The Poet says of his book, “I hope you’ll enjoy these poems. Like wine, life can be bitter–sweet: so, come, drink from my cup. Take a small sip and swallow slowly. Let it trickle down deep into your soul.”
Of Jamaican and Cuban descent, Damon grew up in New York City’s East Harlem community in the 1950’s and 1960’s – as he describes it, “a veritable smorgasbord of life situations and circumstances, from the comedic to the most gut–wrenching…Growing up in that magnificent melting pot greatly influenced my life with all its quirks and foibles.” Shortly before his death in 2005, he gave the manuscript for this collection of poetry to his sister, Juanita. In this posthumous publication, she shares Damon’s unique, life–affirming perspective with the world.
Audience: Come Drink from My Cup is a collection of Poems with appeal to those drawn to down to earth poetry that chronicles everyday lives. Special audiences: Veterans. Viet Vets, survivors of trauma, the Caribbean Diaspora
Retailers: Discount: www.amazon.com, www.barnesandnoble.com
The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it.
Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her question. “Why did they live at the bottom of a well?”
Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and repeated her question. “Why did they live at the bottom of a well?”
The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it.
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