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Storyteller

Turned Around

I am flying with fins

Sleeping while crossing the street

Walking with my fingers

Hearing melodies through my eyes

Seeking shelter from the rain with my hair

Uttering sentences backwards to a priest

Sprinting on my knees

This is what the world looks like

When we fight for peace

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Storyteller

From “My Father’s Shadow”

Andre ran down Eastern Parkway, he ran until none of the buildings looked familiar to him, and then he stopped and stooped over breathing hard.
“Bouy, you run fas for so,” The shadow said. Andre looked around; there was a bodega on the corner of the street. Some older boys were standing at the door. They looked over at Andre and started walking towards him. Andre looked at the shadow; its eyes were suddenly bright red. The boys walked up to Andre, 
“You lost little man?” One of them asked. Andre did not respond.
“Whats wrong homeboy can’t you talk?” The grease from the boy’s hair ran down his forehead leaving dark spots on his denim shirt.
“Why are you in our hood, you trying to move in on our turf?” the boy said advancing,
“I is just teking a walk,” Andre said, The boy looked at his friends.
“You one of them island boys?”
“Yes,”
Where do you live young blood?”
“On Eastern Parkway,”
“You want to have some fun?”
“Don interfere wid me, I is a good fighter,” Andre said as he stpped back and raised his fists.  The boys laughed,
“Come on little man, you can hang with us,” the boy said and put his hands on Andre’s shoulder.
They walked past the bodega and down a side street.

They arrived at an abandoned apartment building and went inside. As they walked by open doors Andre saw people lying on broken beds or mattresses on the floor. A young man sat scratching himself as if a colony of ants were crawling all over him. Some shook violently, cursing as they did,
“Wah wrong wid dem?” Andre asked
“They want the white ghost,”
“Eh?” Andre asked,
“They want crack,” the boy said. Andre followed them into an empty apartment with other boys and girls walking around aimlessly. They stopped and looked at him. .
“Who dat?” one of the girls asked,
“This here is island boy,”
“He cute,” the girl said,
“Back off crack whore,” The boy said pushing the girl away, she fell to the ground,
“Screw you G-money,” the girl said,
“Want to have some fun island boy?’ He asked as they sat down in a corner and handed Andre a forty ounce from a cooler. Andre hesitated. The shadow eyes appeared next to him,
“Go on me bouy, tek it,” Amdre took the bottle and took a drink,
“Ewww, dats nasty,”
“Keep drinking shorty, it will make you feel nice,” G Money said and tilted the bottle up towards Andre’s mouth. Andre coughs,
“Don want anymore,”
“Come on bro drink up,” G-Money as his friends laughed and chorused his encouragement.
“Yeah man live a little,” one of the girls said
“Like dey say, live a liccle,” the shadow said. Andre closed his eyes and tilted the bottle,
“Chug chug chug,” the boys and girls shouted.
Later that night Andre stumbled around going from one dilapidated apartment to the next. Sad faces and blank stares looked at him,

“Go away!” A half naked woman screamed as she reached to put on her blouse. A man materialized in front of him,
“Get to fuck out of here,” he said and slammed the door in Andre’s face. Each apartment had people in it some sticking needles in their arms, some sniffed on lines of white powder. In one apartment two men got into a fight and the others pushed them off as they stumbled around the room. The strung out girl from before walked up grabbed his arm and pulled him into an apartment.  A mattress lay on the floor; someone had peeled the paint out off the walls, yellow light from a lamp created shadows across the room. She pushed him onto the mattress. Andre fell backwards the room spinning around him. The girl was pulling his pants down, Andre tried to resist but he was too drunk. He felt the cool air against his warm skin, and then he felt her warm mouth down there. A rat scurried across the floor and disappeared into a hole in the corner.He tried to push her head away, but his body felt like it was on fire and his heart slammed against his chest. Then the girl was on top of him moving. His head felt hot, then his body tensed up and every vein throbbed. The girl rolled off of him and he passed out.
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Pics with verse Storyteller

