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Stephen E Yocum Oct 2013
The Island Moorea,
backpacking Tahiti,
In the heat, the sun,
The rhythm of my footfalls
crunching loose gravel road,
The swish of pack swaying
in conert to my measured pace.

Breeze pushing branches of Palm,
Ocean waves breaching shoreline long.
Island vehicles passing, occupant's laughing,
a man laboring under large pack, alone walking,
Who could have been freely riding,
Unthinkable to Island Folk,
in hot tropical places.

Some humble homes pasted along the way.
Greetings exchanged with smiling faces there.
Not long afterward a new sound approaching,
crunching gravel, rolling up behind me.

A lovely young girl, perhaps nineteen,
long brown naked legs bike a peddling.
Hair jet black, long to her waist, wearing
a sarong, split up the side,
Shoulders bare and brown.
Dark eyes of wonder, sparkling of youth.
A radiant smile adorning a splendid face.

We went for a time at my even pace,
looking and smiling each in our place.
"Hello there," I said, she giggled, beamed
even bigger. Perfect teeth displayed.

"Why you walk?" She asked in heavily
accented puzzlement.

"To get to where I'm going". I replied
This response producing a pleasant laugh
from the girl. In which I too joined in.

"You go One Chicken?" She asked
I stopped then and turned to her.
"Where is One Chicken?" I questioned
with a grin.

She raised her graceful arm,
one finger pointing up the road.
"One Chicken there," she informed.

It was a store/bar, sort of place,
In the very midst of nowhere.
Indeed, more than one chicken roamed,
Many chickens did and a pig or two,
mingling free and doing their thing.

We entered out of the bright daylight,
into the deepest of darks,
Like in a movie theater, when arriving late.
Eyes adjusting slowly to what lay ahead.

A few Island Beers later,
I had acquired several new friends,
The girl my invitation to the party of
already happy people a little drunk on beer.
The Music was mostly of French persuasion,
With a bit of Bob Dylan thrown in.
The Beatles also had a tune or two.
The Liverpool beat resounding down Tahiti way.

Before the light did fail, I shouldered my pack
and walked some distance from Chickens and Pigs.
Found the beach, hung my Hammock for the night.
Built a small fire and opened a can of Spam delight.

She appeared again about ten,
looking beautiful in the new moonlight.
Newly washed hair, still damp and
smelling fresh of Lilacs,
Or some such aromatic scent.
We did not speak, no words were needed,

Made love on the sand, 'till the retreat of the
tide and sand ***** did come out, in their
eerie numbers, to eat what was at hand.
I suppose even us if we let them.

We retired then both to my hammock,
A pretty neat trick if you can swing it.
And we did.

She was so childlike and yet,
very much a woman grown.
There was no pretense shown,
no false inhibitions rendered.
These were not limitations of her culture.
people that respond to their emotional impulses.
An open and free spirited people living
passionately within each minute.

It all felt more akin to a dream than real,
All around me there was beauty,
Loving and being loved without hurry,
Free of guilt or even a single expectation.
Living in that wondrous moment,
of uncomplicated human splendor.
Like some Garden of Eden surrender.
A real life Gauguin painting.

In the morning, we swam in the sea,
frolicked like kids having a day at the beach.
Made love in the sand, I dozed in the sun.
Upon awaking she was gone.

I waited an hour or two, packed up my camp,
shouldered my load and returned to the road.
A few minutes later, again I heard the now
familiar crunch of rubber tires,
rolling road surface and there she was,
a straw basket in her Bike's basket,  
A huge smile on her unforgettable,
beautiful face.

We sat in a grove of trees,
among birds singing, in sight of the sea,
Upon a Palm log and ate fresh bread and
fruit. Drank strong black coffee (French Roast
I presume,) nibbling some marvelous cheese.
We tried to talk, but she understood little of
what I tried to say, my French was nearly
nonexistent, only adding to confusions sake .

She leaned her head on my shoulder,
the way lovers do and tenderly held
my hand within her two,
As if not wanting to let go,
Those gestures said all there was to say,
And we savored each silent moment.

We parted there, she on blue, rusty bike
and me on "shanks mare",
Off in two different directions,
Each out into the depths of our own lives,
Gone just like that. . . And yet,
Indelible, never to be forgotten or replaced.
Some days and nights, that young maiden of
Moorea does still visit me, in dreams as real
as can be. She never grows old, nor does the
beauty we shared for that one brief moment in
time immortal.

