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POEMS Storyteller

The Evolution of Colour

Purple clouds across gray skies

Silver raindrops crashing off red volcanic soil

Green leaves crying crystal drops

Yellow beams turns into bridesmaid orange

powder blue botanical turns into funeral brown

Multicoloured polka dots

Devolve into mud tones

Plaid rainbow of earth tones

Gold turns into brown sparks

It all dissolves into midnight blue

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Storyteller

Another Sunday Spot

Ahhhh, just to sit among the bushes and shrubbery, no ocean, no seagulls, no fishing boats. Just the scent of the volcanic soil, a black and white rabbit that stood at the trunk of a small tree watching you, suspicious of your motives. Butterflies perched lazily on leaves, their multicoloured wings fluttering as a gentle gust of wind swept through the trees.  Small birds whistled in the tree lines, a donkey brayed in the distance,  an army of ants marched across the fallen branch, the smell of sugar cane from the plantation just beyond the valley, the sky changes from morning gray to mid morning gold. Yes man, life is an endless summer on a tropical island.

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Storyteller

Never Alone, Always Changing

Mother nature lit up the sky with gray, silver, blue and white, just to create shadows across the sand, across the still ocean, on the colourful wooden houses. Shadow that follows you as if running from the dark. Shape shifting as you walk on the narrow roadway. Some as if protecting you, other as if attacking. But you don’t mind because you are walking in a world alive and ever changing.

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POEMS Storyteller

Her Smile

Her Smile

When I lay down to sleep
There is this colour that lingers in my head
Through the darkness, up to the ceiling
Across the floor, up the wall
Sparkling off the glass, outside the window
But I don’t mind, I can lay here all night
In this daze, my souk stuck in the last moment of my day
She smiles and my world is like sunset yellow

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Sitting on the Raft in the Bay

Sitting on the Raft in the Bay

I had built a crude raft with some wood, logs and rope. In the summer, I would go to the beach before the sun sets and pull my raft into the ocean, paddle out about half a mile, and securely anchor the raft, I did not want to end up in the stretch of ocean between Grenada and Trinidad called the Bocas. So here I was bobbing gentle on the ocean, looking down at the tropical fish swirling around the bottom of the raft., then them scurry away as a barracuda appeared. I pulled out my Ganja, laid back on the raft and took long puffs. The smoke floated into the air blending with the skies now turning gray. “Jah Rastafa I.” I said, sitting up. The sun was now on the horizon. Brilliant colours exploded around it. i sat ad watched as quarter of it disappeared, then half of it was gone, and finally, it was all gone and the moon peeped over the hilltop on the island, and the dark skies lit up as stars winked at me. I puffed some more ganja smoke and watch the gray mist against the dark sky. A fishing boat roared by next to me causing the raft to roll with the ripples. I stayed there all night watching the moon slowly got to directly above me, then turned and watch it go down on the over the ocean. Then as the night dissolved, the sun rose over the hill on the Southern tip of the island. As the kids say, I wake and bake and sat there and watch the world turn from black, to gray and then to the bright tropical morning.

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Stories Storyteller

Easter is Kite time

Easter is Kite time

Easter, what a fun time, what with the cross buns, the beach parties, and yes, the procession that the Catholic church put on. The children would wear white and the priest would be at the head of the procession, swinging what looked like an ern with smoke bellowing out of it. I never really understood all of it, but hey, it was fun to watch. However, the best part of Easter is the kites, I tell you what, we used to make some real fancy kites so we could outdo each other. We would use the center of the coconut leaves, you know, the part like a thin stick in the middle of a coconut leaf, well we called that a flex, and that is what we make our kites with. Man you should see the colourful paper we used on them kites, real pretty for so. I mean yellow, red, green, blue, white, I mean the whole sky will light up with colours. Some of the older boys used bamboo to make their kits, they would make them real big too, I remember being at the pasture and a big boy had his kite up in the air, it was soaring I tell you, anyway he asked me to hold it for him and before you knew, it I was being dragged across the pasture, damn kite was to big for me to handle, I was screaming real loud. my mouth opened so wide I felt the wind blowing in there. So picture this, skinny needle thin boy, sliding across the field, and a group of ten boys running after screaming. We would have kite fights, the tail of our kites would be made from torn up sheets, every year Mommy Charles used to warn us not to use she good sheets, anyway, we put razor blades on the kites tail and try to cut each others string with it, boy I tell you, a lot of fist fights resulted from the kite fights. but boy we had fun, running in the pasture with the kites following, yanking on the string so your kite will dance in the wind for a second, then dipped, looking like a bull about to attack. Then when it was all over, you could save the frame of the kite until next Easter came along.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Different Kind of Beautiful

Different Kind of Beautiful

The once bright blue skies is now covered with gray clouds, the dried out grass have lost its golden glow, the bushes are a much darker green, the ocean has a strange army green hue. You sit on the grass and thought, what a dull day. Then the breeze coming in from the ocean hits you, and the gray light created sparkles on the oceans surface, and a school of fish swam by glittering despite the lack of sun, and the green coloured ocean is interrupted in intervals of white rolling waves, and a bird flies by, pure white against the gray skies. That’s when you realize the day will not be dull, just different colours.

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Storyteller

Too Tall

Too Tall

Lesson learned, never walk and talk to a short person, they can walk right under doorways, MY SEVEN FOOT FRAME CAN’T!!!!!!!!! LOL. I saw really colourful stars, then the stinging pain on my forehead. Ohhhh the perils of a giant.

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Pics with verse

Time Stopped

Time Stopped

In mid air I float majestically colourful
A verse in motion
A moment in awe

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Just around the corner

Just around the corner

Just around the corner, there is a place that Mommy charles worked. Small, dark, loads of material on the walls, jewelry in counters you can tell is older that the yellow coloured old man that owned the store, it was the seventies and this old man is on his last decade. He would stand at the back of the store, strategic, he wanted to see everybody who walked by on the sidewalk, the thing is you never could see him until you enter the store, then there he was, his gold rimmed glasses perched on his nose. The thing I remembered most about the store is the overpowering scent of perfumes, it lingered in the air so strong you can taste it. On a shelf at the front of the store sat a small counter filled with little fancy bottles, all with different scents, all fighting the be the dominant taste. To this day, when I daydream, I can still taste the air of that shop.