Of Coconut Blooms and Dreams

The rising sun was orange and black spotted as a  leopard’s skin.

The contemplative ocean reflected back the first risen rays in shimmering brassy gold.

    Ashore the Coconut palms clapped their long close leaves together

to make the sound of gentle raindrops.


This Palm tree so near our little bungalow on the  

Rarotonga Island beach has

an enticing flower.

Hanging in a most moist

provocative manner


in hopeful golden bloom

attracting eyes and bees

turning heads and drawing

pollinators from all around. 


 Does within those blooms

lies the hope of being

a  full juicy nut?

A milky luscious sought

after specimen of a coconut?



The rain even sets a picnic table of the blooms



 But not even ants come to dine.


In time,, perhaps all too soon,

the blonde full buxomly,

 luscious looking blooms

 wither to dry wrinkled gray crisp strands

devoid of hope

and of so very limited potential


 no coconuts?

Broken, brown, alone, withered?

Who choses not

from so much potential?

 the winds? the pollinators?

The sun, the rain?

A lack of dreams, no goals?

The mother tree’s nurturing skills?

Love, luck, or lack of?

Is an unfruitful life

for better or for worse

Any more or less

than a withered stem

of hardened, weathered grey?


What purposes not fulfilled?


About priscillacpoupore

old grey nag who's not done yet Relishing the study of the Chakras these days and connecting with fascinating spirits all around the world. When home in West Texas, Bill and I are working on our Strawbale house. We share lives with three burros, a Mustang and two cats.
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3 Responses to Of Coconut Blooms and Dreams

  1. Mary Lou says:

    I absolutely loved this, what a talent you have.

  2. Power in the poem, power in the poem.
    The metaphore is so powerful I am sad.
    Such is your power, my friend.

  3. I am so very grateful for your powerful response. I love you from the bottom of my heart.

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