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Louise Aug 29
My body is a tropical island
Full of wonders, views are grand
A spectacle of various rare terrains,
overwhelming for the unadventurous
and exhausting for the meager brains.
My body boasts of all the different
exotic textures and new colors,
something your waiting eyes
must be ready to marvel at.
My body takes pride on its
mountain-like curves;
not exactly the perfect shapes
but awe-inspiring, like a painting.
something your anticipating hands
has to feel thrilled to touch.
However, my body is also known
for its extraordinary yet abrupt movements;
scary for most and sensual for some.
Like earthquakes and typhoons,
you'll never know when the rhythms come.
Something your foreign familiarity
would either be thrilled or petrified about.
So I welcome you to this island of mine,
leave your worries back to the shore,
clear your soul and free your mind.
Leave exhilarated and in monsoon,
my rainforest flora forever in bloom.
Come... if you dare...
Louise Apr 29
I want to open my ports like never before
I want to welcome you into my shores
I spent months bending my trees
I spent weeks without sun or sleep
Until you came, my summer sky
I forgot about the heavy rains of december
I forgot about all the damages of november
I feel like I could even grow mountains
Like I'm brand new
I feel like an unnamed island again
Because of you

My new season
My summer sun
My rebirth
My new earth
Imagining Siargao Island as a living, feeling and walking being... like Te Fiti. She wakes up every once in a while just to write poems and hum songs.

Siargao is recovering and open again ❤🇵🇭
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2021
Of ***** roasting pans and racks and island fog!

if you love me, then you know poems wright themselves when standing, driving, bus riding, love-making and especially when
doing manly battle, ******* ***** dishwashing midst island fog

a passing remark goes noticed and summoned to a
Friday night feast, roasted fowl, wild rice with golden raisins and mushrooms, English spring peas, was it a Montrachet?

for dessert the washing up is obligation mine, a traditional desertion,
separation of church and state, her cooking a church  in which I worship, she states eloquently:
“Unto Caesaria , Render Her the cleanup”

this is hand to hand combat, no dishwasher mechanical
can scrub like the human hand, and with body english,
water hot, but no gloves employed for this is ***** man’s work,
not for sissies, cleaning roasting pans and roasting racks
that are at least twenty years burnt and crusted with a blackened
finish, residue of other lovers and dinners P.N. (pre-nat)

array three kinds of sponges and some human & metallic *****,
no one asking which came first,
the scrubbing away of life feasting residues,
or the poem writing that comes with pre & postscript sleepiness

when I say the dark stains and the grease buildup are
flavor enhancers, am beknighted with starry stares of
“how stupid do you think I am?” and sadly return to the
Battle of Agincourt, the one the American lost….



but they do source poems that flavor life

2020
*sometime last year?
Karijinbba Jul 2021
My lala sassy Coco beloved.
queens of purple heart mine.
to those loving me near or far.
~~~~~~~~~~~
And you sweetheart
You the awakened one when I fought to stay alive eons ago precioso mio.
Don't worry you woke me up
this thunderous hail winter
upon waking up opening my eyes
transforms to eternal spring.
And as the decades passed revealing so many secrets that you scattered of gold bars and treasures throughout Earth
for enchanted frog little me
in a tini pond destined to search you in your ocean

All treasures now conceived in thought understood grasped too late,
slide like water through my fingers
lost in inaction
Recaptured
in memory  thought apeacing me giving strength.

The mind makes everything that's gone very real.
Amorsitos, hermosos you have many names I know you by a few
my precious king of hearts
I own only my heart of gold
jewels are my kids all grown-up
I love your family jewels.
Cariños mios your hands your voice
the way you walk talk as if you sway me and visit me unexpectedly
and it happens often
~~~~~~
Lover long sun kissed limbed
It all lingers true and clear.
Any woman queen Angel or scribe
would go nuts just hearing your tantric sensual voice
but not the way like I can.
Holding your hands loving me imprinting me with
your fingers kissing your palm prints
all over my pristine remote
unexplored seashores.
In your Island for private
romantic lovers you and me
You must feel safe here dear
just a poetess dreaming of you.
My mind make it all real.
and it does again and again..
your voice bridges any gaps