Someplace among the Islands of Tahiti
there is a woman in her sixties, most likely
a Mother, even a Grandmother yet living.
I hope she recalls as fondly the American blond
man with the big Orange Backpack, that in 1972
she met upon the road, near "One Chicken" and
loved freely and completely for two days and a
night, as that man does so fondly remember her.
I've been through this before,
You think I won't catch on.
I pay attention,
Its not that hard to see.

One minute you give me the world,
The next you hardly give me a glance.
I make the effort,
You used to do that too.
You give me excuses,
Now we hardly talk.

I knew it was too easy,
Too good to be true.
I was waiting for the other shoe to drop,
And it did.

I'm not going to beg,
I deserve more than a read text.
If you won't put in the effort,
Then neither will I.

I gave you chances,
The benefit of the doubt.
You showed your true colors,
And their nothing but darks.

I thought we clicked,
Felt a spark as we talked.
I opened up to you,
Slowly but surely..
You even stopped
No longer cared
Now we're here.

I thought we could have been more,
But I deserve a better man.
A man who makes the effort,
And manages their time.
I tried with you,
I really did....

I don't care for liars,
Despise dishonesty.
You can lie to my face,
But I knew you were a liar.

There's nothing more to give,
I doubt we'll talk again.
Those sweet words,
As empty as the air.

Don't bother now,
I started moving on from you.
Tomorrow will be a new day,
And a new possibility for love.
There's a whole display
Of an infinite array
The tither and tather
Please don't wither and wather
You are you unique and true
Don't compare yourself like a fool
They say to own your shade
Represent and hold pride
But in pride do they anguish
Failing to distinguish
The few unique colors
The shadow and darks
May we befriend them in Stark
Let us taste and feel the contrast
Without leaving my eye palette too abrash
Own your shade
Be-Dazzled in contrast
RJP Jan 15
The long walk to stop death tonight.
Could do it blind, done it a hundred times.
Staving off sleep to halt the long dream,
Becoming breathless so breath can be free.
Strange looks from empty taxis
And the figures hiding amongst the black trees.
Lone strides through the mist of moonlessness,
Streetlamp stars guiding the way,
Guiding through the pain.
The weight of morality clinging to eyelids and footstep speed,
Interrupting darks quiet and normality.
The long walk what pushes it on;
The thought of a guilt-full eulogy,
What more could I have done.
Medusa Apr 8
maybe you, only you, why not you
when you broke me open it worked
too well all the runes spilled out like
thirst onto wet blossoms nothing
could make me take it back

given in is a given when there is no body
here there is always a touch hinting at more it is your hands
it is your eyebrow it is just a passing river dream
of years now in a rock cleft where fingers can
explain one hand, one hand will become a life

still stuck clinging for no reason other than the love of
that perfection inside the frilled ridge
oyster to my lips a shell within my moist
center where nothing must be cast out
until ultimate description unites

darkness visible to my ***** imagination
there will I lie to call back possibilities
no longer tame, not ours perhaps yet
nothing stops my train on fire bursting
through all your darks at once

immediate remote altitude
love full of goat head stickers without
brakes until someone will explode into stars
before bewildered eyes who refuse to see
remember, or explain because they have gone

mute
Teairra Mar 13
It all made since
Still I complained, about the pain
Mostly due to the thoughts
I tend to reminisce    
I do this so very often
Slowly leaning over into my own coffin
If I fall in, make sure to wash my face
Mix water and sunlight until it reaches
The finest paste,
My whole life’s been a race against time
Who’s in love with space.
and against time with a steady pace
I’ve watched myself come to be by a certain grace, and when I go I’ll be by a lake locked into the sunset as it sets into its ways.
An everlasting routine with minor delays on light which takes form as the darks mysterious maze of colors that only seem to pop up then fade.
Laura Jul 2018
Somewhere along the narrow path,
I dream of what I cannot have.
Lushes and blooms fill the gravels
whisking away at scared ankles.
Skies scream of consistent mellows,
drowing about my broken trebles.
The winds of change play their harps,
but I am singing past their darks.

— The End —