Neruda Nights and Chile Days

A country awash in paradox – social formality juxtaposed with painted nudes.
Tin shacks and acres of vines absorb the sun, with very different outcomes.
Stray dogs abound and gypsy harridans harass for handouts,
Outcasts all, outed by their appearance.

But beauty abounds - the flowers, their colours reflected by the stucco houses,
The waves crashing against the shore, the pelicans patrolling for sea plunder.
A sky so blue and a breeze that freshens the shore, bringing the brown children
Crashing against the sandy shore, to scream and again face the sea, taunting the waves once more.

Isla Negra, its quiet solitude disturbed by the curious and the enchanted.
The rooms speak to the creative soul and validate the artists.
The house is peopled by memories that take the form of artifacts –
This shell gathered here – this mask chosen there – the bowsprits carried home – each with a story to tell of its loving adoption.
The grave looking out to sea, the lovers eternally soothed by lullaby del mar.

Comments

glenn haftner
your words splash colour, emotion and nostalgia onto the page...compact work that has had me reflecting for 30 minutes,so far