease the sting from that sash corn or tambran whip from one of your male teachers? When we were in fear for our lives but it wasn't because of drive by shootings, drugs, gangs, etc? When our parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat? When you didn't dare talk back to your parents, at least not to their face? Didn't that feel good? Just to go back and say, yeah, I remember that! There's nothing like the good old days! They were good then, and they're good now when we think about them. Share some of these thoughts with a friend who can relate, then share it with someone who missed out on them.

By Steve D. Swasey


Often I think of my beautiful little city
that is seated along the coast
of the caribbean sea.
Often in my thoughts I would go
up and down the pleasant streets
And my youth would come back to me.
I remember the wharves where my dad's
boat would be; and the sea tides tossing free.
I remember seeing visiting american sailors with un-bearded lips
And seeing the beauty and majesty of their ship;
And the thoughts of my youth would come back to me.
Often I would remember my dad taking me to the cayes[keys]
Where I would be so glad to see the colors of the setting sun
Going down and down in the horizon;
and the thoughts of my youth would come back to me.

Orelia Dawson

Copyright �2000 Orelia Dawson

The tides of Turneffe Island

On my little caye(key) by the name of Turneffe Island, the tide rises, the tide falls; the sky darkens, the pigeons calls. Along the sea-sands damp and brown,I looked around without ever a frown.Darkness settles on my roof and walls; But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls to the waves with their waving hands to erase the hermits footprints in the sands.Yes; the tide rises the tides falls. Then the morning breaks, the pigeons with their empty craws rises and flap their wings as hunger calls. Yes the day returns; but nevermore the hermits returns to the shores; For it might be a meal to the traveller who soars. And the tide rises, the tide falls; the pigeons are full; for now hunger no more calls.

Orelia Dawson

Copyright �2000 Orelia Dawson

Thou of splendor and majesty

You said that you cared....
How could you be co cruel;
how could you tell such lie;
you said that you loves me,
and you said that you cared.

I believed you, I was willing to
give up so much for you,
now you have diverted my path,
you fell in love with another.

thy love O Belize is pure
a vigin are thou
thy love is unlike any other,
thy love is sweeter than the oil,
that drops from the lips of an adulterer,
I loved theee un ceasingly,

My love Belize is for thee,
let thy bosom embrace thou me,
tell the day I die,
be mine, for thou are the first love of my life
it is thou that dentest mine heart
the very attraction of of mine eyes,

thou O sweetest among the nations,
I long to see thee,
to love thee,
tears run down mine eyes,
when all I that I have of thee
are thy precious memories
to thee O beaty of the nations,
I give my love forever,
thou of splendor and majesty....

Earlin Jason Thimbrel
[email protected]