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Pics with verse Storyteller

Daydream Picture

Daydream Picture

It is cold again in West Virginia, I can feel the cold breeze as it sweeps across the Ohio River from Proctorville, bouncing off the buildings in Huntington, freezing my tropical soul. But I have an advantage, I can dream of my beach, Grand Anse beach, ahhh the tropical sun beating down on me, the heat rises from the sand, hugging me like a Grandmother, the smell of the ocean, the flowers blooming, the birds singing, the calypso musing playing. Oh yes, I am there, join me my imagination have room for more.

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Storyteller Storyteller's Videos

Good morning

No sound needed, just use the imagination.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

The Other Ocean Photo by Scott Hall

The Other Ocean

Its seven thirty am, its the other ocean, you wake up look outside and think, its the beach, it can’t be that cold, that is until you step outside and it is forty degrees. You want to go back inside, but though the ocean is grey, and the water looks more like snow as it break onto the cream coloured beach. You have to come to the conclusion, this is beautiful.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Good morning me neighbours

Good morning me neighbours

Well I work up to snow this morning, so how do I counter that, daydream of a tropical country road, ohhh yes I am there, the sun beating down on me, the cool trade winds easing the swelter, I am sipping a tall glass of passion fruit juice, hypnotized by the cubes of ice clinging against the glass. Oh yes that alleviates the sound of my size eighteen shoes crunching on the snow. True, true me neighbours, this morning I am letting my imagination take me there.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

The Past in Daydreams

The Past in Daydreams

Its all coming back now, seeing that house after 28 years. It was that front door to the street I ran out to see the 82nd airborne floating down. It was that roof that shook with every explosion. You see where the light is on in that front window, yeah right there, it was there I laid in the dark night after night clinching a weapon, hoping that friend or foe do not try to enter. And that dark hill to the far left, it was there I saw the orange flares light up the night. Its that bush fence I hide behind when soldiers drove by, it was from that house I left to catch the plain to become The Dirty Immigrant. Sometimes we run from memories, we try to leave them behind, but then as you live, something brings them back, the loud pop of a car backfiring, the scent of smoke, a helicopter flying by, sirens blaring, shouting, crying, just everyday things can take you back to where you left. And then the urge to go back, because you remember before the chaos there was peace and you long for that peace.

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Storyteller

Way to Start the Morning

Way to Start the Morning

I used to complain about how cold the beach was early in the morning, that is until I spent a semester of college at The college of the Kentucky Mountains, Ohhh talk about cold, I would take the cool splash of the ocean over this stagnant, bitter cold any day. For those who are still in cold weather, todays picture is for you. Enjoy Grand Anse beach Grenada.

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Pics with verse

Walking in Silver White Mountains

Walking in Silver What Mountains

Lets go for a walk, hear the snow crunch under our feet, watch the mist escape our mouth, sled down the hell screaming with joy, smell the crisp cold air, build a snowman at the peak of the hill, create a seven foot snow angel, follow the footprints of deer, then at the end of the day, sit at the window with a cup of hot chocolate and watch the snow turn to glistening ice.

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Storyteller

Fishermen

Fishermen

Early in the morning, you can hear them singing, sometimes yelling instructions. The fishermen pulling in their nets, fish flopping around, they scales glitter in the early rising sun. Passers by stop to help, some just stop to look on. Children, up early ran around the net picking up the fish that jumped out. That early in the morning, the ocean cold for so, well not winter cold but cold for the tropics, But that does not phase the fishermen, they pull and pull, their muscles straining, their backs bent, this is how they make their living, this is how their families survive.

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POEMS Storyteller

Seen

Your voice is like a cold wind on my exposed heart
It plunges through me like Brutus’ dagger
Your words settles in my soul like hot syrup
They run through my veins like ragweed porcupines
Your stare penetrates my being like I was a hollow man
You shut me out like a priest shuts out the devil
But yet, you have my soul, It hover over you like a guardian angel
It attempts to protect you from the world, from yourself
And still you don’t acknowledge me

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POEMS Storyteller

On a Snowy day like Today

On a Snowy day like Today

I want to go where the ocean is emerald green, go far out to where you can’t see the land, lay on my back and watch the clouds float by, listen to the steeldrums play in the distance, feel the warm spray of the ocean tickle my face, feel the sun on my skin, so hot a sudden chill runs through me. if I close my eyes I am there, and now I don’t see the snow.