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Ma Cherie Sep 2016
I had to go into the big city
well big for me anyway
a beautiful drive still dreaming I think
looks right down on the water that city
at Lake Champlain.

So what did you get?

Oh. You're seriously asking, alright.
Well, it's for a lovely couple this weekend getting married.

Oh I see, do tell Chef ?

I picked some beautiful ingredients
for pumpkin cheesecake
some candies...
I especially love the sunflower seed drops in magenta, violet, lime green, burnt orange, tangerine and dark  chocolate,
they look like little fall tears.

I also found some vinted
honeymoon wine
A voigner
with a lovely fragrant crisp taste

Hmmmm...interesting, go on?

It signifies the full moon in June after the flowers turn into young grapes some honeysuckle Aromas followed by luscious mango and nectar
Paired with roasting chicken
& beautifully seasonal fingerling potatoes
and this amazing rustic sweet potato bread
gorgeous heirloom vegetables in a few various choices
delicately cooking squash
all seasoned to perfection bringing
nutty joy to all
in an aromatic feathery plume of goodness
finally...
green goddess dressing and roasted nuts, berries among other toppings for a brilliant salad.

Oh...well any invitations still open?

I'm not sure, but you can be my guest in the kitchen come along

take your hat off what's the hurry?

Cherie Nolan© 2016
Overtired and overworked ugh...under the weather today. Hoping it passes soon
Hoping you are all well. Enjoy the season!
A Jul 2016
In summer;
A fever for the world.
A billion scarred shoes,
carry me over the sapphire waters.
Whisper through my hair, tell me I’m home.
Tell me through and through i belong to you.
Like a needle, I am thread;
Latching to you, your direction, your ways.
Write to me in different languages,
Beckon me to the cobblestone tower,
Up the verdant hills,
Among the gritty powdered paths.
As i overlook the cerulean waters,
I’ll spot the trifling sailboats,
Like ripples in a cup of tea.
Too vast for a photograph,
Too surreal for words.

A wayward, willowy girl.
An anomalous, alluring world.
thank you quebec.
I.

Here we halt our march, and pitch our tent
  On the rugged forest ground,
And light our fire with the branches rent
  By winds from the beeches round.
Wild storms have torn this ancient wood,
  But a wilder is at hand,
With hail of iron and rain of blood,
  To sweep and waste the land.

II.

How the dark wood rings with voices shrill,
  That startle the sleeping bird;
To-morrow eve must the voice be still,
  And the step must fall unheard.
The Briton lies by the blue Champlain,
  In Ticonderoga's towers,
And ere the sun rise twice again,
  The towers and the lake are ours.

III.

Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides
  Where the fireflies light the brake;
A ruddier juice the Briton hides
  In his fortress by the lake.
Build high the fire, till the panther leap
  From his lofty perch in flight,
And we'll strenghten our weary arms with sleep
  For the deeds of to-morrow night.
Ma Cherie May 2017
Come an read my verdant mountains
the place Champlain
he named Verd Mont
where eons an eons
of ancestors,
beautifully now
how they still haunt,

Where the ever-greens
that stretch so tall
now blend in with the maple
where come here in the springtime flow the gold it is a staple,

My feet have roamed this earth so long
I know it in my heart
every road I travel down
I know from where I start,

My roots run deep here in these hills,
deeper than those trees can reach,
an deeper than their roots can go,
an I have much I've yet to teach,

About a life of perseverance
holding strong -to make your way,
you can do most anything,
just hear the words I always say,

We are stronger than we think,
we are a deep and endless well,
some where to find
to draw that strength,
to break the ugly haunting spell,
to find the bootstraps
hey i say now don't you dwell,

an I have many roads to go
and stories yet I know to tell,

Come in words -
to Vermont too,
to know this peace I know,
where mountains flow with aquifer,
as crystal waters ever flow,

Find a place where deer can run
and your heart can run there too,
where the sun so brightly shines,
and the skies are
always lovely ever- blue

Put your feet down somewhere nice
in mossy place or earthly loam
take a rest from where you walk,
in waters running,
mountain foam,

Wash your soul an spirit clean,
allow the sky above to share,
an listen to the fragrant breeze,
to how much so-
the leaves they care,

We are one as people here,
all things we are the snowflake- same,
appreciate the rare an "weird"
to not is such an awful shame,

Worn-out dogmas
an inconvenient truths,
to leave behind those old illusions

Learn to embrace your life again,
because without some wrong delusions,

We would never see as we do now-
as all good bad an indifferent things
serve a purpose -
go see
go an be.

Ma Cherie © 2017
Make any sense?
Bilal Kaci Jan 2014
The sky is blue, but that’s nothing new
The Champlain Bridge is falling

The pipe lines blew, so let’s have a brew
The island of Montreal is rotting

They said “up the fees” and we begged them please
But this got them laughing

So we got pots and pans, did a little dance
Then bill 78 was a calling

Where the police officers, drive dodge chargers
Where the **** is your tax money going?

Its Bonjour/hi! But don’t get high
‘Cause Pauline Marois is watching
Little rhyme that came to mind upon reading the news paper this morning :)
© 2014 Bilal Kaci
SøułSurvivør Jan 2017
The story Clinton Jarvis - my father.

Isle La Motte Roots

There's a place of quiet peace
In beautiful Vermont
It is filled with history
It beckons you, and haunts
In pacific Lake Champlain
It's called Isle La Motte

The lake is long and narrow
A lovely gem-like blue
The Island lies within its shores
It is a jewel, too.
Emerald in the summer
In fall a topaz hue

Old style houses charm us
With plain stone quarry frames
There are many maple trees
In fall these become flame
Churches with tall steeples
All barns look much the same.

From Blanchard's Point to The Head
North to south we go
Clark's & Reynolds to Fisk & Scott's
These east/west points we know
From The Lighthouse & Fort Stann
To the marble quarries low.

It seems the rock on Isle La Motte
Was formed from glacial ice
Which pressed the clay beneath it
As if it were a vice
The marble from the quarries
Is especially nice!

Samuel Fisk founded some of these
Marble blue, black, and grey
Many used the sturdy stones
Solid houses in the way
They can be found everywhere
And still stand to this day.

There was an ingenious sawmill
Powered by a boat!
A large and hearty steamer
By The Dock would float
The "Utica" by name
As sawmill founders wrote.

The taverns and inns
Had distinctive place
It would be so heartening
To see a merry face
There the weary travellers
Could find warmth and grace.

Famous for its apples
There are many orchards found
John Bowman & William Yale
Planted in the ground
My father was one who picked from them
Folks came from miles around.

The Fleury Store had merchandise
Sold to people from their stock
Carson's Store and Naylor's
Store to store the folks would walk
Often a place of meeting
Where people stood to talk.

Elizabeth Fisk. Creative.
She had looms, and linen wrought
This fabric so very fine
Much of it was bought
There were also boats and ferries
On an island... used *a lot!


Nelson Fisk secured the Post Office
James Ritchie built in stone
His relation, Cynthia
Maintained the library alone
Succeeded by M. LaBombard
For faithfulness much known.

Both Methodist and Catholic
Worship the Divine
The faithful go to churches
No matter what the clime
A place of fame on Isle La Motte
Is lovely St Anne's Shrine.

The original schools on Isle La Motte
We're founded by strong men
Independent. Intelligent.
Created they back then.
Back in 1782 they had discerning ken.

The school my father went to
Only had one room.
He graduated the 8th grade
For his future groomed
But went to High School elsewhere
Back then quite a boon!

The Jarvis' were tennent farmers
Not much to be made
But the beauty of the place
Embraced them in its shade
T'was in this environment
Where young Clinton played.

Amongst the leaves - jade and fire
Honey'd amber caught
He found a love of nature
He was reared and taught
Here his story started

A place called Isle La Motte.


SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C)1/11/2017
Finally completed! This segment in my father's biography took a while due to the
amount of research done. As you can see!

Sorry i haven't been around. This poem is
part of the reason why!

I'm going to present this to my now
hospitalised father this weekend. It will
be written out on posters in large writing
so he can read it... he's completely deaf and
going blind. It will bring back many fond
memories to him I'm sure! He certainly
deserves happiness about now!

PLEASE PRAY OR SEND GOOD THOUGHTS!

♡ LOVE YOU ALL! ♡
Marissa Navedo May 2012
Your insatiable appetite for food and life alike;
has compelled me to re-examine.
To delve into the blessings that life has to offer,
and live each day with conviction and purpose.
I will always imagine you swaying to the music,
as the boat rolls over the gentle waves of Lake Champlain.
I will imagine you recounting stories on Isle La Motte,
as you joined us on blankets in the grassy knoll .
Each moment is ingrained in my mind,
so I can relive them always.
I will miss your natural ease,
the way your smile is quickly reflected in mine,
the warm embraces and kind welcomes.
I will miss the wisdom you instill in me,
to help me conquer anything.
I know better than to be sad,
for you are a part of all of us.
In our smiles, kind actions, successes.
Without knowing you,
I would not be able to culminate to success,
or strive for what I deserve.
I want to thank you for be an inspiration,
and above all accepting me in into your heart;
without thinking twice.
David Ehrgott Nov 2015
I fell in love
with a ghost/witch/mermaid
The prettiest girl in the world
In any century
Atlantic City
Nineteen Eighty-five
  
I'm not sure who to point
or blame for the how or what
that led to change
the level of my dimension
Don't know why
  
But if I ever get to her again
and if it doesn't lead to sin
Not sure if I'd grab
the bargain or the Bible
  
I gave her just one kiss
to dare and tried my best
to not to stare
at all her hard shell/hard sell
Custom Homemade Ocean Jewelry
  
Tried so hard to hide my fear
of dying could not take the cold
hard facts of life's blatant destiny
Desire hurt my soul
  
I had to come back here
Again just to see your face
I bet that someday we will
Finally be friends or so much
More than that I don't pretend
I warn you Sam my
One and only friend
  
And if you knew my sister sue
She stunk
The world then had her due
I may
Not never
Know what door she would have choosed
  
