Me Bannabees
Run ober mango trees,
’Pread chock[1] to kitchen doo’,
Watch de blue bannabees,
Look how it ben’ down low!
De blossom draw de bees
Same how de soup draw man;[2]
Some call it “broke-pot” peas,
It caan’ bruk we bu’n-pan.[3]
Wha’ sweet so when it t’ick?[4]
Though some call it goat-tud,[5]
Me all me finger lick,
An’ yet no chew me cud.[6]
A mumma plant[7] de root
One day jes’ out o’ fun;[8]
But now look ’pon de fruit,
See wha’ de “mek fun”[9] done.
I jam de ’tick dem ’traight
Soon as it ’tart fe ’pread,[10]
An begin count de date
Fe when de pod fe shed.[11]
Me watch de vine dem grow,
S’er[12] t’row dung a de root:
Crop time look fe me slow,
De bud tek long fe shoot.
But so de day did come,
I ’crub de bu’n-pan bright,
An’ tu’n down ’pon it[13] from
De marnin’ till de night.
An’ Lard I me belly swell,
No ’cause de peas no good,
But me be’n tek[14] a ’pell
Mo’ dan a giant would.
Yet eben after dat
Me nyam[15] it wid a will,
’Causen it mek me fat;
So I wi’ lub it still.
Caan’ talk[16] about gungu,[17]
Fe me it is no peas
Cockstone[18] might do fe you,
Me want me bannabees.
Lub O’ Mine
Darlin’, though you lub me still,
I feel it so,
To t’ink dat we neber will
Meet soon, you know;
Eben when you tell me say[1]
Dat your dear heart[2]
Did grow ’tronger ebery day
An’ hate fe part.
Feelin’ all you’ lub for me,
I t’ink[3] you press
Your heart, as it use’ to be,[4]
Upon me breas’.
Lubin’ you wid all me soul,
De lub is such
Dat it beat out blood,[5]—de whole,[6]
An’ dat is much.
Lubin’ you as you go ’long
In a you walk;[7]
Also when you chune[8] a song,
An’ as you talk.
An’ a so I hate fe see[9]
You go astray
In those t’ings dat you and me
Can cast away.[10]
Lub, I dyin’[11] fe you’ smile,
An’ some sweet news
Dat can cheer me heart awhile
Fe wha’ it lose.
Lub me, darlin’—lub, aldough
You are now gone:
You can never leave me so—
Friendless-alone.
Taken Aback
Let me go, Joe, for I want go[1] home:
Can’t stan’ wid you,[2]
For pa might go[3] come;
An’ if him only hab him rum,[4]
I don’t know whatever I’ll do.
I must go now, for it’s gettin’ night
I am afraid,
An’ tis not moonlight:
Give me de last hug, an’ do it tight;
Me pa gwin’ go knock off me head.[5]
No, Joe, don’t come!–you will keep me late,
An’ pa might be
In him[6] sober state;
Him might get vex’[7] an’ lock up de gate,
Den what will becomin’ of me?
Go wid you, Joe?—you don’t lub me den!
I shame’[8] o’ you–
Gals caan’[9] trust you men!
An’ I b’en tekin’ you fe me frien’;[10]
Good-night, Joe, you’ve proven untrue.
Little Jim
Me lard! me caan’ bear it no mo’!
’Twill kill me dead, dis bad sore toe;
All day all night, ’tis de same,
Mek me a bawl out Massa name.[1]
O Lard o’ me, a ’fraid[2] to tu’n,
De way de dreadful bluestone bu’n![3]
A[4] feel it movin’ t’rough me j’ints,
Like million load o’ needle-p’ints.
An’ oh! me schoolmates dem[5] did laugh
De day I nearly knock’[6] it off;
Me laugh meself fe sake o’ shame,[7]
An’ didn’ know I’d go so lame.
I didna’ then t’ink what I’d got—[8]
Good Lard, mumma de bluestone hot![9]
I tell you, a wi’ lose me head;[10]
You satisfy to kill me dead?[11]
An’ oh! it is a double pain,
For I caan’ go to school again,
To gellop over fyahn[12] an ditch,
An’ crew de j’int o’ teacher switch.[13]
No mo’ roas’ corn[14] fe little Jim,
Dem say dat it no good[15] fe him:
Me hide me face, for me caan’ bear
To see dem passin’ wid de pear.[16]
But me a don’t gwin’[17] to fret,
De half a toe wi’ better get:
I’ll go to school once more, go bad;[18]
Ay it ease me a bit,[19] t’ank God!
Jim at Sixteen
Corpy, it pinch me so,
De bloomin’ ole handcuff;
A dun no warra mek[1]
You put it on so rough.
Many a póliceman
Hab come to dis before;
Dem slip same like a[2] me,
An’ pass t’rough lock-up door.[3]
Mumma, no bodder[4] cry,
It should an[5] hotter be;
I wouldn’ heed you when
You use’[6] fe talk to me.
I run[7] away from you
Same as I tu’n out school,[8]
’Caus’n a didn’ want
To stan’ under no rule.[9]
An’ though you send[10] fe me,
A wouldn’ face de home;
Yet still dem[11] find you quick
Same as de trouble come.[12]
Mumma, I know quite well
You’ lub fe me is ’trong;
Yet still you don’t a go
Join wid me in a wrong.[13]
An’ so I won’t beg you
To pay fe[14] me to-day;
I’ll bear me punishment,[15]
’Twill teach me to obey
* * * * * * * * * *
Mumma, you’ Jim get ’way
An’ come back home[16] to you,
An’ ask[17] you to forgive
Him all o’ whe’ him do.[18]
I want you to feget
Dat I disgrace de name,
An’ cause de ole fam’ly[19]
To look ’pon me wid shame.
You come an’ beg de judge
Before dem call fe me,[20]
An’ walk by de back gate,
T’inkin’ I wouldn’ see.
But ’fore him let me go,
Him lectur’ me, mumma,
Tellin’ me how I mus’
Try no fe bruk de law.[21]
Mumma, I feel it, but
No eye-water caan’ drop:
Yet I wish dat it could,
For me breat’ partly ’top.[22]
So, mumma, I come back
Again to be your boy,
An’ ever as before
To fill you’ heart wid joy.
NOTE BY THE AUTHOR.—On Friday I went to Court on duty for the third time since my enlistment. I happened to escort a prisoner, a stalwart young fellow, and as I was putting on the handcuff, which was rather small, it pinched him badly, making a raw wound. And yet he was so patient, saying he knew that I could not help it. Although it was accidentally done, I felt so sad and ashamed. The above poem grew out of this incident.