Friday, March 8, 2013

She See Sea

He too love being by de see side. Torrents of shadows spray and cascade over he burnt mahogany skin, soaking he tuh he soul. De dark does crash into he head, sending thoughts swimming and scampering for de shelter of deep-dream reefs. De sun-bleached, salt-streaked bones of childhood dreams and aspirations lay strewn across his life, standing testimony to the dead pools of judging eyes that follow him whenever he walks through the village. But the pools are alive here. Teeming with seeming thousands of testaments to the heart of a rebel, the soul of a rogue.  Here swirling eddies gasp as waves of wet-backed black grasp at strands of elusive green. His hands know the feeling; he pockets like rip up nets, all he earnings like conga dat does always get throw back.

He does come to see sea in de big belly night. Cause de light just too dammed dry. Desiccating, sucking every last drop of sweet outta de world. Too harsh man, too hard; de night doah, she hate sharp edges. Just like he. Love to embrace evating, full-bodied, round-hipped, to caress contours and curves and sculptured… dat is why de night love de moon. At least dat is what see tell he.

Hushed windwords and stuttered susurrations trickle in a stream right long he back. Cross de way Woman’s Tongue does dip down she lofty head tuh drink from de deep purple pooling in de crook of a mango tree – mussee Julie – or perhaps she seeking tuh snatch a sweet sip of gossip tuh wet she appetite. But we all thirsty fuh something, right?

Right now he thirsty. Thirsty baaaaaad. Thirsty fuh she, de see. He just want tuh close he eyes, op’n up he head and plunge face-first intuh de very depths uh see. Yuh see sea moist. Just de way he like it. Like it too bad. Just like de night.

Sea, de night is a bare rebel. She does berely but brek all de rules. All de prim and proppa, prissy, gots-tuh-get-on-jus-so sorta ting dem does want tuh play dat dem is in de daylight? De night see does strip way. Rip off negligee, ‘cause dem does neglect tuh tell yuh dat dem does do de said very tings too dat dem does wash dem mout ova yuh fuh. In de night. But she does see. Vicky Secrets does get lay out, whosoever hath an eye let them sea.

Dat is why he love see so. Sea is de one woman dat does really keep yuh trust safe. Sea is he own lady; fair lady in de night. He does lay he head pun she roll-white pillow and sea does cry fuh he. See got bucket-a-drop uh tears store up, and all uh dem she give fuh he.

He too love being by de sea side. De tide does tug at he navel-string and born he over all cross de world. Neva did a man find such a girl as sea. He could stand by she sea… she…see… sea see side 

Monday, August 27, 2012

He had not long moved into the neighbourhood, moving on from... well, life moves on.
As he was taking in the last of his things he saw her pull up to the house across the way. Gold Vitz, small and cute, like her. She stepped out, 4-inch heels, smart business suit, legs dimpling the air as they pressed up against the soft skirt with every step.
Tiny gold anklet sparkling. Discreet.
Must be just popping home for lunch, at this time of day.
A man opens the door, with the type of grin a snowcone man gets on the last evening of school when the children get out. Ah; lunch indeed.
As the door closes he turns back to his boxes, a tearing twist in his chest as bitter memories batter at his will, trying to break through, break in.
“Hold yourself together Dennison man, what is to is must is.”
He talks to himself a great deal these days.
2 garbage bags of clothes, box of shoes, manhandling the plasma in; engines start up outside and cars pull off, with just enough space between that a passer-by might think they aren’t together.
A $20 food then. Proper.
Around 5:30 he goes out to check if his security light came on; landlord said they were recently installed and he should let her know. Glances up to see a car pull up to the house again.
Pearl -white Kia.
She steps out, heels, smart chartreuse grey pant suit, LAND bag, legs that make the world stop.
Diamond and gold wedding band sparkling. No anklet.
As she turns away from locking the door he catches a glimpse of her face.
Kind, full lips, flawless caramel skin, clear, deep brown eyes, small nose, a mouth made for smiling, but has known too many sighs.
Not as young as Miss Vitz from lunch; not as fresh in the face, but there is something else. A sense of seasoning, of a beauty brought out by endurance and tears, by the slight kiss of heartbreak and the ripening of time.
Vitz and Kia. Gold and white.
Both were beautiful. One was gorgeous.
He gulped hard and stuffed her down into that nook in his mind under the stairs leading down to his never-aging heartache.
“What would this woman think if she saw you staring across the road at her like some ogle-eyed youngster? You are a real moojin D. A man shouldn’t fill his eyes with what his hands could never hold.”
A few days later, a Saturday made for cricket and a few with the boys, he was alone, outside trying to find the main for the water on the border to the property. A maroon Mazda swings into that driveway across the street and a man hops out. It’s Guy With A Grin from earlier in the week.
He looks up and sees Dennison and gives a wave.
“Hey man, didn’t realise someone had moved into the house.”
He walked across the street like he owned it, looking neither left nor right, and stuck out a manicured hand.
“I’m Brad, welcome to the Crescent. I’m sure you’ll come to love it here.”


Brad was a show-er. One of those guys who, from the moment he met you, started to display his case full of trophies. In that one afternoon Dennison heard about his star days as an athlete in school and university, how he was the youngest sales manager in the region at his company, how he was the best batsman at Empire club and the captain of the community domino team.
After telling Dennison that he’d ask the guy that cut the grass about the main, Brad invited him over for a cold one.
“Corona’s my thing; Banks is a little too, well, you know.” Brad laughs.
Dennison stops himself from raising an eyebrow.
On to the grand tour, with the obligatory lounging moment by the 52” flatscreen plasma, the kitchen that “could feed about 3 full football teams”, the original signed Pele international Brazil jersey framed and hung in the home office.
To the master bedroom suite; every king must have his greatroom in the castle keep. Side tables from Bali, hand-woven rug from Turkey, headboard custom-made from selected Suriname woods and made by a Dutch craftsman now residing in Mustique, bathroom fittings “picked up on my frequent passes through Miami”.
Dennison keeps quiet, but Brad evidently barely notices.
“If my wife were home I’d get her to fix us something.”
Conspicuously turns his Baume et Mercier timepiece.
“I wonder where she could be.”
Dennison gulps the last swallow of beer past a sudden boulder-sized blockage in his throat. The image of those ever-long legs and just-right rump surges past all his self-control and mental defences.
“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife.”
Coveting was the least sinful thing he did to her in his thoughts.
Making some quick excuse about having to get back to something on the stove Dennison makes his break for fresh air and blue, blue sky.
As he steps onto his veranda he hears Brad shout over after him.
“Oh, here she is now.”
The sound of his door pulling shut doesn’t quite block out the sound of the Kia pulling up.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

"It is intermittence which is erotic: the intermittent flash of skin peeking between light and shadow, between the edges of the known and curves of mystery; the spirit brushing past the slight crack of an open door just a shade slower than racing imagination. It is the flash, the glimpse of revelation itself which seduces: the baring of naked truth as the lifting of a veil."

Friday, July 20, 2012

A long time coming.
A safe space for my thought's words to live and move and have their being. Where they look forward to sitting, standing around, lying down and chatting with yours. And maybe even hold hands.
A complex simplicity: dread seriousness to abject silliness, and all in between.
No shoes allowed.

Come on in. Interplay welcome.
Sip me slow, drink me deep.