Sun-gold Island

I dream the gleam of your vanilla days

of coral sun and sea-flame spray

of turquoise surf in crescent bays

 

I dream the burst of wild orchids’ bloom

the rivers’ rush, the jungle tangle of bamboo

 

I dream the blue mist skies

and whisper wind of cinnamon nights

with air cane-sweet

and pineapple-ripe

 

Sun-gold Island

you call and my heart takes flight

to the green of your mountain steeps

that tumble to the sea

where trade winds sigh their tropic spell

of vanilla days and cinnamon nights

 

#Jamaica #NaturePoetry #TropicsandPoetry

It’s so quiet….

Early morning’s buffered light

taps softly against the peace.

 

Soon the full sun

will stretch from its own

satisfied sleep and burst forth—

all relentless energy

read to spend its glory

extravagantly upon the world.

 

But, for the moment, now

soothing soft, new-borning morning

whispers lovely songs:

little treasures to store against

the vibrant dim ends of day.

 

#MeditationPoetry

I heard an Aunt say, long ago

that she was happy she had only girls

No boys to go to war

 

She could not bear the thought

of battered bodies and broken bones

of the cold quiet of memorial stone

 

I saw her girls march off to unknown foxholes

O, was is hell, all right,

as Sherman said

 

It is of some, but little comfort

to me that my aunt was spared the pain

of knowing

that her girls marched to anguished drums

in silence felt the cannon fire

unseeing saw the blood run red

and wounded, fell in bombed-out shelters

with shattered hearts

 

O, yes, war is hell,

as Sherman said

Days

sun-burst

night stars swim

their eternal

rounds

 

While within

the cocoon

something changes

form

 

There spellbound

in trance-like

state, enfolded

sleeps

 

The

hidden

mystery

the chrysalid

heart

 

The

magic moment comes

when time-dreamed shell

parts

 

Then

wings forth

life, flight-light

unencumbered

FREE

Beautiful names of Yucatan,

Agua Azul and Kukulkan,

Land of the Swallow, Cozumel

lilting sounds in bell-like spell

in Spanish, English and Mayan they sing

dream-like songs beckoning

the arm-chair traveler whose heart thrills

to Loltun and City of Hills,

Palenque and Quintana Roo

calling, calling to one who

dreams and dreams with book in hand

of voyaging to an ancient land

with mammoth monuments ages old

and mysterious past in mystic hold

Chichen-Itza and Izamal

who could resist the luring call

of songs like birds winging time’s span:

the musical names of Yucatan.