Best Islands Poems
A while ago I read
an article
about the people of the Marshall Islands,
about their language,
their history,
their fragile,
disappearing
home.
I learned about
a word they have,
so versatile,
so complex.
“Iakwe” means
hello,
goodbye,
I love you.
But the most important meaning
(to me at least):
You are a rainbow.
And,
like the rainbow people
in the Marshall Islands,
you are beautiful;
you are worth waiting for
and worth searching for
(so let no one tell you differently).
You have powers inside you
that maybe you can’t see yet
because your light
and your prism
haven’t met.
You have the power
to even brighten someone’s day.
So maybe you might not appear
until after the rain;
no big deal!
You are no less beautiful.
Iawke.
Hello.
Goodbye.
I love you.
You are a rainbow.
Christmas on the pacific islands where it's summer everyday
is all about families, friends, joy, love and foods
Though we are many islands and ocean divided
We are forever united with one God
Some small islands may not have
the Christmas colorful lights but in all honesty
they have the best blinking sparkling
twinkling dazzling star lights
they're beautiful in their dramatic and
eye catching lights like no others
We celebrate the birthday of Jesus
in our unique and organic island ways
We always say Merry Christmas
It's never about the material gifts
It's all about the warm joy of Christmas
Singing in tunes or out of tunes
we are clapping our hands
side stepping moving along to the rhythm
We sing joyfully loud in His name
Born is the King our savior
Praising Him highly
Thanking Him humbly
Lifting up our hearts to Him fully
Everyone is glee on life
Everyone is glowing with joy
Everyone shake hands to forgive those
with guilts, dislikes or with differences
Everyone shares a hug or two to embrace
love from one to all
Every woman is wearing flowers in their hair
Every man is wearing leis around their necks
as it is an island style and proudly so
Everyone is wearing bright new cloths and
shoes but mostly sandals for the ladies or
flip flops preferably for the sandy areas
It's a day of joyful to spend with loved ones
Kids playing freely and cheerfully
Sharing fresh organic local foods and
coconut juices
Naturally alcohol free but drunk on Merry
Partying till the stars are twigging out
Collapsing with satisfying hearts
And this is how we celebrate Christmas
on the Pacific islands... Smile!
Written by Akkina R Downing
12-1-16
Amidst these inlets and islands
Lies a land of a patriot nation
Where clans decree their might
Together in mixed relation
From the Lowlands to the Highlands
Family names of a forgotten past
Deliver us to their present
For these surnames are here to last
Sunrises and sunsets have so greeted
Many a morn and an eve has been seen
To be born into such a nation
Through their eyes, you see just your dream
For to be born on the land of the heather
Through Glens of bracken and fern's
Birthed into one of their clans
Your first breath you have duly earned
Amidst these inlets and islands
Lies a land of a patriot nation
Where clans decree their might
Welcome to Alba, the ultimate creation
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/ed-unitsky.php
Sun blazed;
Crystal clear
Skies, sparkle
Diamonds of
True beauty bliss...
Jamaica Islands
Exports with "JAH LOVE",
NO DISCRIMINATION.
SO Break-Out the tanning-oil
and beach towel kick-off
your shoes, let your
Hair down N' hang- loose...
For awhile.
Take A swim to refresh
Your mind and feel relaxed
Sand tickling your toes.
Peacefully and Enjoy Life:
For "JAMAICA ISLANDS IS;
HERE TO STAY...." WE ARE
ALL ONE BIG FAM AT JAMAICA
ISLANDS!!!"
Written By:
SWEET N' SOUR= CARMA
06-24-12
A Tribute to a great poet n' writer:
RICHARD PALMER THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT
SOUP " FAM" TO THE END....
Entered in contest Letting your hair down
Sponsored by: Yasmin Khan
Seaweed, fragmented shell as cannonballs
in maelstrom hurled upon the shore.
The bellowing wind cast all asunder
as Summer’s shoots from shifting sand were torn.
Such was Autumn’s storm.
The sleet was blown in horizontal sheets
as figures double-bent fought step by step
to make but little progress, homeward bound.
The sky was lost in billowing grey, forlorn.
Such was Winter’s storm.
Relentlessly the wind swept off the ocean
with yet more rain to swell the sodden peat.
A daily deluge on embattled land,
with hope yet stirring seeds of life newborn.
Such was Springtime’s storm.
The grey skies shift to blue, and now a breeze
is heralding a longed-for transformation.
With rainbow colours Mother Earth is blessed
and all the islands of the west caressed, reborn.
