Lagoon
Salty pools of mint tepidity
lick my ankles, and cleanse my toes.
The tide subsides, and leaves behind
The silver sided friends
Flapping wildly beneath lush canopies
The jungle in my mind.
Feverish in sleep,
Circus freaks visit me in my dreams,
and tell me their darkest
and innermost secrets
Betray their identities,
and reveal themselves as fearful enemies
My terrors walking and talking
Soothing me,
and crying into drinks bought
with the last of my money.
This strict confusion has been with me
For some time
Beside me, advising me,
Telling me that the vast and ancient gardens
are nothing more than blank and sad canvases
held right at my nose.
That I am the reluctant artist,
That they were mine to colour as i so wished,
And afraid to make a mistake,
something short of a masterpiece,
I see only
A cursed dry mirage and nothing more.
Beware that illusion,
that would end the life of the most holy sages,
finishing them in a rage
of babbling eros and desire.
Plenty have supported the arguments for
that misplaced fanaticism,
And cashed them in.
The husks of vessels gone before
lay half submerged, rotting
and looted all around,
sails in tatters,
in an unending sea of mangrove islands,
concealing viscious creatures
that dwell in the shallows
just below the surface
and coax me to the sirens.
What riches lay beyond, I am told,
in wild and full abundance I am led to believe.
How the boughs weigh down heavily with Plums?
Alas they are dented and shrivelling;
their perfect black skins
pulled inwards in multiple concavities;
Hues of rich purple,
fizzling out to powder blue,
catching the light on the crescent edges
of concealed rot.
The perfection of a water droplet’s
Sphericality intact ‘til it reaches,
disturbing in exact ripples,
placid crystal volumes of salty brine,
tinged with the sweat
of the trouserless shins
of shipwrecked seamen
a hundred or so more like me.
Old world masters, schooled in many subjects
Come to my side and align your truths
For the faith you rejected
is now all that we have
In this most trying and
difficult period of our lives,
Since our mothers hath borne us
into these worlds.
How lonely I am and sadly I weep
in forgotten corners of this island!
How empty my resolve!
In nothing is there solace,
As all those who have found their way
over the shorebreak,
have done so by losing me,
Or so it seems.
(2011)
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