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Storyteller

This Kentucky Morning

These Kentucky mornings, right after the freeze of winter have kissed away the frigid mornings, right before spring whistles in the temperate winds across the Appalachian mountains. Mornings when the mist attempts to hide the trees that hibernate in the open winter air. Dark brown branches eagerly waiting for mother nature to give the order to spring lush green leaves. And then not even this fog can hide summer’s bloom.

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Storyteller

Good Morning Neighbouroooooo

It Marning time, get up and smell the salt in the air, oh yes me friends, it feels goo to be alive. But if you are not where you can smell the salt in the air, have no fear, you can wake up and smell the sweet mountain air, enjoy the crisp cool fall morning, with crystal coloured dew dripping off the trees that are about to become confused at what shade of red, brown, yellow they want to be. Its fall in the mountains, but its still a never ending summer on the island.

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POEMS Storyteller

Somewhere in Eastern Kentucky Artwork By Bonnie Moore Delong

Somewhere in Eastern Kentucky Artwork By Bonnie Moore Delong

Somewhere in Eastern Kentucky
There are shadows against the gray blue sky
Silhouettes, like men, reaching for the stars
Clouds like vanilla cotton candy
Branches reach up to the eatable sky
Tree trunks, majestic, mother earth’s flag pole
Dark underbrush, hiding place for creature small
Somewhere in the holler, where green grass sparkles blue
And Cardinals fly low, red against the blue grass
Yellow Golden Rods cover the rolling hills
Bobcats prance across the creeks
And deer run freely on the hill next to the train tracks
And back in the valley, where the trees reach out to the sky
A peaceful rythem echos whrn the wind rushes through the leaves.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Good Morning Neighbours

Good Morning Neighbours

Out of the darkness, the tropical city stirs, with the sound of a small fishing boat going out to sea, the crow of a rooster, the splash of someone taking a shower in their back yard, the scent of lunch being cooked for the workday, the loud calypso music blasting from the mini busses, the voices of school children as they walk to school. Its a tropical morning in my head, even though I woke up in a city in the Appalachian mountians.

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POEMS Storyteller

nowhere somewhere

Roads that lead nowhere
Mountains with no peaks
Hope is a coffee cup
Half empty half filled

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

What did that homeboy call me?

We got to the dorm, and a young man of African decent came up and held his arm up, not the usual handshake I was used to.  He smiled and promptly said,
“What’s up dawg?”  I stopped for a second, did I imagine it or did this fool just call me a dog? Believe me, there was no brotherly love for him at that moment. He was short, no more th…an five foot seven, and I wondered how this little man could be a ball player. He was a little confused when I did not shake his hand, but hey, this fella just called me a bloody dog. Anyway, I was guided into my dorm room and I swear that room was made for little people. It was so damn small I could stretch my arms out and touch the bloody walls.  There was a bunk bed on one side, and with one glance I knew I would be sleeping with my feet hanging off the end, maybe five, or so inches.
  The next day I woke up around five o clock, normal for me, and looked outside. The sun was bright, and the sunshine was almost like home. I thought, good weather for a run. So I went back to my room, put on shorts and a t-shirt, hell, I was going to enjoy a nice before breakfast. I stepped outside and immediately my skin felt like god and the devil was having a tug of war match. Then, a sensation like needles pricking me ran through my body. I turned and walked like a mummy back to the room and stood in front of the heater thawing out my frozen tropical joints. Being that cold was not natural, someone had to piss off God for him to create this kind of torture, to tell you the truth, twenty years later, and I am still defrosting from that first morning.
That night, I got calls from women who were on Christmas break. I was surprised, but the other ballplayer explained that basketball was king here and people virtually worshipped the players. I told the women not to call again, you may ask why? Well I did not know who they were, and was not about to let my guard down. Later I wanted to kick myself because some of the women were quite beautiful.