in rolling wave
of rippled tongue,
foaming at the mouth
to the parch
of a hungry shore.
"Too cold," he said,
from the mouth of Jersey,
"not fit for swimming...
those oceans of the Pacific."
Hah.. I thought, while
stepping into my
shrunken shadow,
as the curling nip
of a dappled lick
lapped my toes.
A cool, clear stride into
the shallow, with the
burnish of orange plaited
bamboo, and nippled puck
of green flapping appendage
lurked as a scrimshaw
pattern etched on bone.
I plucked the vilified tangles
of eww, and waved the slimy
waxen fronds overhead
to a voo-doo beat
of the drums
of sacred drone.
Then gliding as a feckless
and freckled purpose,
kicking in twisted
dance, waves frolicked...
then lifted me to
greater heights of jump
than could be
rendered on the grainy patch
of a sun kissed beach.
Bravo! This is fantastic. I just love this stanza:
ReplyDeleteA cool, clear stride into
the shallow, with the
burnish of orange plaited
bamboo, and nippled puck
of green flapping appendage
lurked as a scrimshaw
pattern etched on bone.
The words feel so good in the mouth and the images are tangible and so original... wow.
Testament to the strong woman, of whom sailor's dreams created beautiful delicate art.
ReplyDeleteI have no idea of the number of times I have read this one. Fantastic word play here! Keep writing!!!
ReplyDeleteThanks Ajey... I will keep writing, I can't help myself.
ReplyDelete