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Grilled golden grains glance through his restless hands,
strong suntanned fingers straining sandy rain.
Stranded on a strip of ocean land,
he lonely lingers. Glances once again
from his castaway kingdom’s salty strand,
where he remains in solitary reign
over seagulls banking on the sand
and mosquito clouds which whine, complain,
from morn till night amid the palm tree bands
which food and drink provide to ease his pain.
The cloudless compass round, on every hand,
north, south, east, west, his anxious eye has panned.
He scans the coral sea from sky to land,
stands screening, once again, the sun steeped main.
While distant sea lanes still he spans in vain,
the visions echo through his aching brain.
© Jonathan Robin Poem written 29 February 1976 and 11 September 1990
Jonathan ROBIN
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