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Nat Lipstadt Jul 17
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

*sometime last year?
Karijinbba Jul 5
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
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 22
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 21
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


what's happening??!;
                     from @thevitamindproject and              

where can I find out more?;,

How can I help?;

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 19
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

I just feel like an uninhabited island sometimes.
I actually kind of like this poem.
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

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 24
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.
On a warm sunny day it's
So beautiful and bright in
Saba a Caribbean Island today
And the sun is shining
So warm and bright
And the sky is so blue
And bright
Oh and I'm smiling
Full of delight,

And it's so perfect
In Saba Island today and
It's such a perfect day today
And the sun is shining so bright
And the flowers are so
Beautiful too,

And while the bees
Swarm in the gentle breeze
And the birds are singing along
To my beautiful favourite love song and
Let us be like flowers in the sun
Smiling so beautiful and bright
And always turning to the warm sun light
And it's such a beautiful day
Today it's so sunny beautiful
And bright in Saba Island all
Day and all night.

David P Carroll.
Island 🏝️🏝️
big sleeper Jan 30
Two years on, the bank bought the house
Your mother tried but couldn't make the payments
I tried as I could but couldn't keep it going
So many memories just left to fade

No trace of life, no trace of a body
You just went clear off the edge of the earth
Didn't bring a map, didn't plan to come back
Did you suffer, Gillian?

There'll always be part of me that remembers
But I know that there's always something missing
I'll try to move forward from this loss
But how could I make sense of it all?

I've been holding it all together for too long now
So much so I've forgotten myself
Been trying to be stronger than I used to be
Rebuilding to learn to love someone else

Where does love go?
Where does it bleed out?
What can be done to stem the flow
What can quell the hurt, what can ebb the tide?

Where does love go?
Where does love lost get found again
When does it stop hurting so much?
Oh, does it ever really stop?

Can I try to make connections new
With the ghost of you
Still lingering 'round all I know?
Can I try to keep my heart aligned
And try to pretend I'm alright
With you still missing from my life?
from "the island", a selection from a larger body of work
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