Anthony Fry Out And About The island Of Jersey.
When We took the Ten Pound Poms to New Zealand & Australia.
When We served Beef / Lamb / Chicken Curry.
We served a round tray of compliments to the Table.
Death Is A Realization Of Life's Emptiness
JERSEY AYE MALUV!
Jersey early morn crow a cock.
Conger and marigold soup lots.
Jersey aye maluv!
Market day formed in year dot.
Daily fresh hot scones we scoff.
Jersey aye Maluv!
Griddle cakes tasty very hot.
From neolithic times are got.
Jersey aye maluv!
Jersey cream teas are top.
Drunk from that big tea-pot.
Jersey aye maluv!
Bowls of Jersey bean-crock.
People for apple cider flock.
Jersey aye maluv!
Cabbage bread also not forgot.
Visitors Jersey wonders shop.
Jersey aye maluv!
A good wyf who keeps stocks.
Each day on this island rock.
Jersey aye maluv!
A cover of coots, water-nymphs tormenting a stilled silence.
A murder of crows, loudly whispering all that local gossip.
A peep of chickens, awaiting a magnificent new morning.
A dole of doves, hiding amongst honey pots lost up high.
A trip of dotterel wearily gazes on wet withering leaves.
A charm of finches, in a cold darkening night sky shiver.
A gaggle of geese emboldened watchdogs their territory patrol.
A kettle of hawks, roaming since ancient times armorial.
A siege of herons, Long-necked elegant solitary birds stand.
A brood of hens, scratching grey mounds of cold ashes.
A cast of falcons, like weird ghosts haunting this world.
A party of jays, hoarding and stealing trinkets of gold.
An exaltation of larks, flitting in a thousand and one nights.
A deceit of lapwings, in oak trees hold twilight meetings.
A tidings of magpies, With sheen and green gloss tail.
A sord of mallards, green head and yellow bill ducks.
A watch of nightingales, sweetly Singing day and Night.
A parliament of owls, dusty from flour in an old mill house.
An ostentation of peacocks, an extravagant courting couple.
A covey of partridges, fearless in gorse bushes hidden.
A company of parrots, glistening like shiny fool's gold.
A congregation of plovers, a voice ever so silver-tongued.
A colony of penguins, curiously strange slipping and sliding.
A nye of pheasants, flourishing invisibly in pine woods
A bevy of quail, fairy rings hiding them from us.
An unkindness of ravens, haunting those black cold nights.
A building of rooks, swallowing baby frogs like no tomorrow.
A wisp of snipe, Bleating together in wetland waters.
A muster of storks, graceful lanky marsh waders.
A murmuration of starlings, huddle together from a rain storm.
A host of sparrows, beautiful contemptuous uninterrupted flow.
A flight of swallows, those cozy mud hut houses build.
A spring of teal, silver grey flan, and yellow-tailed.
A pitying of turtledoves, a dainty evocative sounding purr.
A descent of woodpeckers, wallowing in wind-blown flowers.
A fall of woodcocks, roaming through those straw fields.
Us embarking on majestic voyages to paradise.
Endless ocean journeys of emotional fatigues.
Wandering Young fit virulent handsome men.
Restless swashbucklers, a dashing personality.
Reflections of times wonderful to reminisce.
An individualistic crew whose only thoughts.
Were of that fortune, fantasy, and adventure.
The melancholy camaraderie and excitement.
Replenish life's beauty on our Atlantic cruise.
Those memories of conquests in every region.
Phantoms in every young maidens thoughts.
Devine juicy heavenly yearning female bodies.
Roving those great romantic times I do miss.
Hot uninhibited emotions we can not decline.
Casting sensual pleasures drinking and dance.
A crack of lightning strikes, whistling winds.
As legends of antagonistic seas remembered.
So quickly turn into irascible engulfing enemy.
Once in the warm harbours, the roaring seas.
Those raging storms, us the crew can forget.
Monotonous motions, storms what the heck.
The perilous thoughts become washed away.
A distant view an Island, a landfall reflection.
Maybe Paradise, pearls or vastness of Isolation.
Merciless moon and tide return another day.
To all seafaring souls who have been and gone.
Remembered like that lighthouse for ever on.
Those Tahiti times, paradise eternal perhaps.
" A famous Swashbuckler springs to mind."
Beating loudly your strong heart, we hear that proudness.
Proudest thing I heard a Jersey woman say was, " I loved him."
Describing mysterious long Journeys, of ancient island warriors.
Men proud swagger about in posh clothes, rapiers at their sides.
Windsurfers glide on winds, over golden sand dunes in St Ouen.
Eager islanders, waiting retreating tides, vraic within their reach.
Gathering vraic seaweed, for this years jersey royal potato crop.
Making Jersey Black Butter, winning that worthiest of contests.
An occasion for a get-together of a family, with cider and apples.
Those perfect Jersey wonders, gorgeous forever for all to taste.
Jersey wonders cooked fresh as tide went out, no jam or sugar.
Those truly desired pleasures are attained making Jersey Cider.
Blowing on a sea breeze, treasure a view of divine wild haretail.
Eels hide in St Ouen pond, sweetest and biggest ones in Europe.
Battle of flowers festival, music, flower floats, and entertainers.
