SPIRIT

Laughter is good for the soul. I wrote this poem in college, I would like to share it with you. It is about a dead person, that I imagine walking in London- it's all about my imagination. " Duppy" means spirit. It is away of speaking Jamaican's Patios .
Love you. read and be happy. Those of you who are in creative writing class are free to use this poem. As follows:

         CatherineTaylor

Advance Poetry

October 26, 2010                                                                                        DREAM DEAD MAMA WALKING

“Dead Mama Walking in London Town”

 My mama is not dead, she is just somewhere getting

A nap with somebody she loves, who I do not know.

 I hope it is not with Frankenstein.   Somebody say that they saw my

 Dead mama walking in London Town, carrying a huge rock on her head.

Alternatively, some hard rock like what Moses strikes when he was

In the wilderness, with his people out of Egypt from slavery,

 They got angry with him bringing them out of Egypt to suffer.

  While he was talking to God on Mount Sinai, about the Ten Commandments

Oh well somebody better let me know how a dead woman can carry a rock

On her head, men this makes me laugh like Jamaican “Duppy”

They laughed “kicky, kicky” They want to make up story like make up strips

On my mama, who risk her life to save my child, who was running into?

A car on the highway to catch a black wild cat, which scares the hell out

Of me. Next thing they say, my dead mama was in the Queens Palace

Wearing a white Barrister wig dining with the Queen eating swine

Meat and drinking coconut water

 Her eyes shining like pure gold looks more like the gold

The Europeans stole from the Africans from the gold

Cost of Africa, which sounds absurd, it is not real to be going

Around building up scandal on a dead woman head, she rose from the

Dead/ she is not Lazarus that Christ calls forth from the grave

She is a dead mama, these people who talking that they seeing mamma

Do not even know how to walk to London Town; they are afraid of the stars

In the sky at night, Alexander her son would go crazy if he hears all this mess.

About mama walking through London carrying stone on her dead head

Everyone in my family hearing, hearing, all what’s happening

Another person says that they see mama, running and branching in

America, that muttonhead has no knowledge of what they are talking about

My mama is not dead she is just somewhere taking a nap with somebody she loves.

 She is awesome-she inspired me to write poems.