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Storyteller

Lamp Post

Midnight sunlight

Man made firefly in the trees

Yellow in shadows of nature

Flicking a Bic when the sky turns gray

Orange rose on black table cloth

Sun without sunburn

Beacon in the garden at dusk

The outside nightlight

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Walk Into the Natural

Walk across the bridge, fade into the colours of fall. Feel the crisp, cool air tickle your lungs and the wind rushes through the trees creating a whirlpool of leaves across the forest floor and deer scamper across your path and in the air you can smell the firewood burning in the cabin on the hill. You smile to yourself as you anticipate sitting before the fire with a tall glass of cocoa tea. Ahhh yes, fall is upon us once more, its the time of year to cuddle up at night, listen to the wood crack and pop as you doze off to a peaceful slumber.

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Storyteller

Fire in Sky

She whispers and creates a fire rainbow across the night sky.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Good Evening me people

Good Evening me people

Its the relaxing hour, when the world begins to get quiet, and you can here the crickets, chirping, and the frogs croaking, and the sky is on fire. In the distance, someone is playing some calypso music, rhythm for so. In the field behind the house, cows are mowing, calves are responding, chickens are clucking, bats are heading out for the night. A crowd walks by arguing about the football game that just ended. Oh yes, thus begins the tropical night. Thus begins the hour of simmering down.

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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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Pics with verse Storyteller

That Time of Evening

That Time of Evening

It is that time of early evening, when nature finally decides to hide the mistakes that man have made in the daylight, and a warm breeze tickles the leaves of the mango trees, and a confused rooster crows somewhere in the bushes. When the owl hoots while perched on the branch of a breadfruit tree, and the noise of traffic and commerce fades to a simple murmur, and children sit on the veranda to watch the fireflies swirl around the hibiscus tree. Yes it is that time of evening to relax and float.

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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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Storyteller

From the Novel Obeah

From the Novel Obeah

Henry was still asleep under the mango tree when suddenly his body became hot, like he was floating above the pits of hell. Out of the darkness he saw someone standing in front of him. Henry blinked and rubbed his eyes. The man’s face looked like it was made of iron; his green jacket had black stripes on it that made him look tall. He leaned down towards Henry, his hand hidden behind his back. Henry squinted to see if he recognized the man, but his dark face blended with the starless sky behind him. Lightening blasted, turning the night into a sheet of white. Thunder exploded and the ground shook like a violent earthquake rumbled across the island. Henry’s heart raced up as the blinding lightening flash again, followed by the ground shaking thunder. Henry tried to stand up, but he stumbled and fell hitting his back against the trunk of the mango tree. The man turned to Henry, his iron face blended in with the dark sky. He took another step towards Henry his right hand still hidden behind him. Henry cowered away, his vision blurred from the moving earth. Suddenly the man lifted his arm above his head; he was holding a machete,

“Gren mwe fret” he screamed in a nasal voice. The machete’s sharp edge glittered in the lightening flash. Henry screamed, as the man brought the machete down. Henry grabbed his arm, his skin felt like iron and he heard the pops and cracks as his fingers began to give out under the weight of the man. Suddenly he was sitting up looking up at the star filled sky.

Henry looked around; he was lying on the ground next to the mango tree. He checked his body to make sure all his parts was still where they should be. He tried to stand up, but his legs buckled under him and he hit the ground with a sickening thud. He lay there, as a mixture of hot and cold rushed through him. He shook violently, his joints felt as if they were being ripped from his body. Suddenly Adofo stood looking down at him.

“Are you O K?” he asked. Henry tried to talk but his tongue felt like it was glued to the bottom of his mouth. Adofo tried to help him up, but he stumbled and Adofo caught him just before he hit the ground.

Adofo took Henry through the village; some of the children followed them. Henry mumbled as Adofo led him into a hut on the other side of the village. Adofo sat him down in a chair next to a table, and then disappeared into another room. Henry looked around the room, but his vision was like looking through a glass bottle. His head throbbed; it was as if the drummers were sitting at the base of his skull ponding their drums. Adofo returned with a bowl made from a coconut shell and handed it to Henry. He looked at it for a second then took a drink, it was bitter and he coughed a little. Adofo sat in a chair on the other side of the table. His dreadlocks moved a little and yellow light escaped through it.

“What happened to you, you look like you saw a ghost when I found you,” he said, Henry swallowed before he spoke,

“Just a bad nightmare,” he said then described the dream to Adofo. The villagers stood at the door peeping in.

“That was the spirit Ogoun the warrior Loa. He loves the noise of battle and helps people gain political power. He revels in uttering vulgar phases that don’t make any sense, but such is the ways of his crude nature. Some say they have seen him cut himself with his machete, but there is never any blood or wounds on his body. Why would he be in your dreams?” Adofo said and looked at Henry.

“Indeed, why would he be in my dream?” Henry echoed Adofo sat back in his chair.

“It must be some kind of warning. The Ligaroo King and his followers are sensing that we plan to rescue our people so they are trying to scare us away.” He said, stood up and walked to the doorway and rubbed the head of a boy peeping in.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

The Possible

The Possible

There you are, walking on grass, but your feet never touched the ground.
Uttering a whole sentence, with no words spoken
Waking up at the same speed of the sun rising
Cool the land like the Trade Winds at midnight
Warm the world like the wind on a sun drenched beach
light up the sky, silver, gray,green, white
Dance on tree tops to he rhythm of the ocean
Fall asleep under the tropical night sky
With the light from outer space blinking in your hair

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Neon

Neon

Nature’s neon lights, dancing in the wind on a moonless night, swaying to an a cappella of birds, crickets, frogs, and the ocean. Shining like the North Star was afloat among the dark bushes in the forest. A night light for sleeping animals, a beacon for bugs who live the night life. And as i stand under the tree, it is the party hat I needed to join this natural fete, dance with the night creatures drawn to the neon beam.