Tina J Gordon


EMAIL: teethetrav@yahoo.com

    BLOG:  www.teethetrav.travellerspoint.com

Be a Pirate

Be a pirate.
Steal treasures
never to be returned.
Keep them close to your heart.
Guard them well.
Delight in the secret
of knowing they are yours.

Steal moments
of passion,
of pleasure,
of sunshine.

Hoard your wealth
inside of a poem, or
perhaps a painting.

Risk everything.
For once the treasures
are yours, they
belong to your soul
and may never be

Unless, of course,
you release your grip.

Tina J Gordon


Darkness lurks in the cobalt blue water as the sun sets.
Shadows ebb, deceive.
A starfish gazes up at me.
An eel wiggles by, slithers into crevices, hides in nooks
deep in the lining of the reef.

Fish parade by, a mardi gras of colors; electric blue, spotted green neon, yellow stripes.
Wearing their costumes they pompously display their stuff.

I drift, pretend to be one of them.
Do they know that it's only an act?
Can they sense that I am perilously close to sinking, buoyed up only by the movement of those who swim nearby.

Tina J. Gordon


My words drip down the page,
Bleed painfully,
Vanish away, irretrievably lost.
Nothing is permanent.

Tina J Gordon


Sapphire, emerald, turquoise, navy,
Aqua marine, indigo, sea green water set against alabaster white sails.
Grey gulls step past small shells.
A hermit crab creeps along, his craggy, mottled house hiding his true self.
More complex than he appears.
Or perhaps not.

Diving, I break the surface tension of the calm water, find more.
So much more.
Coral lies everywhere,
shimmering fish sparkle.
In the corner of my eye I see
angel fish.
Angels under water.
Not putti nor bare-breasted nymphs; not cherubic, not angelic at all, really.
They taunt the spiny, black urchins below, swim towards them, then away.
The urchins remain fixed in their positions; spines move threateningly.
They guard the gates to secrets I haven't yet discovered.

Tina J. Gordon

St. Lucia

Heart skims across the water,
sails like a sunfish
carried by the breeze;
colors slide gently
nudged by a zephyr.

What does it take to sustain this?
To live slowly, carefully, serenely;
to dodge forces that drive
like hurricane winds, and
carelessly batter the soul,
drive it crashing against
the shore, randomly
without motive.

No higher power here, really.
Even the squalls take their toll.
Each small storm erodes the senses, wears away the spirit,
numbs the brain in small increments, bit by bit.

Remember this!
Live slowly.
Grasp the calm.
Guard it.
Even when chaos surrounds you.

Tina J. Gordon


Wasn't I just counting
the days until your birth?
I blinked.

I tried not to;
I tried to hold my
eyes wide as you went
from wearing your baby white
dress with tiny rosebuds to your
five-year-old's lace-trimmed leggings,
funky shirt and pony-tail on
the side of your head (Madonna,
the early days meets Suzanne Somers,
Three's Company).

A blur of outfits:
proms, pageants, recitals,
jeans, more jeans, sneaks,
more sneaks, flip-flops, then,
oh my--heels.

You whined (not wined, that
would come later) your way
through France, parts of
Italy and most of the landscape
known as the teens.

Your poise and confidence
grew; your beauty shines through
from inside.
I watch with joy, waiting to see
what happens next.

With all the promise and
possibility that suggests.
I blinked.

Tina J. Gordon


A claret-throated blackbird
perches next to me.
With a hang-dog face
he plaintively looks at me,
head cocked.
I suppose he's begging for
a crumb of biscuit that sits
on a small plate in
front of the two of us.
Left there on the table by some
previous squatter.
One man's discard,
another's coveted prize.

The sun dips further down
drawing evening nearer now.
The blackbird hops on one foot,
then the other, as though growing impatient.
With a shake of his head he departs.
Wings spread, one flap, then two;
he sails off on the breeze to places I
will never see.

Orange fires across the cerulean sky.
The sun drops soundlessly into the sea.
Another day passes.

Tina J Gordon