Read Poem: ISLAND BORN, by Barry B. Wright

A Poem without “E’s”

Words unfold upon aboard,
Spools unspool within labyrinths hiding in our minds’ dashboards.
Arbors’ ash with nothing but unclad wood
Void of spring’s furnishings sits within snow’s mounting snood.
Polar air—Oh what a bully!—digs at roots to sully
That soul within not its cully.
Piano music, violin, floats upon warmth and joy,
Noon through to night, ahoy,
As howling winds knock at doors,
Its icy unforgiving cold kiss upon harbor’s bay with roar.
Magical things, rich in song,
Sung day thro’ day with scupp’r’nong.
Ask this boy about how kinships form in boats far off our coast.
As dark long days pulls its ripcord, and songbird’s arrival still a ghost.
Our DNA, our history, unify within all dragon caps,
That brings war upon our brimming boat’s vats,
And arms and hands hold tightly against a storm’s razor cutting thorn,
Last day’s pain now thoughts upon its windy mourn.
Today’s sun upon horizon lights up our island dorm,
Bow lifts and falls, forward bound to island born.
Sugar candy, nuts, potato skins, Irish drams, ham, and duck rich in gravy,
Await moo-boo diamonds within this navy.
Black patch upon our clothing honor
This mankind to god of lightning, storm, rumbling sky, Donar.
Morning rush, and birthday wish, oily words nugatory bound,
Knit a path from past to now, full of pounding liquid all round,
And words in story books call out its sordid shifting ground,
In which young wisdom is popcorn fantasy, and mythos unfolds, all told,
In an old man’s mind championing it as if its Acapulco gold,
No log post writings nor yardstick standards mark its formula,
Only probity and assumptions, standards within a ninja pinata, not a Urochordata.
History swings to victors, taints its canvass,
By prodigy artists’ brush on a 3-D flat kurtosis status.
Buy? No, not I. My focus compass taps first dibs wisdom upon an abacus clicks.
Cha-ching! Moolah, hard cash, gravy, dough, coins, spondulicks, I’m gonna fix.
Apart from luck, that lady has swag,
Watch and chain I want no snag.
Witch all about, stay in your location,
Allow us to approach our final station.
Worn out hours pass by until our boat docks and unloads,
Cacophonous gulls squawking at this crossroads,
And all family and kin stand out.
As wood burn in diggings; puffs climb from its roof snout,
Roof o’r our noggins and out of harm’s way,
Rich in family’s amour, warmly and happily, I watch spray at our bay.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest