On a Sharjah beach

A friend asked me why I 'do those blogs'. Good question. I've published 676 of them thus far and am still not certain of the answer. Nearest I could come; 'because I love to write and like to share my thoughts in writing'. But the truth is I would send out these pages (57,022 of them have been viewed according to the mighty Google) even if nobody at all would get to open and read them.

All the blogging experts tell you to stick with one subject if you want to gain hits and followers. That's not what I want. I want to tell - myself if nobody else - about life and my life as best and most truthfully as I can. There are so many facets, dark as well as shining bright, to both. Some of my blogs are very public and some very personal, such as this one, re-discovered yesterday amongst hundreds of my old poems  ...


On a Sharjah beach

How strong the mid-day sun grinds down on thee,
and crescent beach that rims an azure sea,
as your brown skin shines wet against white sand,
but me beneath umb’rella’s shadow band
imagining, as is my wont, to dream
thy very femaleness; but it would seem
the waves of heat roll on relentlessly
sap vigour from that limpid ocean, me.

Yet still I trace the contours of your form,
your eyes are closed, at peace against life’s storm,
bandana’d hair, nose fine just aquiline
white teeth, pink lips that oft-times have kissed mine,
your slender neck, those shoulders graceful, square;
small rivulets have found their way down there
between dependent dark capped perfect mounds
that in my mind I climb and my heart pounds.

My fingers thrust the soft and sandy shore
I’m conscious of each grain and even more
of this whole wondrous, complex universe,
this water, fire, this air, this turning earth
and you dear, you, and of the drops that bead
between those breathing hills that, shining, lead
my thoughts, my dreams into another land,
that lies beneath a white bikini strand.

There is no sound save distant seaboat’s drone,
(a crawling dot across the great unknown),
I smell the brine, still taste my lunchtime beer
and smell your flower perfume in the air;
I trace the contour of your hips, your thighs
those narrow feet that hold such fine surprise
and rising now I walk into the sea
tread soft so not to wake up sleeping she.

My toes sink in, I stride out ‘til at length
I can surrender to the ocean’s strength.
I lazy swim, my body twists and turns,
then on the surface silent floats, sun burns …
I listen to the sounds of undersea
those echoes, creaks and clicks mysteriously …
but what is that, that subaquatic touch?
I try to stand, the water try to clutch.

Before I topple, slip beneath the brine
I see your smile, I reach for what is mine;
but, underwater, sunlight dances, rests
and dapples tan and gold your lovely breasts;
gasping, I stand and whisper in your ear
although no other human soul can hear
and when you do not try to move away
our sea-world ends in love one perfect day.

Bryan Islip, 1994

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