The Fish Lady

I stood in the kitchen looking down at the bowl of seasoned fish. It was just yesterday I was sitting in the veranda watching some butterflies fluttering around the rose bushes when I heard the fish vender yelling, “Get yuh balahuuu buyers!!” I jumped up and ran to back of the house where Mommy Charles was washing clothes. “De fish lady outside Mamie.” I said. Mommy Charles went into her room and came back with two dollars. “Tell her to give yuh two dollars worth.” She said handing me two pale red crumpled dollar bills. I took them and ran off, out the front door, down the street. I was half way down the road when the jagged edges of the gravel covered rode bit into my feet. Damn I forgot to put on my slippers.  I stopped and listened for the vender, she had not yelled in a few minutes. I heard the chatter of people on a side street to my right and turned in that direction. There she was, a bamboo basket perched on a red turban on her head. A group of people surrounded her, some holding dollar bills screaming what they wanted. I took off, hoping to get there before all the fish was gone. Before I got to her I started shouting, “Two dollars worth, two dollars worth!” I knew if Mommy Charles knew I was acting like that she would be less than please, but damn it I wanted some fish. The fisherwoman smiled as I ran in my skinny arms flailing over my head. She sat the basket down and turned to me. I looked into the basket expecting to see flying fish but instead I saw Jacks, one of my favorite. The woman dug into he basket with both hands and motioned for me to hold out the plastic back I hand in my hand. She dumped the fish in it and I was about to close the bag when she smiled and motioned with my head to keep it opened. She picked another handful and dumped it into the bag, the silver, black and gray fish sparkled in the sunlight.  I gave her the two dollars and thanked her and turned and ran back to the house. Now to sit and watch Mommy Charles do her magic before she fried up the Jacks.

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Storyteller

A Portion from the work in Progress Father’s Shadow

Andre ran down Eastern Parkway, he ran until none of the buildings looked familiar to him, and then he stopped and stooped over breathing hard.

“Boi, you run fas for so,” The shadow said. Andre looked around; there was a bodega on the corner of the street. Some older boys were standing at the door. They looked over at Andre and started walking towards him. Andre looked at the shadow; its eyes were suddenly bright red. The boys walked up to Andre, 

“You lost little man?” One of them asked. Andre did not respond.

“Whats wrong homeboy can’t you talk?” The grease from the boy’s hair ran down his forehead leaving dark spots on his denim shirt.

“Why are you in our hood, you trying to move in on our turf?” the boy said advancing,

“I is just teking a walk,” Andre said, The boy looked at his friends.

“You one of them island boys?”

“Yes,”

Where do you live young blood?”

“On Eastern Parkway,”

“You want to have some fun?”

“Don interfere wid me, I is a good fighter,” Andre said as he stepped back and raised his fists.  The boys laughed,

“Come on little man, you can hang with us,” the boy said and put his hands on Andre’s shoulder. They walked past the bodega and down a side street.

They arrived at an abandoned apartment building and went inside. As they walked by open doors Andre saw people lying on broken beds or mattresses on the floor. A young man sat scratching himself as if a colony of ants were crawling all over him. Some shook violently, cursing as they did,

“Wah wrong wid dem?” Andre asked

“They want the white ghost,”

“Eh?” Andre asked,

“They want crack,” the boy said. Andre followed them into an empty apartment with other boys and girls walking around aimlessly. They stopped and looked at him. .

“Who dat?” one of the girls asked,

“This here is island boy,”

“He cute,” the girl said,

“Back off crack whore,” The boy said pushing the girl away, she fell to the ground,

“Screw you G-money,” the girl said,

“Want to have some fun island boy?’ He asked as they sat down in a corner. G-money opened a cooler, dug around in it, then handed Andre a forty ounce beer bottle. Andre hesitated. The shadow eyes appeared next to him,

“Go on me boi, tek it, me, I is a rum man meself, but tek it, it go make you feel real good” Amdre took the bottle and took a drink,

“Ewww, dats nasty, Andre said, The Shadow snickered, its red eyes bounced up ands down. ”

“Keep drinking shorty, it will make you feel nice,” G Money said and tilted the bottle up towards Andre’s mouth. Andre coughs,

“Don want anymore,”

“Come on bro drink up,” G-Money insisted, as his friends laughed and chorused his encouragement.

