Treasure Island

Dorothy Parker

(22 August 1893 - 7 June 1967 / Long Branch / New Jersey)

August


When my eyes are weeds,
And my lips are petals, spinning
Down the wind that has beginning
Where the crumpled beeches start
In a fringe of salty reeds;
When my arms are elder-bushes,
And the rangy lilac pushes
Upward, upward through my heart;

Summer, do your worst!
Light your tinsel moon, and call on
Your performing stars to fall on
Headlong through your paper sky;
Nevermore shall I be cursed
By a flushed and amorous slattern,
With her dusty laces' pattern
Trailing, as she straggles by.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Naveed Khalid (9/19/2013 7:45:00 AM)

    What a treat for eyes! I seek no pleasure in stalwarts! I love the way the poem moves me with the pen. Great write. (Report) Reply

  • Michael Lasalle (7/19/2012 4:09:00 PM)

    The imagery is a beautiful realm where the words cast an open meadow of wild flowers rolling as far as
    the eyes can see, the sense of youth and eternity are entwined into one concept. What is time to a physical existence? And how do we control it? The mindset is a masterful play of pastel color and a depth that
    reaches new understanding. (Report) Reply

  • Cynthia Buhain-baello (6/29/2009 6:51:00 AM)

    Perfect imagery and vivid picturesque masterpiece! Clever and creative style that interweaves content with the meaning - amazing talent! (Report) Reply

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