Excerpt
STILLNESS Invitingly, the sea shines her stars,captive flames within an impatient heartas darkness loads the pleasent isles with coarseness,slow sparks rise over a roaring fire.And strolling beaches near dawnwhen the sand fleas & crabs are seen to flee,one catches upon the imperfect stillnessa song of one - wind with seadrawning nearinward, such stars turnas bonds at lastworked free.
HEWANORRA The moon, at most a shudder or two away.The sky, bivouaked and cloudy, is within twin sloops of a bay.The lagoon opens, spars with the greater oceanby island hopping, green azure blue, asthe wind steps before an open sea.The great ridge of the mountainlies obscured by rain;jasmine, frequent colourand plantationswith cocoa, soursop, and cinnamon.Arawaks, Pelee,Carriacoi, Anegada,Josephine of the Creoles,let Admiral Rodney atone Lord Byng.And my Patois beauty,breath laced Oleander sweet -take the hemming from your dressthen come sit down with me.
THE INTRUDER The colouring of spacious flowers rove delicious to the eye.The road above the harbour fickle, carousing in its tendencyto pull too gray by sky enamelled water.The tropical foliage, still and languorous, to my touch.Each particle of sunlight dangling as if hoisted froma perfumed ledge.Newly mown grass in streaks, browns serpent-like acrossthe path.Low erogenous puffs of dust are swathed by passing feet.Near by, bushes wear the foliage of streaked mud as a mantlemight cottonwool at Christmas.Life in such climes is built on connotations rather than pureinnuendoes of purpose.The southern sky, the heat above the sea allude to this.This triumphant trilogy embossed upon volcanic slate, morecrumpled paper than firm land.Gravesides lying in twilight nakedness.The scion moon in her damaged vestry between acolyteclouds.Hamlets resembling clotted blood, nicks across an earmarkedhorizon.The poor, wavering to transfixed in their hotly owned sun;the one commodity they rightly possess.The outpouring sea, loosing herself in bridged inlets,countless points that nudge the land in acknowledgedsupremacy.The irrelevance of time, inbreeding of pale intruder.
DINNER AT EIGHT At times, I thought of swizzling white rumin the tropics (not as a vocation),dropping into the clubfor a round of tennisbefore dinner at eightor a quiet set of dartsbefore retiring.I had grown accustomed to my new routine(at least vicariously).In the best Somerset Maugham traditionI would dress for dinner,decline to be patronizing,avoid the potential slurif crisp linen did not appearregularly on my bed or table.I still found time to stopfor breakfast coffee,take a moment from regimento fondle fresh, wet flowers,look over the balcony at theblueness of the bay.The metaphysical qualities that comeinto play erode such morning somnambulations.The heat depreciated any vaingloriousattempts to lionize the native Caribbean rum.Tennis and darts become ho-hum,more of a task than a pleasant diversion....