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POEMS Storyteller

Dark Side

Last night I dreamt that I stood at the edge of a cliff and looked up at the light of the first house built on the dark side of the moon.

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POEMS Storyteller

That Hour

I am doing a jig at the edge of a precipice

The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks is the melody I dance to

The moon shimmered across the ocean like lights from a disco ball

The wind hummed like a base steeldrum

Clouds cast shadows over the stones, the grass, the trees, the sand

The weeping willow leaves whistled in the breeze

Still are the birds, the animals, the people

It is that hour, that hour right before conscious death

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Storyteller

Those Eyes

Those eyes, like the colour of the Caribbean Sea at midday

Tempting sky blue alight with daydreams

Velvet moon with a silver lining

Raspberry soda pop bubbling

Two petals from a bloom of Love in the mist

Twin Earths twinkling with life

Blue mountain mist in the early morning

Sparkle like a blue fish, right under the surface of the ocean

Brilliant like Blue myth on a rainy day

Those eyes are like swimming a mile in a cool blue lagoon

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Parts Obeah Storyteller

From Obeah The Novel

He followed the Bokor for about ten minutes going in and out of the moonbeams. Henry walked out of the cluster of willow trees and into the opening next to a stream. The moonlight shined silver on the running water, the sparkle almost hypnotized him. The Bokor stopped just in front of him, so Henry retreated under one of the trees and watched. The man stood looking into the bushes on the other side of the creek. Henry kept looking, wondering what he was up to. A mosquito bit into Henry’s arm and he almost slapped it, but stopped himself and just grinded the insect onto his skin. Suddenly from the bushes, a portion of white material appeared. Henry parted the willow branches and peeped out at the man. Slowly, a woman walked out of the bushes and looked over at the Bokor. He did not move, as the woman walked towards him. Her eyes looked like burning coals; she wore a beautiful wide brimmed hat and a white veil over her face. She was dressed exquisitely, her white blouse had puffy sleeves, and she wore a long white petti coat skirt. She walked with a slight limp, but yet her movements were graceful.

She stopped in front of the Bokor and for a second they looked at each other like long lost lovers reunited. Slowly she stretched her right hand out and the Bokor took it. She pulled him towards her and they began to dance. Her white blouse shimmered silver in the moonlight. Henry was reminded of the dances he saw the colonists do at parties on the plantation. They stopped dancing and began to kiss, then they let go and looked into each other eyes. The orange glows that were her eyes flickered red while she kissed him. She turned away from him and started walking towards the jungle. The Bokor stood for a second, as if making up his mind on wither to follow her. His body swayed forward, then backward. She stopped and looked back at him. He took a tentative step towards her. She stretched her arm out and like a Jumbie he moved towards her.

Henry stepped out from under the willow tree. He tried to scream, he heard the words in his head, but no sound came out of his mouth. He tried to walk towards them, but after he took one step he could not move. Cold chills ran through his body, then his skin tingled and he was hot. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw another woman walking towards him. He tried to run, and at first he thought he was moving, but suddenly she was in front of him. A sudden weakness took over his body and the machete fell from his fingers. A wolf howled in the jungle, and for a second Henry felt normal again. The stream sparkled as it trickled around rocks; a bird flew over his head squawking. He bent down to pick up his machete, but the woman lifted her petti coat skirt and kicked him with a hoofed leg. The moon grew smaller as he fell backwards. The stars twinkled, even on the jungle floor. The woman turned and ran for the jungle as several shadowy figures ran after her. Henry slipped into unconsciousness.

