|Tropical Dreams (standard:poetry, 733 words)|
|Author: Billy Jack Baxter||Added: Oct 08 2003||Views/Reads: 2631/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|For dc, I hope I get this one right.|
Tropical Dreams Rock me to sleep ol' mystery waters lapping lightly against my hull, Separating my meager life existence from your mysterious watery depths. Mournful tug horn sounds, unrestricted, across your winking moonlit Bay, as laborious diesel engines signal gentle lullaby wakes that rock Me, lull me, lull me to heavenly sailboat sleep. Old plank wood pier creaks an' moans from straining spring line tether. Ol' gentle wake come and rock me, roll me, lull me off to pirate dreams Of ol' Spanish Main, rock me, roll me, lull me off to simpler days, Tropical sunlit cays, old salty fishy bays. Sometimes I think the old Gulf Stream flows MAGIC waters, where my Dreams mingle and mesh, then swoosh me away to Caribbean islands, Mountainous and lush. Where lil' ebony eyed children with mango sop Streaked brows scurry barefoot and brown in the sunny tropical day. Shouting and playing island games handed down with tradition, and Simple. Where old nautical wide-open saloons abound, patronized by Smugglers, buccaneers, outlaws of the tropical seas and time slips Softly by with the ol' salty ocean breeze. Open and loud they are, with Rum sippin' parrots that waddle along polished, worn, wooden bar tops Blatantly sneakin' beakfulls of rum and snatchin' dollar bills just for Fun—screechin', fussin', and cussin' in the humid beer-drenched air of Normal island days. Where lies are told and retold by locals who oughta Know better. Where there's laughing and back slappin' with an Occasional brawl between friends with too much beer under their belt. With creaky hardwood floors and dusty ceiling fans that swirl that Mysterious “Old Time Feeling” that's so jolly and right. And, in the Distance, airy jungle drenched peaks stand hazy and mystic in ocean Spray mist, beckoning adventure. Home to exotic colorful birds, howling Monkeys, and bugs. Faint trails snake by waterfalls through overgrown Lost cities to tribal secrets atop lofty mountain peaks. You hack your Way through dense foliage, machete in hand, clad in Gardner McKay, “Adventures in Paradise” clothes, soggy khaki slouch hat saggin' in the Sweltering jungle heat when you pause and mop your sweaty brow with Shoulder and go-- “Phew! Look at all this jungle madness!” Big ol' Barky vines crawl and drape heavily over the jungle canopy, so wide, so Thick, I lay in their massive span, swing, and sway and they rock me, Roll me, lull me off to jungle safari dreams. Where there are sparkling azure lagoons that smell sweet and teem with Colorful phosphorescent tropical fish that dart and school amidst soft Corals, sponges, and sand. Sheltered tranquil waters that delicately Kiss white sandy beaches where fiddler crabs scurry and dive in holes With fresh wet sand piled around their entrance. Where palm fronds Rattle in the balmy breeze and coconuts fall with a thud to ground. The Kind of slanted ol' palms where you back up, get a run at it, nearly Making it to the top before you teeter and fall to the sandy cushion Ground below. Or, I simply lay on their wide corky base and let their Gentle sway, at hot summer noon, rock me, roll me, lull me off to Coconut scented dreams. And my house sits back off the well worn path, white clapboard, raised Three feet off the ground by deep sunk pylons to let storm surge waters Rise and rise and rise. Open airy plank wood porch surrounds the old House with wicker and rattan furniture, conch shells, and old gnarly Driftwood scattered about, large open holes for windows with heavy Hurricane shutters that fall with a PLOP down like drowsy eyelids to Sleep off seasonal squalls. Inside is open and bright with thatched Pagoda roof that peaks up to cloud-studded skies. Double doors, front And rear, open night and day with slow moving ceiling fans that hang Above and have circulated hundreds of dreams from large feather bed With bug drape, sheer and fluttery, that rises to a point Like a Tropical teepee of protection. Front yard with huge old banyan and Mahogany trees that whisper, sway, and mull over lush green lawns that Stretch like carpet all the way to purple fiery skies. And my ol' Knotted hammock dwells and swings inviting me to lay, think, and dream While spice-scented trade winds, soft and thick, rock me, roll me, lull Me off to blissful tropical paradise dreams. Billy Jack Baxter Tweet
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Billy Jack Baxter has 13 active stories on this site.
Profile for Billy Jack Baxter, incl. all stories