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Greetings and Welcome to Ras Howard's Poetry Page!
Rastaman Howard Henry was born and raised in the parish of St. Andrew Jamaica West Indies. He has been writing poetry seriously for the last 10 years. He has a regular poetry column in the Black Paper "The Pride of Syracuse", and his work has appeared in publications around the world. Howard has lived in both Jamaica and England and now resides in the city of Syracuse in Upstate Central New York where he performs with the Eternal Riddim Reggae Band.
Below are samples of a few Poems from Howard's new book "Doors To Reality".
The book is available for
$10.00 U.S. (shipping and tax included)
Send money orders (made out to Howard Henry)
to:
Adam Felleman
124 Circle Raod
Syracuse, NY 13210
U.S.A.
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Fire In The White House
Fire in The White House
Run Boy Run,
Run and call the fire truck
Cause soon it will be burning down.
With Blazes of the President,
Doing this and also doing that.
Blazes of who is covering up,
From who is opening what.
The star is still shining,
The eagle is still flying
Regardless of his wound.
The bucket looks clean
So why is the milk still dirty?
Still rejecting the black cow,
But her milk you happily drink.
The ginger ridge is now blooming,
Seems the duck will lose his bill.
A parable for this perilous era,
Better hurry and show love to one another.
Fire in the White House
Run Boy Run,
Run and call the fire truck
Cause soon it will be burning down.
Snitching here and Snitching over there
Snitching in the back seat
Snitching almost everywhere.
Fire in The White House Run Boy Run,
Run and call the fire truck
Before it burn down.
By Ras Howard Henry July 1998 New York
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Hello Mr. Politician
Hello Mr. Politician, now that you win the election,
What about education and people suffering in starvation,
I notice your bank books, keep rising in millions and millions,
While poor people in stressed, left in this poor condition.
No home for the homeless, no food for the beggar,
Yet you be sifting at your poolside sipping expensive liquor.
Your nanny be dumping, left over foods in the garbage,
While poor people be trodding, all day, in their hungry passage.
With words so big, make you always have the advantage,
Pressuring poor people, as if they got no knowledge
You keep holding them, in your devices of lies,
But to release the pressure, you only talk try.
I placed you in a blender, and called you mystery Babylon.
Hitting you with words, turning people from frustration.
That you left their state of mind in, looking like a zombie,
Letting them drinking each other's blood, the work of a vampire.
Hello Mr. Politician, now that you win the election,
What about education, and people suffering in starvation.
Ras Howard Henry
New York, America
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LAND OF PARADISE
JAMAICA IS PARADISE,
NOT TO SAY THAT IS UNWISE.
NOW THE LIVING MAY NOT BE NICE,
BUT WHO TOOK OUR MERCHANDISE.
I THINK IT'S THE PEOPLE,
WHO SURFACE THEIR COMMON WEALTH PLANS.
CAUSING IT TO BE POOR,
AND LEFT IN SO MUCH CORRUPTION.
TAKING AWAY THE BAUXITE SO CHEAP,
THEN RETURN IT IN CARS,
FOR PRICES THAT REMAINS SO STEEP.
TELL US MORE ABOUT REGGAE SOUNDS SPLASH,
TO ACCUMULATE BACK SOME OF YOUR FOREIGN CASH.
WHO MAKE THE ECONOMY BE SHORT OF SO MUCH CASH,
WHILE RELAXING IN THEIR PRIVATE CHAMBERS,
LEAVING THE BULL DOGS TO WATCH.
TALKING ABOUT DRUGS,ALONG SIDE WITH GANJA,
FIGHTING OUR SMALL CROPS,
WHILE THEIRS IS MUCH LARGER.
OF A FACT,
JAMAICA IS A LAND OF WOOD AND WATER,
TO CRITICISE IT SO MUCH,
WILL NEVER HELP IT TO BE BETTER.
JAMAICA IS PARADISE,
NOT TO SAY THAT IS UNWISE.
NOW THE LIVING MAY NOT BE NICE,
BUT WHO DID STEAL,ALL OUR MERCHANDISE.
By Ras Howard Henry.
Bermondsey England May 1997.
(More to come..page under construction)
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