Blues – Derek Walcott

Those five or six young guys lunched on the stoop that oven-hot summer night whistled me over. Nice and friendly. So, I …

Codicil – Derek Walcott

Schizophrenic, wrenched by two styles, one a hack’s hired prose, I earn me exile. I trudge this sickle, moonlit beach for miles, …

Coral – Derek Walcott

This coral’s hape ecohes the hand It hollowed. Its Immediate absence is heavy. As pumice, As your breast in my cupped palm. …

In The Virgins – Derek Walcott

You can’t put in the ground swell of the organ from the Christiansted, St.Croix, Anglican Church behind the paratrooper’s voice: “Turned cop …

Midsummer, Tobago – Derek Walcott

Broad sun-stoned beaches. White heat. A green river. A bridge, scorched yellow palms from the summer-sleeping house drowsing through August. Days I …

Parang – Derek Walcott

Man, I suck me tooth when I hear How dem croptime fiddlers lie, And de wailing, kiss-me-arse flutes That bring water to …

Pentecost – Derek Walcott

Better a jungle in the head than rootless concrete. Better to stand bewildered by the fireflies’ crooked street; winter lamps do not …

Sabbaths, W.I. – Derek Walcott

Those villages stricken with the melancholia of Sunday, in all of whose ocher streets one dog is sleeping those volcanoes like ashen …