I first published this unusual one word poem in 2001 on Poetry.com. It was a time when the word terrorism was really permeating the media, and even if it seems quiet now, a soul is being terrorized each day.












By jjf (c) 2016

Mathematics of Pain

What is your pain? Do not refrain from trusting that your pain can truly be used to help others. Share your pain in whatever creative way God have allowed you too. People need just one tangible or intangible touch. #SharingisCaring

Mathematics of Pain

Pain + pain=gain

Without any subtraction

I will have a mold so high

In which all my dreams could die

I simply cannot attempt to multiply

’cause the pain may seem greater than the sand of the seas

That would lead me to insanity…

On either side there is more to contain

So before you ask me to bracket the most relevant pain–

The one that shut my eyes; open my belly to the ground

Prepare a rectangular casket for all my bitter laments

Buckets to collect my tears;

No more shutting of the eyes

No more folding of the arms and walking away

Searching for a better day

Here is my pain; here is my gain.

By jjf (c) 2016

Reference for Image n.d.photograph, viewed June 8, 2016,<https://i.yting.com./vi/H6ECC5B3n-0/hqdefault.jpg&gt

My Lost Soul

My Lost Soul

I keep giving me away piece by piece

I can’t find real love

My soul knows best

But I just can’t rest

I keep giving me away piece by piece.


I am taking back my pieces

I am waiting for my real Love,

to take me as one whole.

Has anyone seen my soul?

My soul have been shattered

The last place I remember leaving it was at the corner of-

‘Longing for Love’

I have searched the faces of strangers

Is my soul with you, Mr. Abuser?

Maybe you, Miss Cheater?

Can someone, anyone, help me find my soul

I will take the jagged pieces back-maybe I can mend it together again

Screaming: My soul I call you forth

From the east, the west, the south, and the north!

Release my soul, please give it back, it doesn’t belong to you

Stop coveting it with your insatiable passions

So I asked again, “Have you seen my soul?”


Are you speaking well?

 Did you come to give me a new soul?

How can this be?

jjf (c) 2016

The Call

“I heard the voice of the Lord saying, whom shall I send?” –Isaiah 


In my silence

Deep within,

I heard the voice of whom my soul loves.

I answered the call with much difficulties

Without understanding the path laid out for me,

I simply trust.

I trust the Master’s plan

To take me to the promise of my deliberation.

I do not force myself to remember my past,

For it follows me like a shadow

Coming and going as it pleases.
Staying longer when the sun shines

In every crevice of my being

Measuring against my present

Stalking everywhere I set foot.

Then a stillness steps in

To rid the shadow too monstrous in nature;

Too stubborn to let loose of its hovering

Sometimes, I hide

Not a hiding of a coward; but one who waits,

Till the calamities be overpast

Sometimes, I face it with a force–

A force, a strength, which is completely supernatural-

Connecting me with the Source.

(c) 2015 jjf

Special Mark

Beyond the horizon
Beyond the horizon


As a child I have always had a fascination with nature- I would look to the horizon for the rising of the sun, then follow it till the sun sets. I watched the moon come out in pieces and full, and collected the stars in my imagination to form my own constellation. The rainy season was the best time to look at patterns being formed by clouds. We only have two seasons on the Island of St. Lucia; wet or dry.  Here’s what I found in an old exercise book – a few poems related to my experiences with the earth.

O Rain Fall was an ode poem that I wrote begging in a prayerful manner for the rain to fall.

One day in a particular year- I can’t remember the exact year, but it was most probably when my two sisters and I were about 10-14 years old respectively.

The government declared that there was a possibility of a drought and that everyone had to conserve water. For days no rain fell, the stand pipes for government free water dripped for long agonizing minutes, and carrying water as a young girl was not my forte; climbing up and down hills to haul buckets of water on our heads or to carry two buckets in each hand was a sure killer, and most times my sisters and I  had to carry enough water to fill up a medium or large size metal drum or barrel.

The many trips were grievous, and so to make it lighter, we would pause to pick mangoes, steal guavas from the neighbor’s yard, or try to open dry coconuts which had just fallen.

