Carmelina Dean-Burrows

Freeport, Grand Bahama

Although Lower Bogue, Eleuthera is Carmelina's birthplace, she calls Hatchet Bay, Eleuthera her hometown. Inspired by Eleuthera's natural beauty, she started writing poetry at age ten and is proud that one of her poems won an award from The National Library of Poetry. A former Educator, Carmelina recently retired from Bahamas Immigration after serving 25 years as Executive and Chief Executive Officer. She has membership in The National Geographic Society and Mary Star Church Readers Guild. Her accomplishments include: Two BA Degrees, an MA and her recently released book, BAHAMIAN FOLKLORE: THE ELEUTHERA PANORAMA FROM THE NATIVE PERSPECTIVE. She hopes to write a Bahamian Ethnography, earn a doctorate and open a college on Eleuthera.

Lower Bogue's Calamity

The July 1928 morn was calm, fair and crystal clear,
And no Bogueman 'bout hurricane warnings did hear.
So about their fishing/farming chores they did go,
While eyeing the weather for signs that could spell "woe."

When of a sudden the sea raged and howling winds blew high,
And across the sky darkened clouds did fly.
Beating rain, like angry bees, the Boguemen's feet did sting
While these people to houses on the hill, some food and themselves
did bring.

Later through battened windows their eyes popped wide,
For gone was all the water from the bay and all the weather commotion died.
Then like happy children, Boguemen over dry sea bottom walked,
And under clear skies 'bout the bad weather, they laughed and talked.

Then suddenly in the southeast a prodigious black cloud appeared,
And the big black sea rose like a monster, the people it scared.
Boguemen ran to hillside houses, themselves to save,
But the sea-chase gave their farm animals a watery grave.

Then off with Steadman's house roof, him to kill and drown,
And with a stick, James to stab, his entrails ran on the ground.
After the hurricane was over, my uncle James was dead!
Many Boguemen had bodily injuries, including great grandma Sara's head.

A Pensive Reflection - The Hatchet Bay Pond

There was a lovely place, I recall, in my childhood,
Where hyacinths bloomed, custard apples drifted
Amid myriads of pink, white and yellow water lilies.

A serene place that rang with symphonic melodies performed
By chirping chimp-chimps, whistling treasures, cooing tobacco
Doves, quacking ducks and croaking frogs.

There was a scenic place, richly wooded and shaded
By tall custard apple trees, pond top palms with tasty berries,
And berry-laden sugar plum and darling plum trees,
On whose fruits we feasted gleefully.

There was a place, I recollect, where carefree children slipped
On moss-covered stones at the bottom of the pond,
While playing in the water among those flowers.

There was a delightful refreshing place,
Where cool fresh water overflowed
And formed a huge pond ... THE HATCHET BAY POND.

But there is that place, today, I see ...
It's beauty has been replaced by big water-carrying pipes.
Yet it remains, as I recall that lovely place
That mother nature gave to the children of Hatchet Bay.