Anthony Fry, 8 july 2012
The beauty of Raleighs dreams, held in Forts and Castles.
We imagine Elizabeth Castle, during the English Civil War.
A fiery eyed horse, thunder-beating hoofs fly a causeway.
Historic revelations, of gallantry, pirates, and highwaymen.
A Piper in the Castle, Royal music carried over St aubin bay.
King Charles II's wife, Queen Braganza had a tea mania.
That locked caddie, a Portuguese Queens aromatic magic.
Vigorous vapours, tea enthusiasm, that lingers longer.
Royal traditions, carried from her homeland in Portugal.
Lords and Lady's, had rich assumptions of spiced china teas.
Charles laid the foundations, for prize foreign teadrinking.
Gentlemen joking, in the presence of refind elegant lady's.
Exquisite niceties of etiquette, for an afternoon hour of tea.
Tea gossip not allowed was secrets, health, and sad news.
The pinkie used for balance, of the tea cup in the right hand.
Fruit jam and Jersey fresh cream, set fresh hot scones in style.
Royal Jersey cream tea not complete, without luxurious cream.
The thrill of creative effort, " A Royal Jersey Cream Tea" is born.
Scones and wonders from St Quen, vraic buns from Gorey village.
A Royal Jersey Cream Tea, addiction born for Century's to come.
Stephen J. Vattimo, 8 july 2012
I was traveling along my life line,
when mine line intersected with a peculiar guy,
In a time and a place,that was not unfamiliar to me.
He stared at his reflection in a mirror, and chanted,
"Me,My,I."
This was a peculiar sight,
so I could't help but pry, "Are you all right ?"
He replied, "My life line has taken some sever curves and Steep dives !"
I felt compassion for this peculiar Guy's plight , and had to pry,
"Have you considered inviting God to help you straighten out the sever curves and steep dives in your life ?"
He replied, " Yes,every time I look into a mirror."
"Me,My And I."
Written by Stephen J. Vattimo April 19 ,2011
Elizabeth, 8 july 2012
I may not be the girl of whom you’ve always dreamed,
And perhaps you too, are not as perfect as you seem.
I still love you.
I may not be empathetic towards your pains and mistakes,
An you may try to hide it when, inside your heart aches.
I still care about you.
I may not be pretty or smart or selfless or or at all perfect,
but no matter what I am, and will always be yours.
I will still care.
Patrick Fleskes, 7 july 2012
The investigation raises the steam,
That jostle the kettle into an unsteady rhythm.
Its exhale exudes a well-bred nervousness,
A jitter, jumbled into stirring, purring,
Music of the air.
A poorly choreographed dance flutters through,
The vocal cords,
They’ve been caught an idea they must express.
Love proves a difficult case,
When compared affections must be weighed,
Feathers are a poor anolog for the heart,
And the tails have no marks at their heads
While breathed thoughts lay hidden ‘neth a sprung trap,
Childish smiles drawn unto the face.
In this theater we take our own seats,
So the screen can yell some new obscenities.
We lick the plate dry and move on to the next thing.
Glenn McCrary, 7 july 2012
Ever since the hour when first we met
your dearest memory my silhouette
the face of my greatest triumph
enamored by the pleasant elation
‘twas the brush of your skin
which fostered a phenomenon
Before a generation
We conquered centuries with ease
Ever seeking to discover the genesis
‘twas love set anew
Glenn McCrary, 7 july 2012
Awaiting a light
To guide us down the path
that composed our eternity
For no woman I have swayed
In quite the fashion as I for you
For no woman could I have swooned
as I swiftly as I for you
and if ever there was a chance
to seize the pendulum
‘tis your constant amour
Then the risk would equalize
The value you illustrate
Rhiannon, 6 july 2012
Water turns from hot to cold
Heart pounding in my chest
Feelings mixed, both new and old
Can't we forget the rest?
Eyes watering from too bright lights
... I cannot see where you have gone
With or without those many fights
I'm afraid I can't move on
Like a tattoo onto my brain
You're forever a part of me
Don't you get there's nothing to gain
By pretending that you can't see
we have a connection so pure and rare
Wars have been fought to obtain
Those around us can't help but stare
As they wither in lonely pain
They curse us and hate us
But the truth is deep inside
They contain an envy so venomous
That in shame they run and hide
Only a love as deep as ours
Could create such feelings in others
I could try to explain for hours
But like children who ignore their mothers
I'm afraid that you can't hear me
You're so lost in stubborn ways
Don't give up this life of glee
For lonely nights and days
Fights happen everywhere
Between people of love
But the connection that we share
could rise beyond and above
So come sit, and I'll show you
How our fates are intertwined
Those who have felt this are few
So pause and let's rewind
To the day that we first met
The first time our gazes connected
We didn't know it yet
But our destiny was redirected
Our fate is to never be apart
To be together until the end
I know this in my heart
For its brokenness only you can mend.
Salvatore Ala, 6 july 2012
I saw a crow’s feather on the road
And the sun shining in that precise shape.
I was drawn to a crow’s feather on the road
Until I was far from home.
I found a crow’s feather on the road
Like a murder of crows born of nothingness.
I picked up a crow’s feather
And turned into my shadow.
I carried the crow’s feather home
And my awareness was lifted.
I brought the feather home
And the power went out.
I placed it over my hawk’s feather
And night covered day.
My totem grew to include owl and raven.
Now my shadow has wings,
No one takes this journey but me.
Gert Strydom, 6 july 2012
(after Antjie Krog)
Right at the front at the big old green board
the teacher waits with a strong wooden cane
while pretty girls peep at me
and here I am alone in my wooden bench,
where just here I can die in my chair
when the teacher starts to wander around
while the lesson drags on and on
and he is causing great fear among the pupils
before a crooked old finger points at me,
I see scientific formulae in chalk,
how that teacher throws down the board-eraser,
and gives me a hiding until I get all the answers right;
sometimes I wonder from where he comes,
and see the most devious fiend only in him.
[Reference: “Wiskunde” (Mathematics) by Antjie Krog.]
Gert Strydom, 6 july 2012
Continually its progressions and rows,
the teacher is on patrol,
his cane sometimes swishes painfully,
there are theorems and more theorems
which are driving us nuts
with differentiation and other calculations,
and we are taught about Ballot and Christaller
and models are all around me,
one after the other they do pass
while there’s no end to examination papers
and the girls are lovely
but continually I am caned
and this is why I find high school
somewhat bewitching.
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