Ode To Jamaican Mango, Mi nuh drink kaffee tea Mango Time
Sometimes I read certain things that brings back flashes of my childhood and a smile on my face. Growing up we had a very tall and very big Blackie mango tree in my backyard. About half the tree grew over the back of the house and when mango season is in fill swing, all you can see on this tree is ripe mangoes.
The trees position over the house acted like a mango alarm system for us kids and no matter where we were, or what you were doing, our mango radar was fine-tuned and set to maximum, allowing us to detect fallen mangoes. The first warning you get was the sound of the detached falling mango clearing the leaves of the tree. Followed by a solid buff, as the mango contacted the roof. After which the tumbling sound of the mango rolling off the roof and finally another solid buff, as the mango hits the ground, "The Eagle has landed".
If you do not have a keen sense of hearing or you were not fast enough or tall enough then you were out of luck. Luckily for me I could climb any trees with ease or else I would not get as much mangos as the others. By the time the mango hits the roof several of us kids would already be jockeying for position under the roof, trying to predict where it would fall from. At this point the taller kids among us would have a clear advantage because they could reach up over you and snatch the golden prize.
You see the mango as it exits the roof, it is right above your head, your vision narrows to only focus on your mango that clearly had your name on it because it is falling in slow motions into your hands. The mango had chosen its eater, me! Then suddenly my longy-la-lah sister stretches out her elongated arms and take it from me and before I could protest, she already consumed half the mango leaving me crying. I protested, “that was mine” she responded, “grow taller” as mango juice runs down her chin. To get an advantage, I either climb the tree and pick my own or climb on top of the roof to intercept the mango, which is why I left a ladder leaning up against the side of the house.
In the Front of my yard was a Julie mango tree, Saint Julian. On one side is a Hairy Mango (too much work picking strings out your teeth) and the other side, the King of all mangoes and my all-time personal favorite, East Indian mango. Two Julie Mango is worth one East Indian mango. There is no amount of other types of mangos you can come with that would make me trade one East Indian mango for it.
The undisputed King of all Mangoes on planet Earth!
Mi Love you Like "East Indian" Mango!
Mi nuh drink coffee tea mango time
Care how nice it may be mango time
In the heat of the mango crop
When di fruit dem a ripe an drop
Wash your pot turn dem down mango time
De terpentine large an fine, mango time
Robin mango so sweet, mango time
Number eleven an hairy skin
Pack di bankra an ram dem in
For di bankra mus’ full, mango time
Mek wi go a mango walk, mango time
For is only di talk mango time
Mek wi jump pon di big jackass
Ride im dung an no tap a pass
Mek di best a di crop, mango time
ODE TO A MANGO
written by: Charlie Bottle
@CharlieBottle
This golden goodness moment,
holds the tropical sweetness,
of a svelte, silky nectar,
bound in thousand fibers.
This ablution of delight,
washes my taste buds in joy,
lighting a million synapses,
that sing happy arias,
to the awesomeness of you,
and of your goodness cased in time,
within this golden orb sublime.
Summer casts a spell abroad,
in billion blossoming blooms,
and opens wide its green shawls,
to your overflowing love,
and then encapsulates it,
in the flowers, fruits and seeds,
along with sun ripened days,
and liquid crystalline rains,
and the balmy winds that blow,
rocking, and soothing with joy.
while the sap runs to nourish,
and fill fruits with more goodness,
from the depths of the dark earth.
The rhapsodies of your love,
sung on hills, valleys and trees,
by the roaring cataracts,
and murmuring waterfalls,
in ponds, lakes and the seas,
rushing rivers sing your praise.
in every season and time,
is sung a hymn to your love.
whispering your name, trees bow,
filling these rustling rhythms,
with your melodious sweetness.
then flush with your love, fruits ripely blush.
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