Wherein Christine and five other friends visited the U. S. Virgin Islands and experienced much fun in the sun. (While getting mildly burned…)
Arriving on St. Thomas
Round we go,
Up that hill,
Then down the back;
Crank the turn,
Then drop down low,
Big tall hills,
House perched high within the trees,
Down we go,
This roads too thin for passing–
Jeez! Holy crap!
That guy’s too close,
We’re up too high!
That cliff’s too near…
We’re gonna die,
Please tell me why we came out here?
There’s the house,
Up so high,
My gosh, the view…
Let me out,
I want to see.
A breezy room…
I love it!
Oh please, let me stay,
In paradise within the clouds,
A place to rest,
Oh, heartfelt sigh,
One thing’s missing…
My something best–
–My sole request,
The reason why I came out here,
My tidal Soul,
The womb of all, from where we grow,
Where is it?
Where, oh where?
Oh, where’s the Ocean?
* * * * *
(This sonnet is dedicated to Bonka, Jess, and 3 nameless males.)
Motion sickness is my new nemesis,
I never thought such torture could exist;
All around me stomachs flop in anguish,
In spite of pills, the queasies still persist;
With every car or boat or plane or swell
A body falls to ground in dizzy plight;
With every turn or bump or dip, pell mell,
A tummy’s clutched, ad nauseam, to fight;
“How did it come to be, this woe?” I cry,
“Why should it pass this sword untimely strikes?
A battle ground, where sprawling moans long lie
Pervades my sight, defeating Joys and Likes.”
I’m quite annoyed; You see, there’s naught to do,
When everyone gets sick, except for you.
* * * * *
Oh, that Bushwacker really kicked my ass,
Kahlua, vodka, and a something strange…
You might think my language now is quite crass,
But I don’t care; I’m in the Tipsy range;
My great grandma used to be quite a lush
In roarin’ days, with hidden Irish blood,
I’d follow suit, but my thirst turns to mush
After one drink, a lightweight, drinking dud;
But it was good, that tasty Island drink,
Masking the alcohol with sugar’d charm,
Creme de Cacao, with hazelnut, I think…
A nutty bite to vitalize the … Zarm;
That’s not a word, but I don’t care. You see,
I had a drink, and I’m feeling silly.
* * * * *
Memory of Tomorrow
Did I really come here once,
When I was young?
So long ago, when I was still in school?
Was the air this grey with morning haze,
The waves so large and dangerous,
I think, perhaps it was,
Though I noticed only the crowded shoreline
And piled up resort shops.
The hotels and jabbering taxis.
I welcomed the ferry ride,
Taking me away from the noise and strangeness,
The cramped city feel,
Taking me to the smaller island,
With its smaller roads and crazier taxis,
And its National Park,
Where everything was greener and less drab,
And wild lizards flickered up the walls in droves,
Dozens of twitching tails and tilting heads,
Tempting me to catch.
But I didn’t.
Because it was a park, and the lizards weren’t for touching,
Not like the sights and sounds of birds
Flying thru azure skies,
Or fish swimming thru Cerulean shoals
And drifting, weightless, in the reefs,
Or the sea shells, nestled jewel-like in the sand…
So I took a shell. But only one.
One conch, a perfect miniature of its elder parents,
Gone before its time, yet young enough to fit in pockets…
And one piece of coral.
A bone-white lace of calcium skeleton
Grown naturally in a circle,
Just right for twining into a necklace.
I still have it.
I have them both.
My Ocean treasures…
And I wonder,
When we go tomorrow,
When we take that ferry to that smaller island
And walk its trails and drive its crazy roads,
When we dip our senses in its reefs and shoals,
Will the colors be as bright?
The lizards as fast?
Will the stray cats and donkeys wander past
Like they once did,
Trailing magic, and the promise of something new?
Something I’ve never seen before?
Will I find a bright dress and perfect shell,
That warms my thoughts and paints tropical sunsets in my mind,
After I get back?
Will I find a piece of coral to match,
And finally make,
* * * * *
The heat and I do not get along well,
My body temp just fails to regulate.
A summer day ‘midst bright sun is my Hell.
Give me some shade; In windy dark I’ll wait;
And yet, blue water is my favorite friend,
Beneath the waves you’ll find me drifting long;
The Ocean’s grasp has ever been my end,
It’s wat’ry chill has never done me wrong;
Why should it be my comfort lies at Sea,
When on the land the breath of Men must dwell?
Why should the cold of Neptune’s kiss thrill me,
When others run to shiver in Sol’s Hell?
I’m like a fish, that cannot be denied,
And yet no scale or fin graces my pride.
* * * * *
That Poverty should link its arm with Wealth
And bow beside, subsisting at the beck,
Defies right thought and brings to question health
Of right and deed, displaying culture’s wreck;
That ill squalor should turn cheek with false smile
Simply because strong affluence draws near,
That Human nature subjugates its bile
To seek out scraps, when plenty should be here;
The Great Divide, which we allow to grow,
Twixt those who have and idolize the ‘Me’
And those who lack, who carry on the show
Of worshiped brass: It is a Travesty.
Exploiting Men to sate a gorging Greed,
Or Enabling; Neither is worthy deed.
* * * * *
I’d forgotten how much I love the Sea,
The cresh of waves, swelling then stretching thin,
The gentle tug that pulls while tempting me
To take that step, embrace, and fall fast in;
The quiet thrum that beats within my breast,
Slowing its time to counterpoint the long
Pervasive drum, which echoes through each crest
Like silent breath and resonating gong;
The surging strength that whispers how to move
And glides along all listeners who hear,
‘Fore stopping short; A mandate to behoove,
That none can fight, lest chaos choose to leer;
O balm of Soul, silent embracing heart,
O boundless Sea, I pain that we must part.