Eyeshine

Excerpt

STILLNESS

Invitingly, the sea shines her stars,
captive flames within an impatient heart
as darkness loads the pleasent isles with coarseness,
slow sparks rise over a roaring fire.

And strolling beaches near dawn
when the sand fleas & crabs are seen to flee,
one catches upon the imperfect stillness
a song of one - wind with sea
drawning near
inward, such stars turn
as bonds at last
worked free.

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 ocean
by island hopping, green azure blue, as
the wind steps before an open sea.

The great ridge of the mountain
lies obscured by rain;
jasmine, frequent colour
and plantations
with 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 dress
then 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 tendency
to pull too gray by sky enamelled water.
The tropical foliage, still and languorous, to my touch.
Each particle of sunlight dangling as if hoisted from
a perfumed ledge.
Newly mown grass in streaks, browns serpent-like across
the path.
Low erogenous puffs of dust are swathed by passing feet.
Near by, bushes wear the foliage of streaked mud as a mantle
might cottonwool at Christmas.

Life in such climes is built on connotations rather than pure
innuendoes of purpose.
The southern sky, the heat above the sea allude to this.
This triumphant trilogy embossed upon volcanic slate, more
crumpled paper than firm land.

Gravesides lying in twilight nakedness.
The scion moon in her damaged vestry between acolyte
clouds.
Hamlets resembling clotted blood, nicks across an earmarked
horizon.
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 acknowledged
supremacy.
The irrelevance of time, inbreeding of pale intruder.

At times, I thought of swizzling white rum
in the tropics (not as a vocation),
dropping into the club
for a round of tennis
before dinner at eight
or a quiet set of darts
before retiring.

I had grown accustomed to my new routine
(at least vicariously).
In the best Somerset Maugham tradition
I would dress for dinner,
decline to be patronizing,
avoid the potential slur
if crisp linen did not appear
regularly on my bed or table.
I still found time to stop
for breakfast coffee,
take a moment from regimen
to fondle fresh, wet flowers,
look over the balcony at the
blueness of the bay.

The metaphysical qualities that come
into play erode such morning somnambulations.
The heat depreciated any vainglorious
attempts to lionize the native Caribbean rum.
Tennis and darts become ho-hum,
more of a task than a pleasant diversion....