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Pics with verse Storyteller

Sunday Afternoon Walk

Sunday Afternoon Walk

Ahhh the peace, the quiet, except for the birds chirping in the doorway of the store to your right. Mumbling and the sound of utensils scrapping or tapping as someone opens the door to the restaurant just ahead. The soft roar of the love card labouring past you at no miles per hour. The sound of the ocean going through a hole in the retaining wall. Reggae music from the flat above the store. The sound of your own feet hitting the coble stones. The scent of the ocean, always the scent of the ocean.

Categories
Pics with verse Storyteller

Overlooking the village

Overlooking the village

Out on the verandah, looking down at the village, listening to the birds sing, cool breeze comes in from the ocean in the distance, the sound of boys playing cricket in the pasture, a cutlass chopping down a tree, someone singing in the house next door, the flap of wings above, the sound of the wind whistling through bamboo trees, ahhhhhh a typical day in a tropical village.

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Stories Storyteller

October 1983

My mind is fogged with the thought of death
Fantasies of the afterlife
The only place where we finally become one
Like we should be
Birds will fly without flapping their wings
We will be free
For a dead man has no labels on him
Just his eternal soul
And his eyes will be wide open while he dream
Of the very place he is
Sweet foggy consciousness, hug me like my mother
While I lay on your bosoms
So I can rest peacefully in this everlasting sleep
Death is my lover
And I will be satisfied to cuddle with her
Because only she can save me now

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POEMS Storyteller

Haunted by Hazels

There you are those beautiful brown eyes alight with life
I am transfixed, my body and mind unable to function
My soul circles above me and now I am a stranger to my spirit
Those eyes can drive a man to his knees repenting
Eyes that can make children dance for joy
A glance that makes you feel like the sun shines only for you
Like the birds that fly across the golden globe
Would stop and pick you up, set you down at her feet
She stands looking at you
Soft brown shields my soul like a pray
And I feel whole again
Like Lazarus from the dead

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POEMS Storyteller

Silent moments (1983)

 Don’t close your eyes, you might miss something

Stop for a moment, just listen you will be surprised at what you hear

For thoughts not expressed floats in the air like humming birds in mid flight

Ideas circle around your soul at night before you fall asleep

Feelings are covered with a layer of fear

Emotions are stifled by logic

Sooner or later, everyone chokes on reality

Especially when there is confusion

But if a moment passes and it is arrested by logic

That moment is buried, the passion never again felt

Everyone has the ability to stop time

Because time is just a series of moments

Moments that slips by unrecognized

Moments that can over shadow a million words spoken

Stop; let your soul listen because silent moments say the most.

 

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Stories Storyteller

My place of Solice

There is a place, on the edge of the island called L’anse Aux Epines, where the ocean meets the shore, and the waves crashes against the rock, and the seagulls take off and soar out to sea. There is a small patch of land, where the grass comes up to your waist, and the blades are golden green when the sun is highest in the sky. That is the best time to walk into the grass, shake it real hard, close your eyes and wait. You will feel a tickle against your skin, like a gentle breeze bouncing off my skin right after I have walked in rain. Then I would open my eyes to see the glitter of colours around me as hundreds of butterflies swarmed around me, their wings fluttering, orange, yellow, blue, green, brown, black, purple blocking the view of the ocean, the seagulls, the small fishing boat in the distance. Then slowly, they settled down, and the view ocean replaces the wings, and I feel at peace, my skin still tingling, my heart beating slow.

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Stories Storyteller

Day dreaming

Wake up to a rooster crowing, perched on the fence outside my window, the yellow tropical sun creates a golden tint to the leaves on the mango tree in the back yard, a cow mooed somewhere in the field just beyond the house. A hummingbird hovers over the hibiscus flower, a Reggae melody floats on the early wind, the scent of coacoa tea and salfish souse escapes from the kitchen. Its the day before the weekend on the island.