Treasure Island

Shirley Alexander

(12-05-1953 / Somewhere under heaven, Georgia, USA)

Tricking the Reaper


The land has many spirits.
They see us; they know us,
better than we know ourselves.

If I see myself through the eyes of Earth,
I will lie still, and spend my last sigh
as a wind drifting through white pines.

In this early morning, when sleep hovers
like so much smoke in corners of my rooms,
dreams are left to stir and breathe in my hands.

I choose the dreams I will keep today.
I dream to see myself, know myself as
polished seeds, moist and fertile in the land.

I am laughter breaking brittle in yellow sunlight,
a slow tongue kiss on the open mouth of love.
I am warm tears to wash away dusts of memory.

When sleep comes to rest heavy on my eyelids,
and the last wind dies silent in old trees,
I dream to touch the face of God, and he smiles.


© 2009

Submitted: Saturday, April 11, 2009
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  • Sidi Mahtrow (4/11/2009 6:50:00 AM)

    The feather bed shaped to hold
    One, away from the cold
    Covered gently, but firmly
    By the quilt - pulled tightly.

    There I lay awaiting the break of day
    When all will be astir as if to say
    Get up you sleepy head
    There's more to life than staying in bed!

    But I wait just one moment more
    Until I rise to meet the ever looming chore(s) .
    Snuggled here in the warm caress,
    In my very own feather mattress.

    s (Report) Reply

Read all 2 comments »

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