ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel
  • »
  • Books, Literature, and Writing»
  • Poems & Poetry

Write me a story, she said! A poem

Updated on March 26, 2013
Beach in Fortaleza, by Aurélio Figueiredo (1854 - 1916) (Brazilian painter)
Beach in Fortaleza, by Aurélio Figueiredo (1854 - 1916) (Brazilian painter) | Source

Just like the Little Prince

Had asked Antoine to draw

A sheep in the desert,

Out of the blue she asked :

"Write me a short story,

A tale of life and love

Based on the two of us".

"Take me so far away,

I don't want to come back!"

So, as I always do,

I welcomed her challenge

And started scribing down

Dancing words on paper.

"Close your eyes, follow me :

Imagine this island

In the Caribbean,

A tiny oasis

Drenched with sun all year long,

Bathed by tropical rains.

Bodies tanned from the sun,

Salty skin from the sea".

"There is nobody there

But just the two of us

With not much else to do

Than pleasure each other,

Arms and legs intertwined,

Fondled by a warm breeze

Gently blown from the sea".

"Welcome home" I have said

Carrying her over

A threshold made of sand,

Pushing open the door

Of the driftwood built shack

I constructed for her.

"What would you like to eat?

You can have fish...or fish!"

"I think I'll have the fish!"

She murmured with a smile

That would melt the North Pole.

"And then I will have you,

My man, my hunk, my love!

Think you can handle me?

Oh boy, did I ever!

Under the starry night,

Lit up by a bright moon,

On the warm golden sand

We laid down and gazed up

Creating memories

That will last forever.

Her hand resting on mine

Over the tablecloth,

Under the dancing light

Of the burning candle,

She gives me a sad smile:

"Honey, let's go away

We both could use a break!

"I am tired of New-York,

I am tired of this cold,

And I can't stand the snow.

I want some sand and sun

I need some time with you".

As if I hadn't heard,

I reached to my pocket.

And out of my jacket

Pulled out a white paper,

Pushed it slowly to her.

Unfolding it, she read,

Looked at me tenderly:

"Won't you take me home now, love,

"I feel warm already!"

Copyright 2013 by Austinhealy, his heirs and assigns for the text, as indicated for the illustrations


    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • austinhealy profile image

      Bernard J. Toulgoat 4 years ago from Treasure Coast, Florida

      In writing, the measure of success to me is the ability one has to convey thoughts and feelings in a way that will touch people. When I realize occasionally I have achieved that, I am in writer's heaven. Thank you Scriber1 for your warm touching comment.

    • profile image

      scriber1 4 years ago

      This work is more than mere entertainment. It is a humane and sentient grasp of the world through the eyes of a true romantic; indeed, the measure of this man speaks for itself in his expression of that grasp.

    • austinhealy profile image

      Bernard J. Toulgoat 4 years ago from Treasure Coast, Florida

      If I have entertained you for a couple of minutes, then I have achieved my goal as a writer. Thank you wildove5 for your nice comment.

    • wildove5 profile image

      wildove5 4 years ago from Cumberland, R.I.

      I could almost feel the sun on my face! Very nice!