Challenged to write an acrostic, with her chose of words, by my good friend Sammie...I wrote this:
Inset, on the multi colored, lined map;
amber and mauve island of Man. I
made it there in memory of imagination,
no other reason than I like the name.
open to another thing....I was a boy
trying hard to be a man. The island
gathered my thoughts as a place to
operate in romantic lines with fedora
in white cocked to the side, slacks in
navy, jacket with gold buttons snickering,
gold tooth and eye sparkle, brilliant smiling
to get the ladies, all tanned, lithe and
offering a kiss for each word they smiled at,
beauty being their innate quality. As a boy,
all my thoughts of ladies made them to be
risk free, by the state of my graying hair,
burbling tics, risks are doubled when you
are bent on passing on your path with a
dear hearted woman with major complications,
or walking through life dodging her silver bullets,
seeking shelter on an island named Man.
Maps are better when they are in color,
yellow and red places I avoid, going to blue and
dark green. I figure as I am running from love
old friends would only give me away, I will
go where the sea air bites my bare flesh,
gathering nuts and edible roots, living in my
earthen hut with grass roof. I would stride
teary eyed calling out a mantra of names,
sliding with "she's" and cutting with K's,
Shivering with shoulder jerking wailing,
empty hearted, but belly full of tropical worms
a blue sky snears while the glowering sun
sniggers, I close the water logged atlas, the
inset splashes into the sea, I ponder rather
casually, should I dye my grays? Or just go
kick a flat rock and watch it skim across the ocean...
OM
Inset, on the multi colored, lined map;
amber and mauve island of Man. I
made it there in memory of imagination,
no other reason than I like the name.
open to another thing....I was a boy
trying hard to be a man. The island
gathered my thoughts as a place to
operate in romantic lines with fedora
in white cocked to the side, slacks in
navy, jacket with gold buttons snickering,
gold tooth and eye sparkle, brilliant smiling
to get the ladies, all tanned, lithe and
offering a kiss for each word they smiled at,
beauty being their innate quality. As a boy,
all my thoughts of ladies made them to be
risk free, by the state of my graying hair,
burbling tics, risks are doubled when you
are bent on passing on your path with a
dear hearted woman with major complications,
or walking through life dodging her silver bullets,
seeking shelter on an island named Man.
Maps are better when they are in color,
yellow and red places I avoid, going to blue and
dark green. I figure as I am running from love
old friends would only give me away, I will
go where the sea air bites my bare flesh,
gathering nuts and edible roots, living in my
earthen hut with grass roof. I would stride
teary eyed calling out a mantra of names,
sliding with "she's" and cutting with K's,
Shivering with shoulder jerking wailing,
empty hearted, but belly full of tropical worms
a blue sky snears while the glowering sun
sniggers, I close the water logged atlas, the
inset splashes into the sea, I ponder rather
casually, should I dye my grays? Or just go
kick a flat rock and watch it skim across the ocean...
OM




