REMEMBERING MORRIS CARGILL, THE SINCEREST OF JOURNALISTS

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THE SINCEREST OF JOURNALISTS WHO EVER WALKED THE EARTH
MORRIS CARGILL

Was he a cynic? I don’t believe
He was always laughing in his sleeves ,
Whenever he worried them who so think .
He claimed he was not religious ,
But they thought he was frivolous;
Christianity for him was too fraught
With the task of seeking sinners,
So he became a Buddhist,
Not hoping to meet at Peter’s feet,
Religious poltergeists who throw stones,
Theologizing on divine hypothesis.

To them he left the world reluctantly,
Missing caviar and pink salmon
With friend in some cushy restaurant--
Not a connoisseur, he loved rare liquors –
Mocking at the pachydermatous,
And inducing them to read between the lines
In their search for serious thought
Cleverly hidden in satirical ink.
Which he wrote in serious fun prolific,
Of penises , vaginas and egotists ---
And , of course, the AIDS virus---
Non Essays he called them ---with no offence ,
Yet funnily essaying to attempt
To get the world to feel and think ,
To laugh with him at self.



He has cleverly loaded with his quill,
His wisdom inscribed to instill
With honest dealings and good intent ,
Hoping for men to goodly live ;
Though his lines made them sore ---
Laughter at them conjuring mockery find---
Yet next day they looked for more
Of the subtle sounding of his mind.

He planted bananas in St. Mary,
Tried his hand at a book or two,
Had entered and exited Federation door ;
Much against his will he left, for he believed
Welding the Caribbean Sea should work.
Migrated not in fear from Jamaica shore,
But from outside to see the better
What inside was happening .
But bitten by the patriotic bug,
He again sought his land to hug ,
More scandalously witty than before.
Honoured , better late than never ,
He deserves to be where he is now,
Not to be forgotten now and then.
His vinegary sour- sweet wit,