Treasure Island

David Rowe

(7 Nov 1969 / Worcester, Mass.)

The Cargo Cult


Of my backwards heart
leads me to believe it's all real
simple: just go & hack away
the tall weeds & brambles
to clear the old runway;
next, illuminate
its length with plastic jugs
of lightning bugs;
then, climb into the control tower
of discarded cardboard,
put on coconut shell headphones,
& wait
for her- the young lady
with a precious stone hung from her navel
& portable pedestals upon her feet-
to arrive aboard
the shiny silver bird
with her world's store
of grace & bounty
ready, once more,
to ruin me.

Submitted: Sunday, April 07, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 10, 2013
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Cargo Cult by David Rowe )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Mind, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
  2. WE ARE TEMPORARILY HERE, MOHAMMAD SKATI
  3. Waxing Grandiloquent, Margaret Alice Second
  4. When The Evening Light Comes, Pijush Biswas
  5. Hindi haiku (56-60), S.D. TIWARI
  6. Retirement (or) Till Your Last, Natarajan Ramaseshan
  7. An illicit dream....., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
  8. The House Across Our Road, Kuda Bondamakara
  9. sadism, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
  10. Call me, I am here, gajanan mishra

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Lawson


The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
...... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]