Pretty Girl On The Beach
Sitting stylishly reclined
vintage beach chair
toes sunken in warm sand
lithe figure the envy
of contemporaries
Salty breeze flirted
with thick lustrous hair
sun bleached
skin still smooth
bronzed by rays
Her mother would die
seeing that bathing suit
nearly naked before
strangers - too late
still a naughty thrill
She studied the waves
their thrusting crash
rolling far offshore
deep green, patinaed
aviator glasses
Perceptive beyond
beach girl persona
noticing a change
something atmospheric
scent of decades past
Waves now breaking
closer to shore
building intensity
in their approach
subdued envy
Their intent conveying
a subtle but certain
ferociousness like before
Kristallnacht of ‘38
when she was five
5,000 Miles Away
Face half buried in pillows
her hair splashing past shoulders
dark waterfall spilling over bed’s
edge
breasts pressing cool soft sheets
Countless bracelets now weightless
alone but for the kitten slumbering
from ankle to calf
ceiling fan whir blurring
Street sounds stories below
sunken in depths of dreams
right arm tenderly embracing
a pillow as is my left
Pineapple Stain
The blood dropped in crimson
dots easily wiped away
though gone the pain remained
amber shaded, the textured
pineapple
skin’s rounded cuts always most
difficult
each point of the diamond shapes
so easily broken while hand cutting
swearing and hoping the neighbours
didn’t hear through open windows
crown leaves bold but simple
deadly large, jade hued shards
angled with emerald as complement
bold waves of cerulean meshed
with Persian blue carefully
soldered
below azure and sapphire sky pieces
forming a cloud hinted heaven
twenty years hence my finger stings
of surgical slice and burn of
molten lead
while gazing at the prickly glass
fruit
in the transom above still hovering
between heaven and earth
Nearing Hanalei
The tour bus listed to the left
As passengers pressed windows
Viewing a driver-dramatized
Barely decipherable historic
site
In two miles right-side windows
Framed the next camera teaser
Pleasures paid by insurance, credit
Pandemic relief, retirement
accounts
Grandchildren and pet pics, local
snacks
Prescription meds, plastic bottles
Restroom stops, sanitizer, unforced
laughter
One in every crowd
Returning to Phoenix, Atlanta,
Memphis
Or Boston they may recognize colours
Other than red and blue, black and
white
That red blood isn’t a party
branding
Manhattan Island
The doors of the E Train
to Manhattan slammed shut
taking an empty seat
between a fighting couple
at temporary truce
Closed his eyes that opened
to the majesty of a Hawaiian island
he craved his commute
An ancient chief chanted
Welcome and love
Rumbling train wheels
soothing swooshes as surf
flowed over the beach
moisture from overhead not
dripping A/C condensation
but cool waterfall spray
Dark tunnel rail chatter formed
nocturnal mating wails of
Shearwater seabirds
approaching 53rd and
Madison
he reaches down and shakes
sand from his slip-ons
The doors fly open and he
floats up the crowded
stairway refreshed and tanned
by fluorescent lights
Ready for battle
Eric Burgoyne lives, surfs and writes from his home on the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii. He has an MA in Creative Writing - Poetry, from Teesside University, Middlesbrough England, and MBA from University of Reading, Berkshire, England. His poems have been published in The Dawntreader, Spillwords, Sledgehammer, Skink Beat Review, Rat’s Ass Review, and elsewhere.
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