Buried Treasure

Avast ye mateys! old Blackbeard
bellowed to himself, alone on
Tonga, south sea island like a
speck in Pacific vastness, his
ship ripped by coral reef, his crew
taken under by tides extant,
a solitary eye-patch he
on sand wet and soft, an island
carpet causeway, buried now in
solitude like grouper groping
on the bottom pressured in depth,
his treasure hope for anyone,
a voice, a breath, a siren’s song
to quell this longing like a tide
pulling heartache...and then a splash
unlike the roar of sea spoken
in surge against protruding rocks--
nay, a mermaid breaking water
appearing like a dream, beauty
flowing, winsome innocent coy;
pirate sigh and tears forthcoming,
winds of tropic warm and soothing,
Tonga palms in lushness swaying;
and Blackbeard buried treasure hence.


24 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
4-12-16