Poetry by Jeff Green

46–Desert_island_dreams.html

Desert island dreams

by cricketjeff on September 9, 2007.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

Washed up on a beach on a paradise island
Far from the cares and the worries of life
I wake to the sight of a beautiful maiden
A half naked woman, you’d love for a wife

Breasts swinging freely as she’s bending over
Legs barely covered by a short grass wrap
She moves to one side and returns with some water
And cradles my head in her beautiful lap

She moistens my lips, it tastes like ambrosia
When you’re washed from the sea, fresh water is wine
Slowly the strength returns to my body
Life feels good, I’m glad it’s still mine.

She’s started to speak but her words have no meaning
I’ve heard many languages, none sound like this
But there isn’t much doubt what she’s wanting to tell me
When she smothers my mouth in a passionate kiss

She helps me to stand, and helps me start walking
Guiding me slowly down a path from the sand
In a palm tree lined grove a cluster of buildings
In front of the largest some more people stand

It seems on the island there are very few families
Living idyllically out on their own
They have fishing, and farming and beautiful daughters
But they don’t have a radio, or even a phone

Marooned on an island, without sons, but with daughters
These people are happy to see me arrive
I for my part am thrilled with the prospects
But I’m happy enough just to find I’m alive

The maiden who found me, her name sounds like Klara
Is making it clear that she wants me to stay
She’s pushing her family to feed me and house me
And while she is busy I watch her hips sway

After we’ve eaten, I’m laid on a bed frame
The weather’s so warm, there are no covers there
I’m quickly asleep but unless I am dreaming
Klara is next to me, totally bare

It takes me two days before I am stable
Able to walk and to move where I please
The families smile and speak to me often
And I’m starting to feel I should be at my ease

Klara is never too far from where I am
Makes sure that I see all that she has to show
Her grass skirt allows me to see all her treasures
Her bare breasts above and her bottom below

Now I am strong again, she stays still closer
She tries to explain the sounds that she makes
But it isn’t her words that show me her meanings
Her hands on my body ensure no mistakes

A dinner prepared, I think we’re to be honoured
The whole of the island has turned up to eat
A pig has been roasted, with fruits and with shellfish
And Klara has certainly turned up the heat

They wrap us in flowers and feed us with palm fruits
I’m pretty sure now that I’ve married this girl
The honeymoon starts in a hut on an island
I’m inside with her, and my mind’s in a whirl

I’m waking again to the sound of loud music
I’m back here in London, in a club in a chair
On my left is the perfect form that is Chantelle
And sat on my right is my dream girl called Clare!

Author notes

This is editted down from a rather more explicit private piece. I’m not sure about it.