Sweet Summer knows no storm.
*Image of Kaihalulu Red Beach by Pinterest.
The Painted Islands
The beaches brushing Hawaii's sea blues,
in and of itself are impressive track,
perceptive picturesque color-filled views.
Like some isles, Punalu'u beach is black.
Elsewhere here, famed Kahena, sandy scene
aloft cliff's vista that aligns its back.
Punalu'u nears southernmost, you've been
in the whole USA, there lies a spread
called *Papakolea ... fanned sands of green.
Though, appropriate they're olivine, said
by officials. On Maui isle, clashed sights
of gorgeous Kaihalulu bursting red.
Truly tourist ere and now, best grade cites
isles to isles, and A-Plus our sandy whites.
2022 July 21
FIVE STANZA TERZA RIMA
~~L MILTON HANKINS
*HMS 9/10 - Spelled Papakolea is pronounced with an emphasis on ending "a" (Papakole'a).
10 syllables per 14 lines = 140
No bougainvillea here,
Wind and wave-tossed shores
Know no such blossom.
What blooms next stormy seas
In western outposts far removed,
Unknown to sun-soft living ?
When silken purple drapes
The open sky, and folds of grey
And pastel blue hang mingled,
Dark-mirrored in the land below,
The daily reckoning may be heard,
Another storm from off the ocean,
Or might the sombre grey dissolve,
Transformed with silvered promise
Of brighter lengthening days ?
For when the earth relents,
As now it surely must,
A universal sigh is breathed
Across the waiting dormant land.
As expectation stirs, the great unveiling.
A curtain raised upon a glorious stage,
As now the islands of the west
With wondrous spectacle are blessed.
To my mind, and for what it's worth,
The flowering of the machair
Is the greatest show on earth.
Islands
Islands are – it seems – so many of us.
Worlds apart – alone – in the seas of life.
Joined at the hip – by an adversarial universe.
Amputated from a living solar system
by the master surgeons – insecurity, self doubt,
criticism, negativity, skewed points of view.
Tear tempests rage from within us.
Tsunamis, tearing up any traces of,
the mighty oaks we may have been.
Islands - are we ?, many lost in the sea of,
humanity all around, if, but we could see.
Drifting on crests of gigantic waves.
Cradled within the troughs of ocean’s anger,
being tossed towards the brink of humanity,
on a journey that is carrying us through eternity.
Deserted islands we have become – by choice ?
Ships that pass throughout our nights,
disembarking bodies – life boats to the shore,
these islands, secluded, to explore,
so many constipations lay within,
islands in the seas of humanity.
Islands of lost, empty souls,
islands floating – Sargasso Sea,
islands adrift – apart.
Brilliant, stands that joyous orb,
screaming down upon us all – happiness –
on beams of dancing – feet,
gliding, rhythmically, across us desolate islands,
trying to part lightness into our days,
some days ?, many ?,
it can not dissipate the haunting shadows,
shadows that shroud, darken our life’s experiences.
Good days – some – eclipsed by essence of our realities.
B. J. “A” 2
February 22nd 2008
Born wearing ballet shoes
without knowing,
far in the deep nature,
in the Sakhalin Islands,
a ballet star opened his eyes
for the first time.
Warmed by the love of his
family, he grew up happy
until his life changed.
He travelled without ballet shoes to Riga,
where he saw a new beginning,
still warmed by his mum.
A beautiful blond seven year old boy
started to be rebellious.
A worried mum took him to a ballet school.
He started to dance in an old Soviet school
with many others without names by then.
His ballet shoes fit him so well
that made his jumps popular
all over the world.
Swam Lake, the Nutcracker...
All the best performances for one dancer to be danced.
He flew away to a new country
looking for liberty, which he found for a while.
Money, which he never had before,
opened many doors for him,
as well as popularity and freedom.
Long wings for dreaming above the poor life he had.
Long wings for a beautiful bird
that didn't know how to fly.
Instead he prefered to be keeping fit at day,
showing his best face to be display for the others, but drowning in a glass of miseries and memories mixed
who knows with.
He lost his ballet shoes at the age of 45,
not far from the sea,
kilometres away from his home.
Alone, without anyone knowing,
even his "best friends",
he left this world,
and he didn't know how loved he was,
but the whole world wonders why
we didn't love him before.
Like cold marble statues
stiff as vague mixtures
of alcohol that stings of spirits,
cheap as famished souls.
Once were unique and proud,
now the vanishing isles!
