the lady from Gabu

I watched, mesmerized,
as she danced,
the lady from Gabu,
her lips moving slowly
her hips moving slowly
to the lyrics.

Our lines of vision
crossed. She looked
surprised, amused,
and walked towards me.

Dusky brown,
light of step, smiling.
I said, sheepishly,
I´d try to keep up.
“You’ll do just fine.

“You are a good dancer,
but how is your Crioulu?”
You are a good liar.
My Crioulu is limited –
bu misti & ca tang.

“I want” and “I don´t have.”
“That´s a good start.
Spend 7 days & 7 nights with me
in Gabu and you will speak
um bom Crioulu.”

It seemed her feet
never touched
the floor. We danced
the night long.
I never returned to Gabu.


Author: Raymond Maxwell Librarian, archivist-in-training, retired foreign service officer and Navy veteran.

4 thoughts on “the lady from Gabu”

    1. You might like this rhyming poem I wrote a couple of years back, dedicated to Phyllis Wheatley, Emily Dickinson, and Gwendolyn Brooks.

      The words we read, the lines we write,
      are gaps in time, that soon take flight

      poetry has that property
      transporting us through space –
      we write a word and make a rhyme
      and aim it to its place –

      if accurate, we hit the mark,
      we reach the goal we seek –
      but if precise, we claim the prize,
      and scale the highest peak –

      the words and rhymes unwind, divide
      with measured purpose, need –
      then seek to replicate the thought
      and shape the world of deeds –

      The message in the poems we write
      is free, yet hidden in plain sight.

      Liked by 1 person

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