Thursday, December 31, 2009

Jungle Retreat

It's a tropical life.
Colored in bright shades of orange, pink and yellow.
Away from conventional love,
conventions and norms.
Something I'd want to follow.

Spread out on the deck,
the breeze just about grazing,
the sunlight fading,
twilight hazing.

Don't jeer at me.
It's real, I promise you.
I've touched them,
the underwater corals.
The salt tasted sweet.
Real, unreal.

Ever seen them
Red orchids?
They're beautiful.
They're tempting.
How pitiful.

Don't show me the blue ones all over again.
it disgusts me.
it evades me.

Tighten the screws.
Knot the ropes.
I'll still let loose.
Swim through.
It'll be my breakthrough.

Dip in and wash it off.
It should be the way things flow.
Why would you go this slow?

Streak me purple,
I'll blend in.
Just like that juice on the counter,
I didn't order.

Ever heard of a rainbow becoming common?
Heaven is here.
I'm happy.
Dry cheer.

Brought home a cockatoo,
brought home a hammock.
Thought it would set the tone of vibrancy.
No such luck.
Disillusioned mimicry.

I dove at sunset.
Didn't come up in time for air.
That's right.

Disoriented, dual life.
Palm trees.
Hives and bees.

Concrete and water.
Lime and grime.
Black and white,
all combine.
Left with no shine.

Flannel curtains.
Set them alight.
Burn, burn.
Then just glow.

Don't try to sell me something I can't afford.
Crass paintings.
Dummies of the ethereal life.
Where jazz bands were once a backdrop,
now become screamingly obvious.
They're all fools.
They don't know about the real thing.
The true magicians' tools.

Beauty lies in the eyes of the admirer.
Darn those eyes that don't see this wild beauty.
Bring me the cocktail of the day.
One last day.

Soft candles,
become a blazing forest fire.
It's still delightful.
A sour punch.

Colors on feathers.
An intimate thump.
Beep on the beach.
Cliched, but feel it to believe it.

Fast forward.
Zip forward.
Lifeless life.
In my face.
Unpack the suitcase.

Do I behave like an insolent child?
I don't care.
I want to go back now.

Raw passion consumes.
The drowsy 'high' resumes.
Cheap copies make way,
toward my original life I sway.
Where I belong.
The call is strong.

Major pull.
Hot, humid.
High, high tide.
Speeding boats.
Wind in my hair.
Aromatic dreams.

Jungle call.

No comments:

Post a Comment