My island is not really my island, but for the short period of time I lived there as a teen, I fell in love with the rather small rock in the middle of the Caribbean, and I’ve never forgotten St. Croix. Right now, she is being battered by the winds and rain of Hurricane Maria, and I have been and continue to pray that loss of life will be zero, and there will be some sort of miracle as far as damage goes.
It was on St. Croix that I first experienced that painful ache of viewing something of indescribable beauty, and the overwhelming desire to record it and remember it as best I could. It was on St. Croix that I really started flexing my poetry muscles with any sense of satisfaction. Keep in mind, what I share below was written by a fifteen year old teenager. At the time I thought it was pretty awesome. And now as I wait for news, as I wait for answers to my prayers, I read these words written almost forty years ago and remember.
Twilight Sea
Silver moonlight,
Diamonds scattered
By a careless hand
Across the waters.
Cool winds,
Scents of hibiscus,
Ginger thomas.
Peaceful winds,
Quiet shadows,
Gently moving palms,
Swaying flamboyant trees.
Cool winds,
Peaceful winds,
Bring the spirit
Of a twilight sea.
(1979)
Turquoise in Portrait
The ocean:
A turquoise stone
Melted into fluid motion,
Waves capped with
Ivory froth,
Ivory that is swallowed
By the turquoise sea
And comes forth
On the next wave,
Undaunted.
(1979)
The Lonely Ruin
Turquoise, sky blue, deep purple
Blended together in a velvet sea
Washing golden white sands.
Long, stony road
Through tangled vines and
Tall mahogany trees of an ancient rain forest.
Clearing in the forest —
Ragged, crumbling vine covered walls,
Hundreds of years having stood.
Silent ghosts roam the halls
Open to the skies.
Gentle rains wet the floors
That have known the tread
Of the elite dwellers
Of a bygone day.
Worn path leading away
Through hibiscus and sea grape tree
To a rocky, jagged cliff.
Below,
Turquoise, sky blue, deep purple
Blended together in a velvet sea
Washing rocky, jagged shores.
(1979)
Tuning into Memories
Every song brings back
The memories of a distant age,
Where life held no requirements
On the spirit.
In my ear’s memory, I hear
The fading strains
Of our favorite band, Styx,
And the delicate taste of
Orange Lipton tea still lingers
On my tongue, while the
Click of backgammon die
Quietly punctuates the
Heavy heartbeat of the “Renegade.”
Those were such fine days,
The sun streaming down on
Your pale green shag;
I stretched like a sleepy Siamese,
And you accused me of
Laziness.
We raced down the hill to the courts
To play a game of one-on-one,
While Dennis and Dave sat in the red Datsun,
Feet on dashboard,
Ears keenly attuned to Pink Floyd dreams.
Sweat beads formed on your lip,
And I asked if you wanted a Coke.
As we walked toward the rec hall
Beneath the sea grape trees,
A breeze smelling of salt
Cooled us and made us long for Cane Bay.
(1980)
A Scribbler & A Shutterbug 