Context — I never really belonged in business school. I found somebody else who’d also spent time on Pacific islands and we reflected together over a meal. It was formative for both of us. He was considering a book on the experience at the time. Sonnet #41, written May 3, 2010.
By blankets blue reflecting daylight haze
both stuck in place defined by what it’s not,
they tanned their hides and brains into malaise
atop forgotten atoll ocean dot.
In prior lives they’d made all kinds of New,
brought music, dance and deepened thought to air,
yet on these islands heads bent straight askew,
creatively confused when talked the pair.
With happenstance alone, show the excuse,
a mental heritage each shared with word,
engendered authors’ thoughts of written truce,
their works raised twice, with each man’s circles heard.
Compendia of thoughts await to give
our battered island voices chance to live.
Hey Tuttle. You’ve really inspired me bro. Thank you for the reminder… here’s my response to your sonnet… #sonnet41.1 written just now.
on pillows red with native blood i lay
and dream my grandma’s songs she used to sing
the clouds above my head are swept away
and my lagoon left hollow like a ring.
those nights when crickets whisper’d granny’s song
the jealous midnight waves would touch the shore-
and pull my restless sadness like the fronds
of trees we saw as children, now no more.
the active radio within the land
broadcasts long tales of sadness we all share
behold the might of God’s own gentle hand
which bars us now and then from going there.
i’ll need my ‘cestor’s ancient point of view
to dream as big as island children do…
This makes me very happy. The content and the fact that it was a little motivation to revisit those days in your mind. I’m finding this to be a mental release when I face shards of life I just can’t sort through at the moment. I hope we cross paths soon.