Five Fabulous Poems by Eric Burgoyne

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 53^rd 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.