and post notes and photos about your poem like Constance La France.
We boarded the Carnival Cruise in Miami with excitement,
our destination was Montego Bay- with a promise of great fun;
colourful reefs, tranquil waters, breathtaking vistas and sun,
pure white beaches, music, and I was soon swinging to reggae rhythms.
Taking a break to stroll on the promenade, I leaned over,
the railing for a view of the water below and then- I was falling;
the next thing I knew was that I was washed up on a beach,
I looked out to sea and there was no trace of the Carnival cruise ship.
I said to myself, don't panic, keep calm, go find some help,
walking the beach there was no evidence of any human life here;
this tropical island was uninhabitable, yet I heard birds calling,
and soon noticed I was being followed by a group of cute little monkeys.
It came over me that I was stranded, marooned, isolated,
on this lost tropical island, although beautiful, I felt a great doom;
it was then I decided to go inland and find some water to drink,
but found no spring or pond, but I saw that broad leaves held rain water.
So right away I knew that drinking water was not a problem,
then it was getting dark and I needed to find a shelter for protection;
that is when I noticed a natural cave entrance in a mossy hillside,
it was dark inside but seemed a perfect place for me to rest until morning.
I fell asleep quickly and dreamt of my days as a Girl Guide,
recalling some of the survival skills- that I had been taught once;
the next morning I went searching for food but found nothing,
except mushrooms, red berries, and roots- the monkeys were eating.
I figured if they could eat it, then I could too, and so I did,
suddenly I was covered by mosquito bites, ouch, I ran into the sea;
later that day I found a plant growing that I knew- lemon balm,
it had a strong lemony scent and picking the leaves I used them like a wipe.
In the days that followed I became a survivor- with a fire,
when I fell a glass pendent came with me and I placed it in the sun;
with twigs and leaves and soon had fire for a cooking and a signal,
I gathered leaves to use as bedding in my cave and days took on a routine.
Each day for years I kept the signal fire burning and prayed,
a sharp branch became a spear to hunt, a shell became my knife;
days, weeks, months, years passed- and then time mingled,
so old, my hair white, bone weary and tired, I went to my cave forever.
January 21, 2017
Copyright Protected, ID 17-867-746-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Tropical Island,
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2017