Thread: Negril

Seagulls descry this as their citadel,
colossal rock thrones where they alight to rest
only for a moment before taking wing
over glossy planed blue floor, white banded.


This is what they must see in flight
stasis water and stripes of waves
a ballroom floor, sun as chandelier.


I, waist watered, in their ocean
squint while salty spray of tides, leaping,
bite my eyes and beckon the sun
to burn me to tan into summer's girl.


My legs slog further out towards the horizon,
coral red, the colour of last night's drink,
drunk, while dread locked Jamaicans played
Moonlight Sonata on tin drums. Holy music.


My neck arched, the water a fat froth necklace,
I think of the waves as being dresses for seraphim,
turquoise and white, see-through liquid garments.


Head bent, I can see the ocean's face as clearly
as my own in front of a newly wiped mirror;
yet feet enlarged by trick of refelction, standing upon
pebbles, stones, polished and sung to by tide's ebb and flow.


Turning towards shore, a sandy bench before the wonder,
I reach my towel where I lay down sandy toed,
where I smell coconut oil, a stretch of ripe seaweed,
sweet ice pops and the wet trunk of my lover, asleep.


A shy native boy slowly approaches and hands me a con shell
"So you will never forget me or the ocean."

Then runs.

Laurie,

I like the way you describe the seagulls and the beautiful clear water on the Jamaican shore. I don't understand this line:

I reach the towel where I lay the ocean of me down

.
Can the words "ocean of me" be eliminated?

I love the last 3 lines. It sounds like to me that the shy boy flirtatiously approaches you and hands you something so you'll never forget him.

Cindy

Your misuse quite a few words in this poem. Not only that, I think you made up a few words, heh.

You capture being a seagull pretty well, but beyond that I am not really sure. You have the line "the smolder of radios and the wet trunk of my love, asleep." but I'm not entirely sure what "my love" means.

Your seagull turns into a person in the middle of the poem. You're describing a seagull and then what? " night's drink.
drunk, " Concentrate on one thought. Concentrate on what that thought makes you feel.

When I read a poem, I want the overall feeling of that poem to come over me.

Cindy, I'm glad you liked the descriptions. It was a wonderful place to visit. Difficult to forget, so the images came easily. Good that you asked about "the ocean of me". I was trying to convey that the woman had connected with the ocean so much so that she almost became it, figuratively. I'll give your nit some serious thought. The poem is not an abstract one and don't want to through it off. And you got the last three lines. In my mind, the boy had been watching her loving the ocean and developed a school boy crush. Thanks for your input! Laurie

Hi Reese. Thank you for reading and bringing up your points. I'll do my best to explain:

Your misuse quite a few words in this poem. Not only that, I think you made up a few words, heh.

I'm not quite sure what you mean by misuse of words. Would be happy to hear of an example. No words have been made up. Neologisms are made up words and are quite a challenge to use when writing verse or prose.

Pleased that you liked the way I captured the seagulls. I hear them all around the sound near where I live.

I'm not entirely sure what "my love" means.

Thanks for bringing this up Reese. I'm refereing to the woman's "lover". You are probably not alone having this question so I'll be making it clear with a change.

Your seagull turns into a person in the middle of the poem. You're describing a seagull and then what?

No. I'm afraid not. The seagull does not turn into a person. I describe them and their turf and then directly go into....

This is what they must see in flight

The character in "First Person" is speaking. The woman.

Hope I've answered your questions and thanks for reading and your input. Laurie

Your right. The words you used were "semi-appropiate." They were just maybe a little misused.

"The woman." It doesn't really tell me anything. Are you assumg that I, as a man, can't intrinsically understands a woman? Perhaps this is true.

So tell me in a way that I can understand.

Are you assumg that I, as a man, can't intrinsically understands a woman? Perhaps this is true.

No not at all. I know men who have a farily good understanding of women. So, nope! But this is not what the poem is addressing. It's a simple poem about a woman loving and enjoying the ocean. But, hey, even the little boy at the end of the poem understands her and her love of his homeland waters by gifting her a conshell. So, a litte Jamaican boy understood a woman.

Ah, now you're getting somewhere. Don't assume things are so simple for your audience.

"I know men who have a great understanding of women." Really? What makes you think so?

"But, hey, even the little boy at the end of the poem understands her and her love of his homeland waters by gifting her a conshell." Oh yeah? How so?

I'm confused, is this about loving your homeland?

When writing a piece of poetry, assume nothing. Start with the basic premise of what you want to say.

Hey Laurie,

I see you changed the words

I reach the towel where I lay the ocean of me down

to

I reach my towel where I lay down sandy toed

. I think it reads much better now. And now you also make it clear your speaking of your lover. What else could the "wet trunk" of my lover" be?

Thanks, Nellie. It does read much better, more clear. And about "lover" what can I say? It could sound like the "wet trunk" was my love. And that it was sleeping!

Been quite a day, I must say! It's refreshing to get sensible feedback, constructive crits. Laurie

There are some very rich and colorful descriptions in this Laurie. I like your edit, I too believe that the read is improved, though I did get it with your original words.

I loved the opening stanza, my only nit is the word 'just' in line 3. I think it reads better without it, or maybe replace it with 'but'.

A truly beautiful read.

Thank you, Cindy. I'll check out that stanza. Glad you liked the edit and descriptions!

I hope I didn't sound pushy Laurie, it's a beautiful poem whatever word you use there.

Originally Posted by SilverMoon

Seagulls descry this as their citadel,
colossal rock thrones where they alight to rest
only for a moment before taking wing
over glossy planed blue floor, white banded.


This is what they must see in flight
stasis water and stripes of waves
a ballroom floor, sun as chandelier.

( Like very much your tying these two stanzas together with the idea of a castle interior )


I, waist watered, in their ocean
squint while salty spray of tides, leaping,
bite my eyes and beckon the sun
to burn me to tan into summer's girl.

( Love "bite my eyes" as well. Excellent image )


My legs slog further out towards the horizon,
coral red, the colour of last night's drink,
drunk, while dread locked Jamaicans played
Moonlight Sonata on tin drums. Holy music.

( Yes. Rasta ( although many do not know ) is a religion, and the "holy" reference shows respect. )


My neck arched, the water a fat froth necklace,
I think of the waves as being dresses for seraphim,
turquoise and white, see-through liquid garments.

( Lovely image here )


Head bent, I can see the ocean's face as clearly
as my own in front of a newly wipped mirror;
yet my feet enlarged by trick of refelction, I stand upon
pebbles, stones, polished and sung to by tide's ebb and flow.

( "newly whipped mirror" A very enjoyable twist on the water/mirror idea. )


Turning towards shore, a sandy bench before the wonder,
I reach my towel where I lay down sandy toed,
where I smell coconut oil, a stretch of ripe seaweed,
sweet ice pops and the wet trunk of my lover, asleep.

( Like how you focused in on the smell of your lover as opposed to the image of him )


A shy native boy slowly approches and hands me a conshell
"So you will never forget me or the ocean."

Then runs.

( Honestly... This is the only stanza I had any issue with, and it is more for personal reasons than the writing, which I found charmingly expressed. A very dear friend of mine is from Jamaica, and I quote her when I asked about the appeal of her home. " Yes it is my home. Not some rich hotspot for other people to come to, expecting the darkies to smile, and play quaint for the tourists. " Her words not mine. We never really know a place unless we have lived there, not just visited ya know ? You paint what tourists see in Jamaica quite well Hun. This is really lovely writing )

Not pushy at all Cindy. I wound up eliminating the word which works real fine. Thanks.

Thanks Maggie. Glad you liked the piece.