Tenerife short poem

Photo by schoeffl.stefan

Two lovers by the ragged strand once trod
the sooty sand; slender maid with raven
hair, fisher boy of bronze; the dazzling sun
a gold doubloon, the moon a silver coin.
From rocks, ink-black as witches’ cats, they saw
the teeming sea; for Paraiso Beach was
cast for them by Teide’s fiery blast, ‘neath
Milky Way in wind-blown spray where whale and
dolphin play… Faceless fools from far-off lands
soon found their paradise. “Commercialise
then urbanize, the mountains are for sale.
Bulldoze, landfill, then jerry-build; sewage
on the surf. Roll out roads for traffic roar;
monoxide in the breeze. Machinery tear
at prickly pear and green banana trees.
Throw up bars and apartment blocks; bedim
the stars with flashing lights; fill the nights with
keyboard beat and dancing feet to drown the
ocean’s anguished cries …” Her sculpture scorned, her
flanks defiled, the lady Teide broods, with
hissing sulphur in her breath, inferno
for a heart. Such feelings pent, her rage must
vent to blast the curse and re-create a
silent land, where lizards laze and prey birds
ride the balmy breeze, while a ghostly girl
and fisher lad go gathering wild herbs.

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In the early days I imagined myself wandering the lanes of England with a rucksack on my back and, maybe, something lively in my hip-flask. I saw myself sitting on a hill somewhere, scribbling poems and, hopefully, making enough to keep body and soul together. But life isn't like that and, after a few years at sea and in the army, I found myself with a wife and kids to keep. So now, with three novels wallowing on Kindle, I scribble the odd rhyme by way of a hobby and shove it on my blog. Hope someone out there finds them interesting.
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@poet-on-a-hill, what a rambling, scenic countryside you have painted, and then this rape happened. No, not the ghostly raven-haired girl by the fisher boy! But by the developers of property against the pristine beauty of the land, deflowering her prosaic charms. Its once slumbering ambiance of innocence was despoiled by commercialization, urbanization, and all the ills concommitant with modernization, development, progress or any other jargon they could think of as euphemism for destruction of natural beauty.

Outside of your poem, you did not happen to mention the change to the inhabitants, especially the ladies, who with the influx of beauty salons, will be tampered with so called “enhancements” thereby corrupting also natural personal beauty. And perhaps your raven-haired girl suddenly becomes blonde. And all these because of progress.

It came as no surprise then when Teide spewed its vindicative comment of lava to restore the land.

It came as no surprise also, to find a smooth flowing narrative poem from a novelist that you are. Spew more lava. . . . err–poems for our reading pleasure.