This is my first guest post on my blog Passion’s Pleasure! I wanted to have this poem up on this site on Friday, as it was International Women’s Day. However, as the day before was World Book Day, I was downloading over 50 books to my Kindle, and my Gmail account was temporarily blocked; they said that it was unusual activity and they were protecting their servers. I was like “It’s World Book Day! Go read something and let me back in!” But they ignored me. So…..
This lady is the first person to allow me to feature my poetry in public – she calls me the “Luuuuuvvvvv Man” because a lot of my poetry was romantic at that time. Sandra Sealy was the second co-ordinator of a group of writers and lover of words called VOICES: Writer’s Collective. She is now a freelance writer / editor with several poems and articles published. She is also the webmistress of Seawoman’s ‘Caribbean Writing Opps, a blog rich with information about writing opportunities, competitions and writing tips. A shortened bio about her is below:
Fondly referred to in his “Bird Rising” (Words Need Love Too) by celebrated Barbadian griot Kamau Brathwaite as as “Princess of Chichén Itzá”, Sandra Sealy is a freelance writer, spoken-word artist and creative writing tutor from Barbados. This former Cultural Officer, Literary Arts (National Cultural Foundation), also mentors talented young writers like PassionPoet, Shakirah Bourne and Jody Sandiford.
She founded Seawoman’s Caribbean Writing Opps., a popular resource for writers of several genres of the Caribbean and beyond.
Ok, enough chat. This poem is her contribution to the writersphere – giving homage to the glory of womanhood. Fitting for International Women’s Day, even if a bit late….
Tree Of Magashi
*magashi is Swahili for women
By Sandra Sealy
I have walked for a mile
in her footsteps.
offers a cooling balm
for the heat of my frustrations.
Leaning against that solidness gives pause,
to stop and drink in
the shade of her wisdom.
marvel at the juxtaposition
of her willowy to my thick;
her smooth to my rough;
my prickly attitude to her leafy logic.
lends a new perspective on
an idea ripening, dropping and withering;
a heart left in a mulch pile or
a dangerous flicker of doubt to be snuffed out.
Mirth crinkles in the corners of her eyes
as she too
carries faded battle gashes
where love has loped off
a once extended branch.
Her grove collectively offers comfort
for fruit born of loins,
falling and nestling
within rolling distance.
No more soothing a sound can be heard,
than rootsy laughter of womenfolk
of trees of magashi.
Copyright © Sandra Sealy, 1999