ghost of calypso
I …
stand ‘neath
a moon-barren sky, sketching mind-lines
between suns to shape the
constellations
doing all I can to forget … her
like a ghost missing breaths …
I try to draw the same on
the oily black ocean that wraggles below
but the chop defies my efforts
and I can’t tell where
star reflections end and beach begins
for the diamonds of Sperrgebiet are so white -
so colorless - that they
shimmer and dance, even in the
black of midnight
like fallen shards of the Milky Way
frosting the dunes with light …
it was a night just as this
(but ages ago now)
that I first saw her shape saunter from the sea
husk as white as ivory
but hair like strands of obsidian
and eyes of emeralds
lit with the green fire of her blood -
a magic of her passions far
beyond the grasp of my understanding …
still, they called to me
beating like Thor’s hammer in my chest
and though I was far from shore
and huddled in the shadowy dune reeds
those eyes fixed upon me
and her gaze, like fat fingers of fealty
wrapped about me and pulled
and in an instant I was
at her feet
my lips upon that fairest flesh in adoration -
a fool and his Byzantine princess
setting proper boundaries …
but this was not a normal sort of
posturing for me
and though I continued to be moved by
some unseen compulsion
(and physically fighting to be free of it)
my mind was quite at ease
and somehow understood that I
was in no danger
and was, in fact, exactly where
I should be …
the rest of the encounter was far too
intimate to relate here
and too precious to me to ever share
but as the nighttime and courting passed
it was constantly interrupted by
brief interludes where
her voluptuous pale form would dash off to
collect diamonds from the sand
and when she returned each time they
were twined delicately through
her raven tresses
and this, somehow, intensified her
sensuality and heat
building to a state where my mind and body had
reached a sort of nirvana
and I no longer knew or cared
who or what I was …
the last I remember,
when my clarity had thus returned
was the dazzled white of her smile as she
slowly backed her way into the
inky, churning surf
hair aglow with a swirled mass of
glistening diamonds
and creamy skin slowly swallowed
by the brine …
well …
I returned every night for weeks
despite the possibility of being shot on sight by
the Tsau Khaeb guards
(who quite valued their gems)
but she … never returned
and every few years I would make the
long trip to Namibia again
if only just to reassure myself that it
had been real
but just like this divinely deep night
I would hide in the jade grasses of the dunes
and the stars would shine
the waves would churn
the beach would shimmer
and nothing would emerge from the sea
but the thunder of breakers
and my longing …
for a dream.
Copyright © 2025 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with GALA AI software )
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