“Yeah man live a little,” one of the girls said

“Like dey say, live a liccle,” the shadow said. Andre closed his eyes and tilted the bottle,

“Chug chug chug,” the boys and girls shouted.

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POEMS Storyteller

A Capital City Anywhere

As always I can find the good in everything. Like this city, this haven for politricksters, this bastion of ideology and pretentiousness. Where men believe they own the world, and they make decisions that can change lives drastically. I walk among the buildings , their majestic architecture, those hollow walls with souls enslaved in the system. Pride and prejudice, hate and love, all trapped In the concrete walls. Men with lofty ideas that has nothing to do with the people they claim to respect. The political Titanic that floats with holes everywhere, on the dreams of egotistical men. The beauty of those who struggle to survive under the politricking, the people, their smiling faces, their hopes still alive, independent self-assured yet apathetic in their own way. I love this city even when it rains, and the streets are wet, and the sky is grey. There is a beauty that one can find if he or she pays close attention

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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

Lucas Street

Lucal Street

Ahhhh my old stomping ground, you see where the pink is painted on that building to the left, yeah, right there, the one with the yellow above the pink and the cream above the yellow, yes, that’s it, well that is where I used to live. It was from that window I sat and watch the riots in the 1970s, the tear gas, the secret police rushing the crowds with their cutlasses. It is from that window I would look out at 4 pm everyday to see Mommy Charles coming home from a hard days work in the Ministry of Finance., yep Mommy Charles worked for the Government, Look, I see they have street lights now, I guess they don’t need the policeman signaling traffic. Ohhh yes, the old stomping grounds, good old Lucas Street.

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Mobbed From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

In the fall, an incident transpired that totally turned me off from playing ball. I was walking to the dorm when two school buses drove by and all the kids screamed at me. Their voices echoed through the small city as the busses rounded a corner just down the road. I thought nothing of it until the busses came back, stopped and all these kids ran up to me. I was a little unnerved and almost took off running. This one red headed kid frightened me so bad, all I thought was “Children of the Corn”. Bloody kids were like vultures, jumping and screaming, pushing notepads and pencils at me and basically treating me like I was a big star or something. You would have thought that I had just stopped a hurricane, or brought peace to the Middle East or something. Their faces were red from the cold. Yeah that is something I noticed: lots of red faces, their little eyes wide with excitement. Hell, I had not even played a game yet.

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Storyteller

More pictures

More pictures

I know I post a lot of pictures of the island on here, but I fell compelled to share these. I forgot how bright it got on the island. It was like walking around in a high definition multi coloured playground..

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Ladies of the Night From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

There were lots of things about The Melting Pot City that fascinated me. For instance, the prostitutes. I had never seen that before so I took an interest in how and what they did. No, I did not indulge in their services. I am a people watcher. That is how I am able to write this fantastic book, right? We lived on Eastern Parkway between Utica and Rochester Avenues. Eastern Parkway was the biggest and busiest street I have ever lived on. I used to sit at the window and watch them, wondering why in the richest country in the world the women had to resort to this. They walked up and down the avenue in short dresses, uncomfortable high heel shoes and skirts so short you could see the beginning of their butt cheeks. Scores of cars with lonely men came and went. I mean, you should see them, looking around like cartoon characters, gripping their steering wheels, their eyes wide with lustful anticipation. I felt so sorry for these women. I wondered what they thought their life would be like. Were they victims of society or were they victims of cultural circumstances?

The most disturbing thing about this was that there was a pregnant woman out there. Car after car would pick her up. None of the men seemed concerned with her condition. I often wondered what sick bastard would take advantage of someone like that.  Our landlady would scream at them, calling them the worst names, as if they needed to feel any more degraded then they already were. My ex-wife and I felt compassion for them, so we let them sit on our car. They promised as long as they were there, no one would mess with it. That summer, with the constant complaints from the landlady, the cops chased them off. That very night, every car in a four block radius was broken into. Is it not sad how society, indoctrinated by judgmental ideologies, makes the people believe that these women were less than human? Truth is, their humanity was stripped by the same ideology that claimed to be virtuous. Just look at all the preachers and politicians who partake in the very same debauchery.