Marguerite Anderson

I come to a room adorned with whispers of time,
Where the shadows dance in a rhythmic rhyme,
And there, an old woman stands with a heavy heart,
Gazing into a mirror, looking at the crooked work of art.
...

On the streets of Kingston, as the morning sun greets,
I see a Jamaican boy with calloused hands and weary feet.
His dreams in tatters like the shirt on his back,
Yet resilience in his eyes, on this rugged track.
...

Today, upon this stage, an actress must
Perform a tale of love and woe,
Many roles in past, she played and executed well
But in the hushed embrace of theater's din light
...

Judas came knocking at my door
All this time his back was turned
And I could not see his face,
But he was beautiful
...

Many a man
make declarations of love,
But rare is he
Whose love remains true
...

She left home to journey along
the road less traveled,
She had no compass, then
But only the vision of her journey's end.
...

In a quaint cottage by the whispering trees,
Resides an old lady, time's gentle tease.
Her eyes like windows to a bygone age,
Hold tales of joy and sorrow, written on life's page.
...

What do you mean
that my poems aren't Jamaican?
Were you there with me in Waterhouse
When hunger lick mi shut but
...

Silhouetted in the twilight of a fragile mind,
A tapestry unraveled, its threads confined.
Lady Aileen, once a fair maiden - a tale untold
-Now lost in memories, aged and cold.
...

I seek escape from this side of the fence where
Grassy thorns beneath my feet pierce my sole.
Scrambling, ambling, trekking to the freedom
Awaiting on the other side.
...