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Flagler College Sunset-Dining Hall | by JamesWatkins
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Flagler College Sunset-Dining Hall

Formerly the Flagler Hotel...Henry Flagler originally built this as a winter resort for wealthy northern vacationers that wanted to get away from the snow...From here, he extended the railroads into south Florida and was therefore instrumental in opening up the lower part of the state for development.


Eventually the hotel was purchased and is now Flagler College...a fine arts college...with beautiful Mr. Flagler spared no expense in the buildings for his original clientele. there are many dramatic and expensive examples of fine craftsmanship from all over the world in these buildings, including the beautiful glass work, crystal, and chandeliers. It is a main tourist stop for visitors and tours are given daily...a magically designed place to me with many photo ops.


A Generation on Eve of Election (James Watkins)


This generation is stuck on the bulwark,

Frozen in headlights gathering stones-

Indiscriminate sons of the morning,

Atrophied assets with merits unknown.


Set in the light of internal combustion,

Self deprivation, contiguous bones-

Crushed in the conflict

Of rising occasion,

Lost in the moment

The monument grows.


Dancing with moonlight,

Moonbeams in starlight,

Ridiculed remnants that rattle and roll-

Quixotically quoted in

Careless convention,

National parlance

Of future payrolls.


Pay for the privilege,

Pose for the prattle,

Pause for refreshment,

That causes the cure.

Simple deliverance in

Smokescreen obedience,

Rationale railways

That run on the ruins.


Come to the purpose in patriot persuasion,

Stand in the gap with righteous reward,

Fly in the face of cupcake convention,

Pulses of power that pull

At the thorns.


Hold fast in fear; don’t fall at the junction,

Waste away weather maps

Conjugal forms-

Failing at formats with frogs in the foyer,

Padded with passive, political porn.


Packed into parlors with pigs of persuasion,

Multiplied monsters fixed to the floor-

Pass on to poundings of crux congregations,

Critical mass for the petrified poor.


Crept in concealment configured in catacombs,

Built on the fragments of families forlorn-

Terrified teamsters with tales of their talisman,

Tickled and tortured, then swamped by the storm.


Fancy faced forecasts with fabricate filters,

Lies at the bottom where captives are shorn-

Files of the caveat castaway cheviots,

Horns of the altar now cut to the stone.


Sanctified delegates step to floor-

Out on the borders, go right for the snore.

Sniping at mystical magical merchandise,

Mopping up munchkins with heroes galore.


Gift of gab purposeful prophets in paradise,

Parabolic poetry prose-

Deft and defiant in damaged delusion,

Filled up with ideas but stuck in the door.


Pamplified pollsters perched on the pedestal,

Pale prognosticates barren and bored-

Doubters and doers and leaders and lovers,

Catch me the top of the hour has flown.


Dudley dead do-rights don’t come down a crashin’

Cackling crackers conducive to scorn,

Capped out and crapped out

In Wall Street enduros,

Boiled down to futures and factual whores.


Just enough knowledge to keep them from happiness,

Just enough money to keep them enthroned,

Just enough polish to keep each one sparkling,

Just enough selfishness keeps them alone.


James Watkins 09-02-08

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Taken on October 8, 2009