Tower Of Babel

Seen in the vacant lot next door…

This picture was taken on my cell phone, hence the poor quality. Its of the “pirates” just before they were captured and put on trial in George Town last Saturday night.

I finally got around to taking the pictures off my camera and posting them up, and I guess the real impetus behind that was looking at some of the cellie pictures they have posted up at www.pix.ky.

Cable & Worthless is running a competition with these pictures, apparently you can win something. Some of the pictures they have up are quite nice, you might want to go have a look.

Hey, they have this little fete tonight at Margaritaville, they have Alaine here for it, I think she is a pretty good up-and-coming singer and I wouldn’t mind checking her out.

Still, its a bit unlikely that I will go… We’ll see.

When Morgan Heritage reach (early December) NOTHING!!!! will keep me away though!

Thank God its Friday, people… Anyway, mi gone to get ready for work.

Look at the pictures they have posted over by Afflicted Yard! Plenty pictures of some people with guns! Illegal guns too, by the looks of things! Looks to me like the webmaster is known and trusted by these gunmen! Make that gun people, actually, because it looks like one of them is a woman.

As a responsible citizen, he really ought to turn those bastards in, after all, those guns are never going to be used for a good cause! Still, that could be a dangerous thing. Imagine if only one or two of the bad guys got captured and the rest began to believe that the webmaster of Afflicted Yard was the person who ratted them out. The bad guys would more than likely turn on him!

Still, he is braver than I am. If I was a photographer and I had a website where I always posted up pictures that I had taken, I wouldn’t post those pictures at all. Suppose the cops see those pictures! I think they might well decide that he must have known these gunmen fairly well for them to allow him to take the pics. Suppose they decide to pick him up for questioning, or even something worse!

Hmph!

AN OCHO RIOS MORNING

The slightly melancholy smell of the polished wooden floors mixed with the tangy ocean breezes is the first thing that I sense as my eyes pop open.

Then I hear it “Feesh……grouper, snapper, paarrat feesh! Fresh feesh for sale!” It is the sound of the fisherman as he walks down the lane calling to the cooks in the villas to come and see his catch.

I quickly rub my eyes and jump excitedly out of bed, throwing my thin legs into my yellow shorts and slipping my feet into the flip-flops conveniently placed beside the bed the night before. My shorty nightie will do for a blouse.

I meet my sister at the top of the stairs and we jostle and push our way down to the kitchen, vying for first place as we dismally fail to be quiet for the rest of the family is still asleep.

Princess is in the kitchen and wipes her hands slowly on her apron. She turns to greet us with a smile and taking our hands, she leaves her breakfast preparations half done as she leads us through the door and out to meet the fisherman.

The morning is bright and fresh. The road still quiet as the neighbouring households are just beginning to stir. In the air the smell of fruit, sea and breakfasts cooking co-mingle with the chirping of the crickets, the singing of the birds and the distant sound of the traffic on the main street a few lanes away.

Ants scurry across the rutted road, searching for any edible tidbits while staying out of the way of the lizards that sit on the walls and hide in the trees, eyes ever watchful; yellow and orange tongues flickering out to attract small insects for their morning meals.

The catch is good this morning. There are many fish strung together in the man’s tight grasp. With a big smile he bids us good morning and allows us to touch the fish, chuckling in response to our shrieks of mock horror at the feel of the cold scales.

His bare feet are planted wide as he stands and chats with Princess, bargaining and cajoling over the price of the fish. My sister and I examine his catch, they swing slowly on the string, their iridescent blues, greens and silvers swirl and catch the sunlight and we are fascinated.

Finally the deal is made and the fisherman continues on his way down the lane repeating his chant. Princess allows us to carry one fish each and herds us back into the house, shushing us gently she tells us to go and play while she returns to her work in the kitchen.

My sister and I head for the lounge chair in the big living room, which is dwarfed by the seemingly bigger picture window that takes up an entire wall and overlooks the beach.

Momentarily we are soothed by the lapping water and the sheer beauty our young minds are only just beginning to comprehend.

As we watch the sun glisten on the waves and listen to the rhythmic sound of the waves hitting the sandy beach, we hear fading into the background the chant of the fisherman’s call “Feesh – fresh feesh for sale!”

Ciya
March 2, 2006

Hi y’all

Just thought I’d drop by and drop off another poem.
Can anyone tell me how to go about getting published? that would be great.

Things are very busy now. I’m doing two jobs as well as I have gone back to College for my Human Services diploma….Social Worker really - that is great i just love this course.

Any way, enjoy!

THE DANCE

He shouts
She shakes
He cries out
She answers.

This step that
They dance
To music
Unheard.

He whispers
She tingles
He caresses
She follows.

Gliding, floating
As if each
Step is
Rehearsed.

Ciya
July 5, 2005

In the bosom of my family
I grew stronger.
From that first moment
When I was born.

With strong hands they held mine
Throughout childhood years.
Swinging me gently
Through each new dawn.

With soft arms they caught me
When life brought hard tears.
Caring and comforting me
Back to norm.

Now that we are scattered
Some farther, some nearer.
Their love travels miles
Keeping me warm.

To the bosom of my family
Often I have fled.
They fed me and clothed me
With love they enfold me.

