Welcoem to posts!!
in the future - u will be able to do some more stuff here,,,!! like pat catgirl- i mean um yeah... for now u can only see others's posts :c
Big milestone for my music!
My music channel, Red Button Songbook, has just been accepted into YouTubeâs Official Artist Channel (OAC) program!
Youâll now see the little music note icon next to the channel name, and all my songsâTopic videos, official lyric videos, and uploadsâwill now show up in one place on YouTube.
If you enjoy following along with the words, I usually post the official lyric video a couple of days after each releaseâso be sure to check back.
If you havenât subscribed to Red Button Songbook yet, nowâs a great time:
youtube.com/@RedButtonSongbook
Thanks for all the support!
43 - 14
Why I Write
~a poem by Tom
Each morning, fresh with rising sun,
My heart delights in lines begun.
A poem blooms, a quiet gift,
In daily words, my spirit lifts.
No need to wonder why each day,
I pour my heart in verse this way.
My quiet verse, my open door,
To peaceful shores not seen before.
Healing rhythms gently flow,
Words of comfort softly grow.
Though others question, wonder why,
These daily lines, my heartâs reply.
This quiet truth within persistsâ
In words each day, my soul exists.
A gift, a joy, that never ends,
Each verse I write, my heart ascends.
25 - 8
Wearing Green in Jamaica
~a poem by Tom
I stepped out the door, feeling lively and keen,
Dressed up in my finestâa suit of bright green.
Ready for Guinness, some music, some cheer,
But soon found outâgreenâs different around here!
Dressed all in green from my head to my shoes,
I strolled through the town, just taking in the views.
Then a man gave a shoutââBig up, JLP!â
I blinked and I staredâwas he talking to me?
A dreadlocked man grinned, âYuh strong in yuh stance!â
When I just came for pints, not political chants!
At the bar, a man whispered, âMi bredda, stay lowâŚ
Dis green means more dan jus clovers, yuh know!â
âComrade nuh wear dat,â said a lady with style,
She was dressed in all orange, with a skeptical smile.
I scratched my head, and I laughed out loud,
Who knew my green suit would draw such a crowd?
So if youâre in Jamaica on March Seventeen,
Wear red, or blue, or something between.
Unless youâre a Labourite, then go ahead and shine,
But be warnedâwearing green means more than Irish this time!
35 - 17
From Cute to Chaos: The Tale of a Goat
~a poem by Tom
A baby goat, so soft and small,
Wobbles, stumbles, tries to stand tall.
With tiny hops and playful cheer,
He fills the yard with joy sincere.
He twirls, he bounces, light as air,
Chasing shadows everywhere.
He looks for Mom, his bleat so sweet,
A tiny kid with dancing feet.
He scrambles up a pile of stone,
A tiny king upon his throne.
Then races down with boundless glee,
Like a bolt of lightning just set free!
But time moves fastâjust watch him grow,
And soon, the chaos starts to show.
His legs stretch long, his horns appear,
His playful ways turn less sincere.
One day he eyes the garden bright,
A tempting, leafy, tasty sight!
He takes a nibble, then a crunchâ
And suddenly, heâs having lunch!
The flowers gone, the vines are shred,
The pumpkin patch, completely dead.
A breadfruit drops with one swift blow,
He bites it twice, then off heâll go!
So now the yardâs in lockdown tight,
With fences tall and gates shut tight.
For once this goat has had his way,
No gardenâs safe another day!
26 - 11
Whispers in My Mind
~a poem by Tom
A voice drifts inâsinking deep,
it coils within my mind.
Yet when I trace its whispered path,
no source is there to find.
I hear my name whisper through the air.
It enters through my ear.
Yet somewhere on the path inside,
it shifts, it twists, unclear.
Did silence break, did someone speak?
The answer will not stay.
The sound is whole, the sound is realâ
until it fades away.
My ears report what enters in,
but my mind changes the tune.
The notes seem clear, no dissonance,
yet something feels untrue.
And so I sit in quiet rooms,
where whispers canât deceive.
I hear the hush, I hear the voiceâ
which one should I believe?
26 - 4
I Wear a Mask
~a poem by Tom
I wear a mask, stitched tight with lies,
A hollow echo in my eyes.
I speak, I laugh, I play the part,
But emptiness still owns my heart.
Each dayâs a shadow, dim and gray,
A script rehearsed, a role to play.
They see a face, they hear my voice,
But never askâwas this my choice?
I reach for hands that pull away,
I call for love, but none will stay.
Perhaps Iâm meant to be alone,
A ghost within a house, not home.
Yet still, a whisper haunts my mindâ
A fleeting thought, a word unkindâ
An inner voice that calls my name,
And tells me Iâm the one to blame.
I move through days with weary feet,
Every step is awkward, unsure, replete.
The world is turning, yet I stand still,
My fate unwritten, an absent will.
I speak, but only echoes stay,
I reach, but all just slips away.
No shadows stir, no memories rise,
No path remains, no reason why.
25 - 4
Beyond the Haze
~a poem by Tom
The morning came, but brought no call,
No motivation, none at all.
While the world spun forward, fast and bright,
They drifted slowly, lost in night.
No hope, no joy, no spark, no flame,
Each day arrived and left the same.
A life half-lived, a hollow space,
A fading voice, a missing place.