Special Mark is a bitter-sweet relationship with an aspect of nature- a poem which I wrote a couple of years after my sister got a gash in her flesh which left her with the most unique natural tattoo on her upper-backside.  The mud was our playground, especially after the fresh rain. We took countless showers when the rain was at its heaviest: we played in it, we danced in it, and we made mud toys from it. Our mud was clean and beautiful brownish or reddish clay-so it was no surprise that children growing up in my era, especially in my yard- took the pleasure to embrace the mud during and after the rain. In a few days after the rain stops, and the cloud cleared off completely by the blazing sun, the mud would turn creamy and then really hard causing different kinds of creativity.  One day while we were teenagers, my third sister and I decided to take part in mud slides. First, you had to get a strong branch that would carry your weight down the hill, or if you were fortunate like other kids you got a piece of shinny and smooth old vinyl carpet that someone threw out to skate on. During one of our mud skating expeditions, my sister sledded off what she was skating on and landed on a sharp rock or root that cut her deeply on her backside, tattooing her for life. (Wish I can show a photo here.)

Before the Rain Came was my perception of how I saw and felt the rain coming.

I loved looking out to the horizon. Fortunately, the house my mother rented was on a hill which overlooked the harbor, and we saw on a daily basis when the fishermen boats would go out and come in; when the cruise lines, yachts, or ships came in and of course, left. We heard the bellowing sounds of the great ships when they were harbored. The word horizon was part of my vocabulary ever since I remembered describing mountain tops, or the sun rises in the east or sets in the west. It seem to have been the famous word among the fishermen too. The clouds, I was told, can give indication as to whether the sea was laden with fish or not; otherwise, was it worthwhile that the fishermen go out to sea. Will there be gentle rain or torrents? Is a storm or hurricane boiling somewhere? The older people read the clouds like meteorologists, they knew. And what’s that smell?-No one could have described the smell of the rain before it came, but yes, we smelt it! I felt that I could’ve eaten the rain before it had fallen.

O Rain Fall

O Rain fall.

Fall like you’ve never fallen,

Fall that our tears may flow with your many waters.

O Rain fall,

Fall that the mountains be drenched in your power,

Fall that the valleys be overwhelmed in your abundance.

O Rain fall!

Fall that mankind may see beyond their inner mind that you

Are supernatural, fulfilling their everlasting desires;

Without you they shall creep into the dust:

Searching, pounding, wishing, that he had just one drop
Of your strength,

Then can he learn to save you.

O rain your time to fall is beyond his time;

You are supreme, so burst those clouds
Now, rain fall

So our tears may flow with your many waters…

jjf (c) 2016

Before The Rain Came

A silver lining stretched itself upon the calm sea
The setting sun reflecting like a mirror
Upon portions of the deep blue water
The clouds drifted like a phantom with pale expressions
While lazy ships drifted into the harbor with all precaution
No hustle or a bustle
While the small heads of the fishermen can be seen in the distance
They are coming to port for the fish had stopped flying
One glance and the palm trees no longer swayed gently
The ships were gone
The fishermen were in
Beyond the dull horizon; beyond the pale sky and grey sea
Clouds descended like un-scrubbed aluminum
Once more the force of the rain penetrated the calmness of the sea
Moving fast, drenching the entire Island in one colossal coat
The only music heard was the cacophonous sounds of the objects
Beating under its drops
Once more the eyes were closed to sleep.

jjf (C) 2016

Special Mark

Can you remember

The times that you played beneath the sugar apple trees
Skating on its golden leaves
Crushing them into the dry thirsty earth
Eating of its fruit which kept you filled for a day

Can you remember

The times you played beneath its greenly shade
Jumping on its delicate leaves
Deeping them into the creamy mud
Wishing it bore your favorite fruit

Of course you remembered!

