HARRY BISSOON

THE SILK COTTON TREE Guyanese Folklore  Harry Bissoon  3/06/2026 Majestic, strong, it stood.  With arms spread wide.    Unshaken by vagaries of weather, covered in folklore,  Imagination flowing in rushes of tide.  Fearful in night, homage paid in mysterious rites, Children, even those of age, frozen in shivers, flee in flight.  Black fowl, white rum and cheese, cigarettes too, Its huge trunk welcomes it.   Dutch man appeased, Buried deep beneath, to favor seek in solemn rite.  Him, a Dutch man, rides on white stallion, in the dark night.  Fire at night, from the trunk it rises.  Not seen in day, terrified to verify, a labor of fear, surfaces. Steeped in folklore, Grandpa swears, not a myth.  Enriched nevertheless, life moves with haste, stories abound, forthwith.

FIRERASS  Harry Bissoon 2/13/2026 Mabel, up before sunrise, long before the cock, Natty, crows.  In haste, amidst hazy and foggy mist, she pushes herself to limits anew, to meet deadline, daily vows,   The light shines through neighba Aunty Breto's windows, in an eerie brightness.  It flashes,dances,and speeds into the still darkness,  Look! Mabel laments! She gone again! To roam and suck blood, before light approaches! Firerass she is! Firerass, oh god, is Breto, a never-ending nighttime seeker of gourmet secrets.  Nay,she cannot be. She laughs and talks,day after day, with a face of neighborly goodness.  But yet,  flies and seeps through cracks, in hungry nighttime flurries of wanton, thirsty adventures of mysterious gourmet madness.  Let her go, Mabel sighs. Make your way, Breto! Make your way! You are the village night walker! @highlight

BEHOLD, AND BE COLD Harry Bissoon 2/02/2026 A cold spell, it snapped with sudden misfortune! It crept up on us in the dead of night.  And Florida, the Sunshine State, wrapped in the cold it was. Flowers wilted, herbaceous plants shivered and curled in unwanted brownness, Birds looked confused, thinking that they made a mistake flying south.  They tweeted uncertainly and looked! displaced glows in their eyes,at fallen iguanas!   Freezing temperatures stopped dripping waters, in midair.  Northerners, migrated from up north, stunned, as they bundled up, making haste to work.  Old men and women, long retired, in sweaters they adorned themselves, sipping hot chocolate! Florida,the refuge of seekers of warmth, emerges, in glory, again! As the cold interloper flees, in gleeful conquest!

Be The Change You Want To Be Harry Bissoon 12/29/2025 What has changed for us as the last days of 2025 unfold and come to a close? Many of us celebrate the end of what has gone by, and wish each other a happy new year, ensconced in unbridled revelry, only to wake up the next morning and be rudely reminded that nothing has changed. Oftentimes, I wonder if revelry, and all that it comes with it,is only a respite from the realities that confront many of us.  Nevertheless, the new year always begins with an unmistakable flourish of resolutions and best wishes. The breaking hours of the new year are full of expressions and messages of hope, amidst an atmosphere of confidence, hoping that the controllable things in our lives will be managed effectively, while we pray for intercession with the things we can't control.  For many, the new year is a replay of the past year. There is nothing new, except a chronological time clock and picture perfect resolutions that are only made to be b...

COCONUT JOHNSON Remembering my friend who still lives even though he passed away several years ago.  Harry Bissoon 9/25/2025 In the deep stillness and quiet of the early morning, long before the cock crowed, the village came awake! The dark blackness of the night was set ablaze as kerosene lamps flickered and danced in unison as if to defy the brilliance of the sun that would rise beyond the eastern horizon,just across the calm waters of the mighty river.  The crackle of wooden fires broke the morning silence! It was the beginning of another day in the lives of villagers who prepared for arduous work in the fields of the sugar plantation.  Pots and pans made joyous sounds as wives hurriedly made meals for husbands and sons, and even for themselves, in a frantic rush for all of them to be on time to catch the plantation lorry which took them from their homes to their tasks in the fields.  Mr. Johnson was up before anyone else. He would sit in the dark blackness of his...

Death is ever present, and  like a dark specter of doom, it hovers above and around us, waiting in the shadows to attack and devastate. It is envious of birth, which brings joy and happiness to us. Envious of our struggles down paths of thorns and roses.It follows us, breaching our defenses when and where we least expect it. Maybe this is why some of us celebrate death and mourn the coming of new life. Maybe this is why some of us glorify death and its painful throes of the unfettered release of our souls to be free of the agonizing clutches of life. Maybe, this why birth and new life are lamented by some, knowing of the trials, tribulations, and bumpy paths that lead us into the hands of Death Itself. Nonetheless, whatever views and opinions we hold close to our bosoms, we still ponder upon this dilemma, trying to reconcile the beatitudes of life and death,being fully aware that death is always filled with agony and sadness.  We are children of promises and faith. We are chil...