Treasure Island

Gerry Legister

(21/01/66 / Silver Spring, Westmorland, Jamaica)

A Jamaican woman


I see a Jamaican woman,
dancing to reggae music,
She is looking more attractive,
Taken by different shapes of the body,
She moves in a trance to display her beauty,
Ingenuity, paused in aghast breath,
And mystery binds a haven of thought,
To embrace the moment’s pleasure,
winding away in a dark corner,
You can hardly see other dancers near,
Smoking with rhythm inhale,
The addiction of love is sweeter kisses,
dried in the silent morning coolness.
I see an older Jamaican woman,
kneeling, praying, digging, and then burying
The sacrifices she understand,
With her love offering in the land,
Society chanting, another reggae song,
This time, guiding the new age mothers,
weave idle sighs like mourning birds,
Rocking on trees fell by hurricane,
Never had they work in the sugar cane,
And sweetness is a flavor only in the wind,
I see more desirable Jamaican woman,
On exotic parade defining time,
wearing tiny cloth upon their skin,
I still see them not dancing, but admiring.

Submitted: Sunday, May 22, 2011
Edited: Thursday, March 27, 2014
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Topic(s): travel

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