In the bosom of my family
I have always found shelter.
From worries and fears
And life’s many storms.

So I might grow strong again.
Find wings and take flight.
On my own path.
But never straying far.

From the bosom of my family!!

Ciya
July 5, 2005

“Seesaw Margery Daw
Johnny shall have a new master…”

The little girl throws her head back, thrilling at the breeze blowing through the tendrils of her hair. Her thin, brown legs pump strongly back and forth, pushing the swing into the air. As she closes her eyes against the brilliantness of the sun, she images herself flying.

She loves the swing set in her back yard. It has been in her family for many years. Her older brothers and sisters have used this very same swing many times. It is rusty and it creaks loudly as she sends it to its limit with the pulsing of her legs. The creaking seems to her to be a kind of singing, telling stories of its history, including tales of her sisters and brothers. Its creaking seems to be in tune to the nursery rhyme the little girl sings. “Seesaw Margery Daw…”

It is placed in the middle of the yard, a place of honour almost. It has been the centre of many sessions of roughhousing and hide and seek. The older boys hung off the swing during games of cowboys and Indians, falling from the upper bar when “shot” numerous times. Many secrets have been quietly shared by the girls and their friends around the swing set.

From behind her closed eyelids she sees the different shades of orange and yellow from the sunshine. She can almost feel her “wings” flapping as she flies through the air. She marvels at the feeling of floating smoothly through the air. Her squeals of excitement fill the air in the back yard.

Suddenly, she hears a car door slam and she slows her flight. Her father is home with her brothers and sisters. She jumps from the swing mid air and rushes to meet her family. The noise is now focused inside the house, where the girl and her family share their days’ events.

The swing continues its erratic arcs through the air, slowing until it twirls gently side to side before completely stopping. There is a hushed yet expectant silence surrounding the backyard. There will be time for ore swinging again later.

“Seesaw Margery Daw
Johnny shall have a new master….”

Ciya
July 29, 2005

Today is laundry day (not my most favourite activity) but quite often a time of personal reflection. (What else can one do while sorting laundry but reflect on the teeny weeny things of life!)

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A few years ago…well maybe a little more than a few…a baby was born. She was the last child in the Bull family. I remember going to the hospital for our first sight of our baby sister one day before school. She was the cutest little thing. Big brown eyes! I remember Mumsy holding her proudly in her arms. We were all excited and happy to welcome the new baby.

As she grew up she became a stunning beauty. At one there she was posed on the table with the most bubbly smile on her face…..you mean the drool down her chin was the reason for that! (Actually it was a beautiful picture of a happy baby). At three years of age she was this chubby, sweet child. I remember the one picture where her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, with the wisps flying around her forehead. She stands in her flowered patterned shorts giving her dolly its bottle. (Her knees were slightly knocking at the time…but its probably not a wise idea to mention this to her!)

She was everyones darling….I believe we used to fight over who would get to dress her and brush her hair. I was fortunate in that I shared a room with her throughout my years at home. She had this one peculiar quirk…..she could wear five different outfits in one day without the slightest bit of hesitation……of course, she was not the one washing the clothes!!! (but then neither was I).

She was always the one who would make banners of welcome back whenever any of us went on a trip.

I remember the time that at about 10 she wanted to go to a party and Mumsy would not let her go. Trying to comfort her (in a big sisterly kind of way) I said to her that I did not start going out at the tender age of 10…..her quick and very calmly stated response was that “you did not look like me at 10, did you!” At which time I decided that I would leave the child raring of Seven to much better prepared people….our parents!

As I said, she has grown into a beautiful girl, both physically and in personality. She is our baby sister and yet at times she is probably the most mature of us all…..did I really type that…..don’t mention this one to her either! She is the ultimate professional as well as the most kind and loving person. She brings a light with her each time she enters your presence.

She is our baby sister…..we are proud of her…..and we love her unendingly.

Happy Birthday Seven!!!

Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday,
We love you!
Happy Birthday and may all
your dreams come true!
When you blow out the candles
One light stays aglow
Its the lovelight in your eyes
where e’re you go!

Today is the second anniversary of our Daddy’s passing. We love you and miss you Daddy!!!

MONDAY MORNING

“It’s time to get up…
It’s time to get up….
It’s time to get up
In the morning……”

The man walks through the house, singing as he moves from bedroom to bedroom, leaving a gentle touch on the backs of his slowly stirring children. Each morning, as he wakes them he is once again overwhelmed by his feelings of love for these human beings who are such a part of him.

This is the time of day that he loves the most. He has already been up for a while, watching the sun as it’s weak rays break through the last misty hues of the night. He sees the sparkle of the dew on the grass. As he listens carefully, the rustling of nature breaks the quite dawn as it begins its busy day.

He has spent precious minutes with his wife. These early morning hours are often their only “alone” time. As he drinks his condensed milk-laced coffee and she her tea, they softly talk about their plans for the day, their children and the ordinariness of everyday life.

The morning sun floats higher in the sky. Its heat has broken through the earlier quiet cool of the dawn. The bustle of the morning becomes more evident. The day’s busy-ness has begun. One by one the children rise and begin their morning routines.

“It’s time to get up…
It’s time to get up….
It’s time to get up
In the morning……”

Ciya
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