ZIG - ZAG

Medieval - History.
Witches - Warlocks.
Merchant - Peasant.
Daughters - Wives.
Cobblers - Boots. 
Pleasure - leisure. 
North - South. 
Castles - Lords. 
Church - Bibles. 
Monks - Friars. 
Poetry - Books.
Elizabeth - Fry. 
Wars - Peace. 
Food - Table. 
Rock - Roll. 
Law - Order.
Rich - Poor. 
Baby - Adult. 
Young - Old.
Flesh - Spirit. 
Beach - Sun.
Fish - Chips. 
Odds - Even.

"A Royal Jersey Cream Tea."

The beauty of Raleighs dreams, held in Forts & 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, & 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 tea drinking.
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 & wonders from St Quen, vraic buns from Gorey village.
A Royal Jersey Cream Tea, addiction born for Centuries to come.

"Paean Dais."

Poetry is Verse-Shared is Love. Word is Feeling-Life is Commitment. Survival is Existence-Winning is Habit. Believing is Strong-Seen is Beauty. Ambition is Realised-Doubting is Weak. Genius is Simple-Obstacle is Goal. Happiness is Liking-Boredom is Waiting. Aspiration is Desire-Important is Technique. Advice is Taken-Climax is Journey. Searching is Enthusiasm-Victory is Exhilaration. Excellence is Quality-Artistic is Feeling. Pulse is Rhythm-Greatness is Responsibility. Moment is Beautiful-Conversation is Talk. Critique is Comment-Ignorance is Bliss.

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My April The First Fun write For 2017.

Subject: 

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Alcohol is known to cause many health problems, but new research shows it can affect stem cells too. 
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Regards:
Anthony Fry Jersey.

Conservation Of The Species. By: Anthony Fry Jersey.

Seasons approaching bud and blossoms dales colour.
Giddy goats on the grassy mountain pastures grazing.

We the hunter esteemed, barbaric pleasures seeking.
A kill that satisfies the gloat for blood, a wanton death.

They know not true undertaking for rights or wrongs.
Like a prime fool they travel ever aimlessly slaying life.

Total life in the streams and common brooks disrupted.
Unaccountable travelers all who shatter the brightness.

Decimating god's creations and beauty baffled, ouch!.
No stone left unturned in their sad unending quest.

Different mothers children. A life taken savagely away.
That evil eye seeking out and searching hide and seek.

Another species dying approaching recognized extinction.
Mansion walls adorned with a forest king deers antlers.

A walking stick from a roaming African bulls ivory tusks.
Varied warm slinky fox furs draping over for sale rails.

Alas faded Bengal tiger skins licking the hearths flames.
Take no prisoners echoes the radiant Spanish bullfighter.

Gods meek and mild creatures. Conservation must Prevail.

CICADA. By: Anthony Fry Jersey.

Beautiful songs sung by strangers, piercing echoes through long hot summer days.
Silent sunset, streaks of silky yellow light, a golden glow, passionate cool twists.
Sunlight yellow lichen-ed walls, intimacy secretly spiced with timeless possibilities.
White clouds building bridges, wonderful roads sailing from earth into blue sky.

Enjoying this cause in a quiescent period, their molt regeneration again begins.
A strategy called semelparity, lustily and greedily ready for their next resurrection. 
An echelon of thorny hedge rows, visions of warmth sitting in green juniper-trees.
Hurry we have no time for ease, a magic dream is wrought for instant release.

Returning as cultural prehistoric symbols, immortals enjoying their journey over again.
Behold merry voices, understanding their mood, after maturation for seventeen years. 
Never can enough female cicadas, satisfy this crazy behaviorism of hot intent males.
Individual loquacious voices echo, reasons right for deducing erotic sexual functions.

Esteemed in a maroon cloak, appearing on a shrub then shedding my garment. 
Timeless Greek history BC, folklore introducing bronzed semi-skin female beauty.
Imagination running wild a humble lady bug, in her ornate colored fancy rigmarole.
Chinese Myths spoken and written, stories about exotic treasures of reincarnation.

A females shiny brown shell, using her powers for future generations to survive. 
Manic mates pole dancing their way, into his red lust filled eyes of wanton greed.
Hordes of hungry genus magi-cicada, rapture their unison to sounds of gentleness.
Observers look in awe, as you give your life for your own light of a new morning.

During it's time above ground, busy male cicada resonates music from his abdomen.
Attracted by sounds and singing a spider, in his web so snugly, watching, waiting. 
The cicadas provocative appetite, an esteemed final showdown of sexual identity. 
With elfin wings, glamour of a lotus, humming back and fore making her offspring.

Aliens surviving on pure water, muses producing non stop for two weeks without food.
Female cicada flit like a dragonfly, patiently between scalloped branches inseminating.
A cicada nymph trembling, gently falls to warm dry earth from whence it first alighted. 
I bade thee feast at your delight till bursting, I will replenish myself a thousand fold.

Amongst ivory white weathered dry bones, snug and cosy from whence I have come.
Dancing and chattering garrulously cicada, invisibly engraved in dry earth tunnels.
Energy possessed from root sucking, an unending timeless aphrodisiac effect.
Life imbibing sap freely flowing, once more regenerating young limbs alive again.

Tyburn London's Fatal Tree, Twelve Solemn St Sepulcher's Bell Towles. By: Anthony Fry Jersey.

I confess corruption, placed in ranks of reprobates.
The death tree I see, my soul a tremble, I struggle.
A lone figure standing out, in the cold and dark of night.
I have been only corruption, and leader to confusion.
I have wasted my name, in goods unlawfully gotten.
Standing as an example, ending my days in repentance.
Repentance of my former sins, I would call upon God.
Forgiveness may descend, penitence of heart I desire.
I could be pardoned of heinous sin, which I committed.
Life which I gracelessly abused, my death a scandal.
Undeservedly having defied death, long before this time.
Then his eye welled forth a tear, holding not one regret.
Thousands died in a murky past, contriving Audrey's sparrow.
Seduced by raffish, but expensive delights of the Metropolis.
A penn'orth of curds and whey, my favorite comestibles.
Vibrant with activity, it was filthy, full of pestilential, jolly noisy.
Busy with conventicles, or clandestine meetings in Fetter Lane.
A Newgate hostelry, named, " The man loaded with mischief."
Knaves, fools, luckless dupes, a woman, a magpie, a monkey.
From Newgate prison to Tyburn, to mother Procter's pew.
Via the neckinger stream, underground at the elephant and castle.
The Church of the holy St Sepulchre, to Newgate Prison.
St Sepulchre's sexton, traversed a secret underground passage.
Twas heard twelve solemn bell towles, with double strokes.
To Jesus Christ our Lord, I commend receive your soul.
All of you, that in these Newgate condemned cells do stay.
Prepare you now, for tomorrow you shall pass on your way.
Listen all and pray, your last breathing hour is drawing near.
That you once more, before Almighty God must appear.
Examine yourselves careful, no time left for you to repent.
The windows dancing, with a devils warm fire, eternal flames.
St Sepulchre's bell towles, have mercy on your damned souls.
Your lone sole, shall not see another sunset past twelve strikes.
To God I commend thy soul, whither fly thou thy soul to hell.
Most died as obscurely, and hopelessly as they had lived.
I am accused and condemned to die, Lord have mercy on me.
The accommodating devils neck-cloth, a knotted rope for hanging.
They were turned off the ladder, and there hanged till dead.
Finally I hang here, on ye old London fatal Tyburn Tree.
And thus of you all, I take my leave of this world. Amen.