A struggle to keep adrift
to face the blue sky vast
and unyielding, matching
that deep Pacific Ocean.
Hear us now gagging on
driftwood and rising waters.
Peaceful seas of dreams
where dancing bonitos circle
canoes,surfing freely cruising
with yellow fins in oceans of fun.
Now hear chokes of sinking feelings
and sirens lamenting restless souls.
As sea sprays watered eyes in contrition
someone changed the climate in Iceland
and desert storms rampaged our islands.
Rumblings of constipated volcanoes
longing for release but now stifled by
solar shields torn by man's greed.
As I float amongst the beaches of ghostly
Polynesian islands, the reefs cry out in
protest as navigation comes full circle,
back to 'hawaiki' our 'once was seen'
home of origin, a failed quest reiterating
the original theme of a people that "once
upon a time" existed now once again
A no man's islands.
Seven thousand islands lace friendly Philippine smiles with mystic charm.
Where I live one liner Contest
Sponsor: Silent One 10/5/2016
Philippines
Visits long ago
to the Blaskets Islands,
to untouched areas
on the Dingle peninsula
came to mind
on this sleet winter’s eve.
The peninsula,
nestled in heather mountains.
The coastline,
tongues of lonely white sand.
waved rocks,
drenched in blue mussels
tide pools,
alive with shrimps and periwinkles
A sea-salted life
unspoiled and free.
Only marine life remains,
but I still hear the music
our native language,
the voices of Seanchaí
the ballads, sean?s,
Peig Sayers
who shaped our school years,
her renditions of island life
her mad pise?gs,
handed down
from generation to generation.
Stories of
Islanders huddled together
under thatch,
open turf fires
cooking pot on a hook,
the sweet air wafting
of clay pipe tobacco
a pinch of snuff
sniffed from a silver box,
nursing a glass
of neat Poitín, uisce beatha,
the strong smell of tweeds
and geansaí báinín.
I think of times lost,
changed forever.
Cottage ruins,
where goats roam free,
An Blascaod Mór
my history, my heritage.
Gaelic words in this poem
* Seanchaí – storytellers
Sean?s – singing without music
Peig Sayers and her mad pise?gs – A Gaelic writer who we studied in school and her mad superstitions.
Poitín, uisce beatha – very strong alcohol made from potatoes, called the water of life.
geansaí báinín – strong sheep wool sweaters usually in a cream colour with complex patterns.
The Bahama Islands, our tropical paradise
the apple in eyes of the Caribbean
the place of my birth
like the planet Saturn camouflaged
in sun, sand and sea!
The Bahama Islands, our tropical paradise
the archipelago we all love
from Grand Bahama,
Abaco, Exuma to Inagua
a sanctuary where summer vacations
and island hopping are endless!
There is an abundance of activity
for Bahamians and tourists can all enjoy
Junkanoo, Goombay Fest and Pineapple Fest
buying Androsia Print
and scuba diving in The Dean's Blue Hole!
The Bahama Islands, our tropical paradise
I'm very proud to be a loyal Bahamian
with your balmy coconut trees
and your tropical white sandy beaches
you are God's gift to the tourism industry!
Sand swishes between toes, pulls you toward peace
the palms fanning you, slowly, like a lover feeding grapes.
Birds peek shyly from the understory, sometimes hover
and chirp-nag you for disturbing their nest.
Every wave splashes me toward the permanent home
beneath the sea, crabs praying on life, tangs spitting
more sand, and more sand, its caught in my eyes
and I most doze, bake and doze, submerge, swim
until its only my toes realizing there is life, sand
edging up on me from every side, counting the lines
down to where there is an end, breath choked off
because all the sea, and sand, and prayers, and prey
can no longer get to me. I've walls of peace swaying
gently like a snake hypnotized before the charming pipe
to say come home, and know I'm always home,
always home, praying, praising, the rise and fall of sand.
Throughout this prosperous country stands
many forsaken islands of poverty;
There is no need to visit foreign lands
to find children poor and hungry.
Yet charity flows to third world shores
as if blinded by what’s so near;
These islands that lie right outside our door,
that we seem to just hope will disappear.
We refuse to raise the minimum wage
and begrudge them the few food stamps they get;
We call them “lazy”, in fits of rage,
and charity at home we soon forget.
I think it’s great we care for the world,
but not at the expense of the islands here at home;
It’s not the fault of those boys and girls -
we shouldn’t leave them on their own.
In one of the richest countries here on earth
islands of poverty still abound;
What is all this excess worth,
if a way to help cannot be found?