And if you stick around
choo-choo
You'll hear a song/can sing along
about some trains
that I pretend I knew
  
The turtle and the snail
They ride on tender ground
I miss you girl
I'm tying this old country
Song to you
  
I was way to young to
let my burning ash exist
Had much more yearning
to do learning
what was asked, I just forgot
Don't know if I have that
much more to counter
  
No lady
bug would ever sing
about my blues
I have no ring
to give I even lost my broken teeth
  
I lived a week
Four Million years
or somewhere in between that
Dear you can
not preposition end a sentence  
  
And if you know that I'm a tease
won't be surprised
But I won't leave you
Hang around
I'm sure there's plenty more
  
Well look at that I'm tired flat
I wrote two pages how 'bout that
I guess it makes no sense to further carry
On again I could just turn
  
the page
hey now, see that
I got more space to write
more facts about my life
and why I am so crazy
  
Her fins they flapped I followed
Her a million laps
from old man-
hattan lower end
I mixed it up my friend
No really
Hope there is no more confusion
  
I don't no life
I just exist
I tell no lie
I swear sweet miss
So don't you try
to get me into trouble
  
The turtle and the snail
will ride the earth once more
go where you go
I've been there
So I'm ducking in again
  
I think I'll have a beer
This ends I'm sure
it's not one of my gems
But what more do I need to say or do
Then sit here and songwrite again
or write haikus that never end
on this lazy Sunday afternoon
  
The turtle and the snail
will ride the earth once more
After we're gone
They'll still be here
Go bang a gong
They're two slow pokes
One's soft
One's hard
You figure out which
One's made just for you
  
An oyster clam or
Lady bug would get eat up or  
Just get stuck
No more eating that much
Pasta without salad
  
And now it's time to
Get on board
Hey you Choo-Choo
Four-Fifty-Four
I'm gettin' out of here
Hear what I promised
  
I don't know but I've been told
The Redding Railroad dropped its load
Go take the B&O; to someplace new
'Cause California outgrew you
With double headed 2-82s
Canadian Pacific calling you
No B&M;?
Rutland will do
with RS3 and 2-8-2
to Lake Champlain the 201 with you
  
Delaware & Hudson call
'ol Henry Stewart
from Whitehall
he's steering Alcors3; the engineer
But don't look here
'Cause I'm not there
That bobby fooled you/disappeared
and lookit
where'd they go?
that's all the words!
Adele May 2018
no one owns this land
bloodshed and atrocity
lord tyrants and battlements

the Vikings seafaring
Erik the Red with his sons
Leif and Thorvald, continuing the journey
Columbus, Champlain, Cartier...
Jacques Cartier looking for China found ‘Kanata’ and they now call Canada
captived Donnacona and his clan from Stadacona

the mariners, cartographers
no one owns this land

the slavery and civil war of Catholicism and Protestants
the ‘Black Death’ from bubonic plague

the man’s bones from the rat’s alley
below the ground with sunken skeletons
who fought with swords and knives and a broken arrow trying to dug up their way

to the bridges and skyscrapers that buried them deep with the poison of ideology
that says ‘you are not welcome’

the silent voices screams
‘this is our land, this is our land...
this is not our land and there shall be no peace.’
Gunning gusto for Bernie Sanders dagnabbit
nipped in figurative bud triggered zilch
prospects to germinate,
cultivate, and amalgamate
late blooming spore port as
schlocky, reedy, quirky, political neophyte,
whose aura, charisma, dogma
enigma, persona... absent gregarious masculinity.

Scant hours after posting Facebook message
Monday February 17, 2020
(regarding becoming linkedin
among Bernie Sanders's supporters
within Southeastern Montgomery Pennsylvania
hinting genuine motive (mine of course)

to join local grassroots bandwagon
electing catapulting aforementioned
Democratic candidate president,
into Oval Office
overwhelmingly elected
Tuesday November 3, 2020

an unexpectedly pleasant forthcoming response
(courtesy Jon Hall seven nine five eight at gmail)
informed yours truly transcendently, telepathically
inspired debate watch party
would be (accompanied when in full swing)
by most popular contra dance bands,

and eminently choreographed counting
topnotch cadres of policy wonks
upstairs at Molly Maguire's Irish Restaurant
(197 Bridge Street,
Phoenixville, Pennsylvania)19460
slated for Wednesday
March 19th, 2020 at 2000 hours military time.

Guess what dear readers...?
Yours truly, (an aging,
albeit eternally youthful
long haired pencil necked geek)
never experienced sought after fraternization
think ennobling rite of northwest passage
comprising electrifying informality
getting plugged into self-described

indomitable enthralling brouhaha
starring none other than
Democratic socialist and independent senator
from Green Mountain state
(by Samuel de Champlain in 1647)
Bernie Sanders exuding vim and vinegar
at age seventy eight
heartily hailing (no kidney ying)
who served in government since 1981.

I showed up at designated place
and specified time,
and got politely informed
courtesy young attractive hostess,
no such arousing, inspiring, spine tingling...
commingling of eager electorates slated,
thus overzealousness (mine)
bit the dust i.e. never got kickstarted.

— The End —