Our dream breathes and lives
when I hear your voice you melt
me or freeze me evaporated me
I cry and laugh and hear God
speaking to me in your voice
it's all so amusing
And bittersweet
I miss and love you all so much
tini litt baby girls and boys mine
"I give my life to save yours
if only any of you ask, you wrote"
I love you adore you.
Te amo the amo.
~~~~~~
By Karijinbba
All rights Reserved
te camo yesterday today forever
Anne Apr 2021
You were already dead
by the time
I was planted in your soil.
Your story is one told to me
through grainy photographs.
Echoed whispers of
peripheral port cities.
Somewhere lovingly untouchable.
My home was once alive.

My stomach lurches
while picturing these
hollow streets,
once filled with laughter.
The harbour
bursting with smiles.
Each neighbour,
a family or friend,
usually both.

How I love this island!
The salted summer's breeze,
hand woven scarlet autumns.
Wild flowers dancing
atop cliff-sides,
free for us
to admire and absorb.
Absorb we did.

I swear my bones
are made of sea-glass.
How could they be
made of anything less?

In their stories,
you are a fairyland.
A cosmically unified olden wood,
dipped in Scotch
and swaddled in wool.

Yet your branches rot,
thinner and damper each year.
Soon the whispers
will be stale air.
No one will be left
to tell tales
of your beautiful youth.

Everything dies.
How I once wished to see
you in your prime.
Even in your postmortem existence,
you've given me
mud to stick my toes into.

I see you
melting into the sea.
I smell your flesh
being swallowed
by bottom feeders.
You are a wonder to me
all the same.
I can't imagine growing up somewhere more beautiful.
Kitten Yvad Apr 2021
I was made to habitate
a climate where it is always sticky;
high porosity frustrated curls soothed because it is always wet

skin bathed in citronella so that
only my love
is drawn to my sweat

verdant dense green tropical clime
God please watch over my people
as the earth acts as though
she is angry with them


and Volcanic Ash rains from their
tropical skies

HOW CAN I HELP THE VINCENTION PEOPLES IN THEIR MIDNIGHT HOUR?

GOFUND.me/90dbdc94
.
THE HUMANITARIAN CRISIS IN ST. VINCENT AND THE GRENADINES
news.un.org/en/story/2021/04/1090182


what's happening??!;

https://www.instagram.com/p/CNo2-OFnrtI/?igshid=1li0tvtu7iho0
                     from @thevitamindproject and              
                  @uksgvfriends.



where can I find out more?;

ukSGVfriends.org/blog, ukSGVfriends.org



How can I help?;
GOFUND.me/90dbdc94




St. Vincent in the Grenadines is in Crisis at 20,000 flee their homes. Many more attempt to stay behind though La Soufière isn't done
erupting. Please spread the word...
Lani Apr 2021
I have an island
I bet you think I'm rich.
I'm really not.

I have an island.
People come and go.
But I'm the only one who stays.

Boats come in and out,
drifting by.
I meet people for years, or for hours,
but I feel a loss as they go.

I am an island.
All alone.
People come and go.
They never stay long.

For them,
I'm a tropical vacation, a place to get away from their problems.

But I was made of a volcano.
I crumble with every wave.
Pieces of me break off.
But I try to remain

tropical.
I just feel like an uninhabited island sometimes.
I actually kind of like this poem.
Carlo C Gomez Apr 2021
~
From the initial dawning

lithium sky met infernal waters

and it all went awry

the light of happiness

constituted halos

leaving intimate words

paperclipped, tongue-tied

and love bruises

upon inner thigh

the wellspring enveloped

char and holm

with faint kissed alkali

abating the stormy umbrage

as if a softly whispered lullaby

and suddenly along this watermark

only you, me

and the need to multiply

~
Cardboard-Jones Mar 2021
The center of attention, she commands the room.
She’s on her own frequency, try to stay in tune.
She’s lookin’ like champagne, never coming down.
I never stood a chance.

She’s got eyes like the sunrise, a smile like July.
She speaks life with every word, no wonder I’m alive.
She’s smoother than champagne, she deserves her crown.
I won’t resist the trance.

Sweaty palms and a fever, how do I approach?
My feet left the ground now, I’m losing control.
Then she offers me champagne, a night on the town.
I need a heart transplant.
Strung Feb 2021
Heavy beast and heavy burden
Burned into growing feet,
a mile above all great sentiments of
Home, clouds settle into molds
Carved inside carnivorous minds.

There is no quadrant on this island
You could go
Where I could not see who you created
In me, fiery and dormant, whirlwind
Of silence and fear. I see you everywhere,
In every line on my face,
You exist.

I exist amongst a million cold dandelions in a weary field.
Inescablable youth, river stones wrapped to knarled knees
To ground me to three separate waterfalls,
All who whisper of the dead
To creatures who eat the love from out the backs of children’s heads.

I own a million fragments of a life
And nowhere have I found the one
Who makes them whole.
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