POETRY
Posted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:27 am
Island, by Charles Carreon
She beckons to you
Come, come --
Come to where she lies,
Her body like a curving island
Lapped by foam
Springs of fresh water flow,
Warm ocean breezes blow,
Ripe fruit droops, waiting
To be picked,
Bright plumed birds watch from
hanging branches;
More brilliant even than the
fragrant orchids
Come, she beckons to you,
Come, to where she lies,
Her body to a slope of glowing amber
Turned by sunset dyes.
A voice, as mystical as that
of circling seabirds
Sounds in silence
As ponderous as the sound
of crashing waves,
Come, she cries
To the end of the earth --
Across the sea of curling waves
to me,
To where all treasure lies,
And beckons with her silent eyes.
She beckons to you
Come, come --
Come to where she lies,
Her body like a curving island
Lapped by foam
Springs of fresh water flow,
Warm ocean breezes blow,
Ripe fruit droops, waiting
To be picked,
Bright plumed birds watch from
hanging branches;
More brilliant even than the
fragrant orchids
Come, she beckons to you,
Come, to where she lies,
Her body to a slope of glowing amber
Turned by sunset dyes.
A voice, as mystical as that
of circling seabirds
Sounds in silence
As ponderous as the sound
of crashing waves,
Come, she cries
To the end of the earth --
Across the sea of curling waves
to me,
To where all treasure lies,
And beckons with her silent eyes.