Tuesday, April 21, 2009


The fronds hang ponderously from the palm

Swaying, in the cooling breeze

Dancing across the face of the sun

As they look down upon glittering myriad fragments, the reflections.

Weaving throughout the expanse of the secluded bay

Eternally bobbing and pirouetting on the restless water

Close to me, as I sit with my coffee, a rooster crows, one of only

three sounds,

In this place of tranquillity, that I can hear,

The whispering palms a distant chorus,

In counterpoint to the soft waves, foaming on the pure sand

The South China Sea was warm, inviting, when this afternoon I sun

Crabs and jellyfish thoughtfully hastened from my path,

As I waded yonder, the saltiness enveloping my body

A fantasy of suspended animation, and a feeling of rapture

This night the abundant flora will be bathed in the creativity,

Of cloudy moonlight

In a place where the glow of electric illumination dies at ten

Transforming all, into a secret magical garden

The glorious disk, to become a focus of enchantment

The amorphous velvety blackness, remains aloof

Defined, only by stars, white-hot pinpoints

Burning through eternity, reaching down to a place

As yet, barely touched by man.

© 1997 Leigh Billett

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