The season was not yet
Even when you gazed up high
Just waiting

And then waiting became a game…

Only your tears flowed to water the pain
You bore from the teeth of the earth

Which left you with a special mark of childhood

Edited & written by jjf (c) 2016

For No Reason

The valley of Tears girl crying

 For No Reason 

This prose was written in 2014 as part of my healing from the pain of sexual abuse. Through an amazing in-depth counseling group for women in transition, plus the love and the prayers of believers helped in my healing for a better life.

I dedicate this prose to all those who have been through sexual abuse and sexual assault and is still struggling with the healing process. Always remember you are not alone.  As a child and teenager I, too,  was sexually molested by family members, neighbors, and ‘so-called’ friends.  By writing this poem/prose I managed to get rid of the venom of the abusers who attempted to hide in the crevice of my soul.

Before my complete healing, I tried getting deliverance through so many means: smoking, drinking, clubbing; but, too no avail. On and off depression trailed me like an old snake, which tried its best to suck the blood from my heels. But ah, Jesus Christ came to my rescue.  I was able to get my thoughts untangled from the abusers’ web. Thank you, Lord!  

Presently, my aim is to encourage and to bring healing to others who were victimized and violated by any type of sexual predators. I am willing to donate my story. Yes, it’s time to tell! They are evil; they can’t see the eyes of the babies crying, they have blocked their soul while drawing on the pure breathe of their own seeds. 

A new dawn has drastically arrived to help in our inner healing, the listening ears of those who care are here to help us, we are not alone. #MeToo #YouToo


For No Reason

Yesterday, while on an errand I stole some time to play,

I didn’t think of time and space; only wanted the day

To skip over wildflowers, small rocks, even to dodge wild dogs

Pause for moments to watch hogs dig in the dirty river,

And to find a way through the murkiness of logs.

I greeted the neighbor, and was summoned inside-

Never occurred that I was sentenced to chide.

The fubsy shadow covered the wall;

Creating a blanket for my great fall.

There he was sitting in his usual chair,

‘Chile come over here’

And with no hesitation held me forever,

As my blood dripped upon his massive finger-

Shock and in pain fear flooded my spine.

Who can I tell of this ordeal of mine?

For no reason, I couldn’t tell father or mother,

I dried my tears and promise to stay away from

the monster upstairs-

I heard no whisper,

Only quiet and silence.

And when I wish that the anguish would wash away,

With every hurricane or flood lifting from the quay-

Another greeted me with charm;

No sense of alarm.

All the while scrutinizing my ripe age,

My innocence now trapped in a cage.

Every other night while mama worked hard,

My dearest gently spread my legs out wide-

Pierced me with his stick, then gave me candy for a treat,

 Drawing from a cistern that didn’t belong to him.

Deep within I became the song of grim;

No good hymn could soothe my soul.

As the heavy breath of alcohol streamed down my neck,

Dead to the smoke which blinded my perception:

‘Mama didn’t care’

And somewhere the whisper came, ‘don’t cry’

Quiet. Silence.

Tears forming creases on the corner of my eyes;

Where are you God of whom mama spoke about-

Yet, I have not abandoned you, my Lord,

Maybe you have a reason for what I couldn’t describe,

‘Cause the sun still shone on me every morning,

And if there was no sun; the moon guided me

Out of the Valley of Baca

Out of a name that doesn’t belong to me.

Oh, how I wish that the angels took me away to be cleansed-

In pure waters, ever flowing waters;

To wash away the guilt that stained me for no reason.

Today the trees didn’t move, the grass didn’t sway,

The clouds stood still-

I wanted to die, for soon another came by.

Was there a spell cast on me?

Was there an attachment to the imps, the devils which ravished

The young who cries daily for a savior?

The darkness seems endless, when will the light come?

Yet, the more I desire for the light; darkness approached with its

Peeping Toms-timing and watching my every move;

Like outlaws, fugitives, they cast shadows behind back doors,

Longing to touch: measuring, drooling, in the madness of their minds

Locked me within.

Then for no reason the anger for getting no answers

For my sexual mishaps drew me to conclude:

That the sons of my mother’s womb might not be brothers after all,

Uncles whom I should have embraced,

Or fathers of any kind, pasting floors-

While lusting, sweating for their kin

are all devils in disguise.

