Treasure Island

Daleen Enslinstrydom

(25-02-1967 / Springs, South Africa)

White Painted Houses


White painted houses are in a row
with the cobalt-blue ocean as a background
and the colours are changing constantly
as the sun lowers itself over the horizon
and the water turns to purple-pink.

Colourful are the fishing boats
coming into the small harbour
and everywhere barefoot children are to be seen.

The catch is being sold
while men talk about the events of the day
spent on the water

and it's as if a play is unfolding,
inviting you to come and sit down
as you watch from a distance
while the day draws to an end.

A seagull swoops past
to scavenge something to eat
and in the distance someone
drives away a stray dog.

The housewives with their colourful head-clothes
are gathering around the boats to buy
and to catch the news of the day.
A kaleidoscope of people
and an array of aromas does fill the night air
while everyone is talking simultaneously.

As they part to go home.
the evening arrives and the sky becomes dark,
lights have to be turned on
and the houses are etched of
as the day does disappear.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Edited: Thursday, February 07, 2013

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 (White Painted Houses by Daleen Enslinstrydom )

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

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]