The laughter rose, the seasons changed,
Yet nothing stirred, it all remainedâ
A muted hum, a distant song,
A story paused for far too long.
They did not rage, they did not weep,
They just stopped moving, preferred to sleep.
No dreams to chase, no fears to fight,
Just floating nowhere, cold and tight.
But thenâa shift, too small to see,
A breath of warmth, a memory.
A time before the world felt dim,
A voice, a touch, the trace of whenâŚ
Not much had changed, the weight still pressed,
Yet something stirred beneath their chest.
A whisper soft, a smile drawn thin,
A quiet hope crept slowly in.
And maybe just beyond the haze,
The future holds some better days.
Not shining bright, not free of weight,
But lighter steps, an open gate.
60 - 19
A Hair-rowing Experience
~a poem by Tom
Once upon a time, my hair was chic,
Grand and wavy, silky and thick.
But now itâs vanishedâpoof!âitâs gone,
Yet everywhere else, itâs growing strong!
I check the mirror, whatâs in my ear?
Why would bushes be sprouting here?!
And in my noseâoh, what a sight,
A decoupage of black and white!
My eyebrows used to be so neat,
But now they dangle toward my feet!
And donât get me started on my back,
A mohair sweaterâfront and back!
My arms once smooth, my legs once bare,
Now thereâs enough for cornrows there!
And worst of all (I kid you not),
My knuckles are a tangled knot!
Why must my scalp be smooth and bare,
While toes and nostrils sprout more hair?
Itâs like my follicles conspired,
To relocate once I retired!
Oh aging, why this cruel affair?
I never wished for nose-blown hair!
But fine, Iâll cope, Iâll make it throughâ
Just hand me Grandmaâs wax and glue!
33 - 12
Soup Day in Jamaica
~a poem by Tom
In a yard by di breadfruit tree,
Di pot dem bubble, hot anâ free.
A big argument kick off dat day,
âBout which soup best? Hear whaâ dem say!
âChicken foot soup, di champion, yes!â
Seh old Miss May inna market dress.
âDi dumpling soft, di broth so nice,
Di carrot, thyme, anâ pimento spice!
When flu come knock, di cure is clearâ
Chicken foot soup, nuh contest here!â
But Bredda Clive jusâ kiss him teeth,
âA soup need body, it need some meat!
Red peas soup, wid cow foot strong,
It mek yuh full up all day long!
Wid coco, yam, anâ likkle corn,
Red peas win from dusk till dawn!â
Auntie Bev shake har head real slow,
âDi best soup name? Mi tell yuh so!
Manish water! Goat head in di pot,
Spicy, rich, anâ always hot!
Fi wake yuh up, fi keep yuh strong,
Nuttinâ else nuh last so long!â
Then Uncâ Winston give a shout,
âAll a unnu need fi hush yuh moutâ!
Fish tea a di real ting, clean anâ light,
It mek yuh body feel just right.
Snapper, okra, wid a pepper kick,
Best fi drink when yuh feeling sick!â
Miss Cherry start fi beat di spoon,
âMi nuh hear pumpkin soup name soon!
Sweet anâ rich wid coconut base,
Nutmeg, pimento, full up di place!
When breeze get cool anâ rain start drop,
Pumpkin soup a di cream a di crop!â
So unnu debate it, from yard to yard,
From country hills to boulevard.
Who have di best soup? Nuh one cyaan decide!
Each bowl full a love, each sip full a pride.
Then Granny laugh anâ shake har head,
âAll soup dem good, once dumpling spread!
Yuh love yuh soup? Den sip it well,
Cah Saturday soup? It cast a spell!â
Anâ so di argument tun up loud,
Jamaican soup mek di people proud!
Di pot still bubble, di fire still blaze,
All di soup unnu nyam up fi Saturday!
51 - 20
The Empty Stand
~a poem by Tom
The road is quiet where he once stood,
His young hands strong, kind, and good.
Tomatoes ripened in the sun,
Pumpkins brightâhis work well done.
We stopped, we smiled, we shared a word,
Now silence lingers, cold and blurred.
A life cut short, a man dropped out,
A future stolen, wrapped in doubt.
This place we love, this home we trust,
Now laced with sorrow, tinged with dust.
The world tilts strange beneath our feet,
His story ended, incomplete.
Yet still, the morning carries light,
The dawn will rise against the night.
And though his voice is lost in time,
His memory lingers, soft, sublime.
So let us walk, though hearts may ache,
With wary steps, for cautionâs sake.
But let us not let fear remain,
Let love and peace prevail again.
37 - 11
Welcome to the world of Red Button Journal, where every click sparks a new journey into the extraordinary! Join Tom and Madge, a spirited couple who dared to exchange the American dream for the captivating charm and rich tapestry of life in Jamaica. Through their adventures, weâll weave stories filled with affection, insights, and gaiety, bringing you closer to the heart of Madgeâs ancestral land. From the majestic landscapes to the secret spots that offer a glimpse into the genuine Jamaican lifestyle, weâre excited to share it all. â¤ď¸đŻđ˛đşđ¸â¤ď¸
Are you ready to journey with us? Smash that like button, subscribe, and letâs embark on this awe-inspiring Jamaican adventure together!
ÂŠď¸ All Rights Reserved