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Storyteller

Make Possible the Impossibe

Windsurfing on the reflection of the sun on the ocean
Snowboarding on an icicle bridge
Surfing on a wave of lava
Deep sea diving through a coral reef cave
Tunneling through a mountain of snow
Playing hop scotch from lake to lake
Skipping rope with a rainbow
Playing a game of marbles with the planets
Sitting on a lightening bolt with your hand outstretched.
Falling in love and staying in love forever

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Sunday Walk

Ahhh yes, the sun is beating down on the earth, that tropical breeze is whistling through the trees, powder puff clouds floating across the sky, its nice and quiet. Hmmm, I think its a great time to take a walk. Through the flower garden, in between the bougainvillea plants, past the hibiscus trees. Yes man, when the scent of one blossom fades, it is replaced by another. Walk through the knee high grass, through the mass of butterflies fluttering around, past the plum trees, past the mango tree, under the bird’s nest hanging from the branch of the soursop tree. Now I can hear the ocean, the flock of seagulls diving for their food. Down to the edge of the cliff, find my favorite to sit on. Ahhh yes, that cool sea breeze tickles my skin. So I will sit here, feeling the heat of the sun, then the relief of the cool breeze and watch the emerald ocean, the white clouds performing a theatrical masterpiece against the blue skies. Small boats lazily gliding by, flying fish popping out of the ocean. Yes, its Sunday, peace day on the island.

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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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POEMS Storyteller

Upside Down

One day, when a rainstorm is about to burst out of the silver gray sky. I will walk down to the beach, step into the ocean and swim out, the tropical rain forest disappearing in the mist behind me. I will dive down to the ocean’s bed, lay on my back and look up at the rain crashing into the ocean’s surface. Watch the small ripples merge into one flowing wave, marvel at the traffic of tropical fish and mammals floating by above me. Maybe I will see this world differently if I see it from the bottom up.

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Storyteller

Sunday Ritual of Peace

Ohhh yes, its one of those Sundays, when you was to go sit on the hill top overlooking the emerald ocean, watch the sailboat glide into the beach, its white sails flapping gently in the wind. Marvel at the green trees with sprinkles of red flowers on them. Watch the shadows of seaweeds float back and forth in the ever moving surf.  Smile as boys and girls compete to see who had the best run up and dive into the warm waters. See the house that are built into the forestry, yes man, look at the cluster of buildings in the small city, it was that very place last Sunday when you sat and watched the fish swim in the habour. Squint your eyes as the sun bounced off the colourful roofs, inhale the fresh sea air, shift a little making yourself comfortable on the soft grass you sat on. Take a sip from the cold refreshing Mango juice you brought with you. Ahhh yes brother, another peaceful Sunday on the island.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Mid Morning

Ahhhh yes, mid marning Sunday on the island. No hustling to get to work, no traffic, no loud chatter of people, no loud music. Yes man, it is a good time to take a walk. Watch the small fishing boats bob in the water, sit on the edge of the side walk and dangle your feet into the clear ocean, watch the fish glitter in the morning sunlight,  listen to the church bells chime in the city, watch a group of children diving off the concrete jetty, here the stevedores sing as they begin to load the banana boat. Sit there and daydream about the destination of the great ship until its lunch time.  Walk up the cobble stones alley back to your house, past the Catholic church and hear the haunting melody of hymns. Stop at the bottom of the concrete steps and smell the food. Close your eyes and take a mental picture of the Sunday morning scenery you just left.

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Food Storyteller

Saturday Brunch

Ahhh yes, wouldn’t this be nice, something simple, something tasty, ahhh yes, I could taste it now, bakes, avocado washed down with a cold glass of Sea moss, yes man, that is what should be eaten on a nice warm Saturday afternoon.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Good marning World

Somewhere over the rooftops, you can see the blue sky, cloud like white shadows disappear into cotton candy puffs. Somewhere across the rooftops, down into the market, a fruit vendor lays out his colourful fruit, singing along to the calypso music thumping from the minibus.  Somewhere, just beyond the rooftops, where the natural habour sits, with houses nestled in the trees, the fishermen prepare to go out to sea. Somewhere across the rooftops, a young boy pulls on the ropes sending the chimes of the church bells echoing through the city. Somewhere beyond the rooftops, school children chatter as they walk the narrow streets. Overlooking the rooftops, I daydream about the beach, the rolling waves, the scent of salt, the jumping fish, the glitter of the sun against the water. Somewhere across the rooftops, paradise waits for every man.

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Pics with verse Storyteller

The First Day

Ahhhh Sunday Morn, lay back watch the sail boat bobbing on the emerald ocean. Daydream about laying on the vanilla cotton candy clouds. Floating across the cool-aid blue nothingness. The gentle crunch of the golden sand against your back. The scent of the breach grapes in the tree hanging over you. The warm tickle of the early morning sun against your cool skin. Yes man, the feeling of the first day, peaceful. The best way to star

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Pics with verse Storyteller

Those Warm Days are in my Head

On cold days like this, I channel the hot summer midday of the island. When I would sit on the beach and watch the goats prance around on the small island just off the beach. Fell the warm sun sting my skin, the cool sweat roll down my chest, watch it glitter in the yellow sun. And when I get too hot, I would run towards the ocean, plunge into the cool ocean, swim out to that island, follow colourful fish as they glide along just about the white side of the ocean’s bottom.  Step out of the surf, watch the crabs scamper as I plop down and sit there, feeling the sun warm me up again. Ahhh yes, sometimes daydreams are made to warm me up.