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Juston Barrett Poem
If my lifevest were a donut that floated, I could float and eat happily for a week.
I was alone amid the choppy sea, baking under a watchful hot sun -
Near me were scary fins; they stayed close but had not yet attempted to bother
me.
I drifted on the tubular float, my feet barely in waves.
I saw in the distance a floating wood dock…
Or maybe it was the smallest little island I had ever seen, only with no trees or
shrubbery. I could not tell.
By and by I drifted closer…
And spotted a most unblemished figure standing alone with long flowing hair,
long legs and bronzed buttocks to be sure, tanned coconuts by her feet. That
much I discerned.
I floated and bobbed on my donut tube and hoped that I might float to her and her
happy dock –
Two fins specifically came closer.
Silver gray looming primeval fins slicing thru the water more pronounced and
curious than the others, seemingly purpose-driven –
The woman with coconuts on a level dock waved to me.
She then signaled to me in warning that there were sharks in the water [as if I did
not know]. I was only in seven feet of water -
Red coral reefs were around me below the sharks…but it was to me perhaps the
most beautiful inviting water in all the world.
Even with these awesome man-eaters . . .
I was closer to the dock now. Fifty meters. I was sure of it! I wanted to rip off the
vest and make a quick marathon swim to the girl – I did not think I could make it.
My lips were chapped and my skin (hot from sun, wind and tropical haze) hurt
badly and peeled, floating into the island air and into green waves. My skin.
I thought my skin was stinging, but . . .
Something pulled at my foot. Burning pain crippled me. A fluorescent jellyfish had
stung me.
When I looked up, there was no woman on the dock. But still the goddamned
fins -
I splashed in quick turning circles to try and find her, this woman on the dock,
goddess, figment of my imagination…whatever.
I saw more fins, the same fins, but no girl.
Then, lo, there was splashing. The girl was swimming to me . . .
When at last splashing ceased, and I was calm, I noted a warm easy wave come
over me
Copyright © Juston Barrett | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Juston Barrett Poem
I watched the clouds in the sky move and dance above me as if they were alive,
watching me. To me there was identity there. Not that numbers are alive or can
move, but I believe there is more there than numerical quantity. Here they remind
me of love. Love . . .
0. Circle of trust. Would you walk with me if I were blind –
Would you hold my hand if I had only one –
1. Fence post. If I built more, would you still visit me for an afternoon biscuit?
If I promise to not criticize or question you, might you look into my eyes and dare
to love me as I do you?
2. Swans, kissing. And if they don’t kiss, might we be as majestic and
affectionate.
3. Smooth, flexuous bottom that I surely like to rub and caress…
4. A drifting sailboat. Come sail with me my sweet. We’ll voyage thru life on the
gales of trust and anchor near the port of easy solace where we may share quiet
moments together.
5. Glass of wine. Slanta! I raise my glass to the future and family and friends
who left us.
6. A tremulous and at times adrift wave. Ride it with me.
7. Tilt the rudder on this passive Hinckley. Let’s go together … naked. I’ll steer.
8. It’s not the lines a skater forms on a frozen New Hampshire pond, but the
skates she tossed into the garbage. My friend, take my hand. I’m here with you.
I’ll not let you stay alone.
9. Sangria – kiss me again and again. After Zocalo and Sangria, my lips and
mouth are fervent and tingle with sweet-tasting exhaustion.
10. Not the ending but the start; I want to be with you every day of this life and
then afterwards, forever and ever. I love you.
the end
Copyright © Juston Barrett | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Juston Barrett Poem
The world was yellow. When I stepped off the plane –
The bright blazing sun beamed the tarmac and I was for some moments blinded.
A native child welcomed me.
She handed me a leaf’d crown, a banana and leant up to kiss my cheek.
That evening I slept.
In the morning I woke to a dazzling array of tropical bird song and aromas of
Nicaraguan coffee, melons and mango, fried yummy banana . . . . and the warm
sea –
I took a dip. Naked.
Something swam with me. Below me. Near me. Even, I think, right above me.
It began to rain bananas –
Astounding yes, indeed, but it hurt. One hit me on the back as I tried to swim
away and one hit me on the head.
They fell into the turquoise sea like rain drops . . .
I ducked under and dove beneath the yellow hail –
Swimming beneath a sea of yellow bananas that pelted my waves.
I thought that I would never eat another banana again if I could only stay alive.
Then I thought that perhaps it was good to rain bananas.
If that was so, sharks might wish to feast on the plethora of floating raining
bananas and not on a chubby limb that I use to swim –
I swam naked toward a dock, whilst being pelted still on my back and legs.
I finally reached the dock.
The native child was there.
Where is your crown, she asked.
I threw it away.
Why.
I don’t wear crowns, I told her. And I don’t eat bananas –
Copyright © Juston Barrett | Year Posted 2006
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