The constant hitting of my ankles against the small rocks,

My steps couldn’t keep up with my thoughts,

So I started running,  running from their grip;

Running from under their dark clouds.

Ah, love, my questions are endless.

I see whom my soul loves:

‘Don’t cry’, the whisper said

Quiet. Silence

For no reason I was taken away;

To heal me from the deeply hidden concoction of their sexual exploitations-

And from beyond I have seen that they can no longer hide

Behind the veil of deception.

Ah, thoughtless, never saw tomorrow coming,

How blind to have planted seeds of your corruption.

Now dead before poisoning my entire being;

I spoke life to my womb and mind,

I ask Him who is ever merciful, to have mercy on your souls.

Then I rest my last question: ‘Why such agonizing pain?’

Why my love, whom my soul seek after?

Again, the whisper came-

Quiet. Silence.

(c)2016 jjf

Reference for Image:

A young girl crying http://arrested-development-ministry.blogspot.ca/p/signs-of-childhood-sexual-abuse.html

The Valley of Baca is found in Psalm 84:6. According to commentary a place which was dry, hard and unpleasant. A place of weeping or lamentation.

Random Notes of Love 1

valentine_heart 1

I love the month of February because I was born on the sixteenth. February- the love month – giving and loving and sharing and forgiving; well, that’s what they say. The sweet repetition of the conjunction ‘and’ makes everything add up in the love month. Over the years, I wrote many short pieces about love: love and friendship; love and heartaches; love and hate; love and life; love and death; misunderstood love; and love, love, love…but I am learning the greatest love of all is in my savior Jesus Christ!

The old cliché-short, sweet and spicy!

Enjoy. ♥jjf


Invitation (Edited)

Our time of hate is in the past

Now it’s our time to love

Your colorful eyes follow me around,

Are you afraid to stare?

Yet, you like what you see

Are my lips too full to swallow yours?

Are my eyes too deep that you feel helpless?

Come, you can taste my honeycomb

Don’t be afraid of the light

There is so much that I can teach you

Come, feel me

Not in secret places, come

Let’s go to the mountains

It’s fresher there

Our time of hate is in the past

Now it’s our time to love,


(c) 2016 jjf


To Argue Love 

And if we argue, fuss, or fight

What good it’s gonna do tonight?

You take a piece of my heart

and with the same breathe say, ‘I love you’

What good it’s gonna do today?

(c) 2016 jjf


 Restless Dove

I’ll contend for you my love

as sure as the stars are above

though you may try to fly away

my love for you will multiply,

though distance may keep us apart,

though others may try to steal your heart;

 my grip on you shall never depart.

(c)2016 jjf



Can I look at life in a two way fold

Can I walk through two open doors

Can I share love fifty-fifty

What then shall I do?

Deep into those eyes I am afraid

Deep into the past I keep remembering

Deep into the future I have to go

What then shall I do?

(c) 2016 jjf


A Song of Longing

I’ll be there before the first rain falls

I’ll be there before you close your eyes

If all the rain should stop falling

If all the fruit trees stop bearing

If all the birds stop singing

My love for you will never change

My laughter will be heard throughout the land

To bring joy to your heart

I’ll be there before the sun sets

I’ll be there before you close your eyes.

(c) 2016 jjf


Question to Self

Do you love you enough?

Asking the same questions over and over again:

Who do you think you are?

Do you love your thoughts?

In a whisper: do you love you?

Do you love your neighbor as yourself?

Go ahead, it’s good to love you too

Why should you hide who you are?

 The stars burst in its firmament

Blazing a wink that extends the universe

And we who are on earth can look and behold its wonderment

The beautiful array of God’s love canopied above us

Why should such love be hidden?

Go ahead,  it’s good to love you; 

And you will have no hindrances loving your neighbor too.

(c) 2016 jjf

Image from:https://www.google.ca/?gfe_rd=cr&ei=0DslVZnRN8yC8Qe36oC4DA#q=valentine_heart+1