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POEMS Storyteller

Under The Purple Sky

Under The Purple Sky

Let us play hide and seek
Under the purple and silver Kentucky sky
In the fields next to where Thoroughbred gallop
Where bluegrass music gives the wind melody
And the voices of children carries over the rolling hills
Let us dance around the Saviaberry trees
Until the moon is high in the sky
Then catch fireflies and put them in jars
Sit and watch them light up the grass
Let us lay on the hilltop and watch the shooting stars
And dream of places where kids just like us laugh under the blinking sky

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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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POEMS Storyteller

Randon Thoughts 1

I am walking on air, like a man with stilts but without the stilts

I am sitting in space on a raincloud with a storm in my heart

I am lusting for forgiveness, my indiscretions running like hot lava

I am surfing on a shooting star, dark moon cover my shameless soul

I am longing for love, my foolish imagination drifts away with butterflies on fire

I am searching for the right words to say, ideas float above me like birds without wings

I am spouting lyrics, they hurt like thorns without points

I am riding waves, never touching the water

I am romancing the calm before the storm

I am parasailing on a moonbeam

I am hating for the love of the human race

 

 

Categories
Parts Obeah

Too real From the novel Obeah

After eating, Henry settled in for the night. Kwao and one of the Bokors were to take first watch; Henry and the boy were to take the second. He fell asleep the moment he lay down on the mat. Immediately, the dreams started. He was back in the Valley of the Weeping willow trees. He stood where there were no trees, the glow from the moon shined down on him. Silver light bounced of the creek in the distance. The La Diablesses were circling him, their white dresses misty in the light.

.”You are a fool; you should have come with us. A far worse fate awaits you on Jumbie Island.” They chanted. One of them came close and leaned in. Loose skin dangled of her face and brushed against his nose.

“You are no warrior, just the son of a slave driver. These people will turn on you and this time they will sacrifice you.“ She said, stood up strait, a dagger in her hand. In one sweeping motion, she brought it down. He felt his skin rip and blood meandered down the sides of his stomach. Henry tried to get up but she pushed him down. The others chanted, danced faster and faster, until they were a blur of white, then suddenly one of them was in front of him again. Those eyes like burning coals looked at him and suddenly he felt warm inside. She spoke, but all he heard was a humming noise. The La Disables’ threw her head back and laughed then floated away from Henry. Then she was right in front of him again, her corpse like face close to his, and she caressed his face with her rotted fingers. She grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. Henry pushed her away and she screamed.

“You can’t reject me!” lifted her dress and kicked him with her hoofed leg. Then she leaned down and licked the blood from his face. Henry tried to resist, but she was kissing him again. He pushed her away and she spat at him and piece of her tongue landed on his chest. He turned away from her, but looked back when she took her hands away. She was gone and replaced by the former Bokor leader. Henry looked around, he was tied to a pole and a fire blazed around his feet. The man’s face was painted red and blue, the hood on his robe covered his eyes.

“Am right behind you,” the man said. He sounded like they were both submerged in the ocean. The Bokor floated away and there was darkness for a second. He reappeared in the distance and floated towards Henry, a spear held over his head. He threw the spear and as if in slow motion it came at Henry. The tip of the spear sparkled in front of his face, and he shook violently,

Get up it’s your watch,” Kwao said. Henry slowly sat up and looked around. The others were asleep, Akosua lay by herself and Adobo was nowhere in sight. Henry stood up and stretched.

“Henry, Henry,” he turned and saw the boy sitting on a rock just above the campsite. Henry grabbed his spear and joined the boy.

 

http://www.amazon.com/OBEAH-Anderson-A-Charles-ebook/dp/B006OIRYYW/ref=sr_1_10?ie=UTF8&qid=1394887062&sr=8-10&keywords=obeah

Categories
POEMS

So Close

I saw you gliding on a moonbeam

Your auburn hair floating behind you like wings

Your tropical blue gown hugged your body, unmoving

Your smile sending light to Pluto

Your hands outstretched

As if beckoning the world to join you

So I reached out to touch

And you exploded in a vapour of sparkling dust

Then it was dark, except for a foggy yellow glow

That slowly materialized into the light from the street lamp.

 

 

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Storyteller

Lone Rose

Lone Rose

Those nights when the moon seem so close to the earth you can reach up and push away the small dark cloud floating by the surface. When the white light rains down on the village bouncing off the mango trees, plumb trees and the banana leaves. Shimmers off the galvanized roof and the glass windows. Lights up the black dog standing on the verandah next door. Then in your flower garden, it dances off the lone rose blooming, silver, white florescent, making the edges of the petals glimmer look like moon dust had fallen, and come to rest right here, on your rose, the lone rose blooming in the village.