Welcome
I think, I play, therefore I write -
Uncovering the past, and creating for the future.
My work
Inspiration
I was born in Kingston, Jamaica - following in a line of strong women, many of whom were also musicians. I am proud to be descended from educators, artists, workers, and activists. Through my work, I have been fortunate to spend time on five continents. All of this is strongly significant to the way I see the world, and my place within it.
Integration
As a teacher I hope to pass on any wisdom that I have acquired from my experiences. As a reader and a listener, I endeavour to learn about human beings and our shared history. In my music and writing my voice is that of an informed observer, channeling intuition and information into my art.
A Jamaica Me Love:
Nine Poems From Memory
This collection was inspired by an online workshop, and a poem about an apple. An experiment with poetry and memoir, inspired by lived experiences and family stories.
[under construction]
Projects
Daughters of the Nightingale
Narcisse Family of Jamaica
Family research led to this telling of stories of three generations of women musicians from the Narcisse family. Sources include the online archives of the Jamaica Daily Gleaner and histories of Jamaica and Haïti.
[under construction]
The Musical Miss Narcisse
A book for children
Lisa Narcisse O.D. was a pioneer composer of religious music in the Jamaican mento style. She was a role model to many; now her story is being told, with illustrations by her grand-niece Amanda Narcisse.
[under construction]
Scribblings…
September 2, 2026
Dear Bonnie,
You were tall and strong.
Your eyes were wide and grey
Mirrored, like a sea creature; like the sea lion
That I saw while swimming at Callao.
Your hair was smooth and straight
Also grey, and cut in a bob
It was easy to care for
But you had no one to care
For you Bonnie
I met you at
a home; my uncle is there too
My mother says that you had nobody.
You were just fifty-six years old
Why, Bonnie?
Your name means beautiful.
I played for him
You reached for my flute
grasping with your curious hands
The flute is made of gold, so precious
I was afraid you might break it - and yes
it is easily broken. But Bonnie
You too were precious
You were broken.
I hear that you died, Bonnie
And I wonder how that happened.
You were tall and strong
Your face unsmiling
You looked on the world with your clear eyes
and no one knows what you saw.
Let’s chat!
If you are interested in reading, writing, family research, Jamaican history (ca. 1750-1980), the St. Domingue colony and the Haitian Revolution (ca. 1711-1805), music, and more…
let’s share what we have found, what we know, and what we are still looking for.