Eyes of Eight


Flashing from the fathoms scattered across an ancient gallions deck
With a sea-green tint sparkling gold from a ship wreck.
To those that would gaze into these eyes of eight
She turns them on if you’re brave enough to wait.

 

Green as the pounding surf bleeding bits of gold
With a purity that bores into your soul.
Bathes you with warmth or steely green-stone cold
Beautiful or terrible to behold.

 

Just depends on your attitude
Too look upon them with gratitude.
Or carelessly dismiss her with worn out platitudes
Be forwarned there are no gray areas in these latitudes.

 

Green eyes in just two percent of the worlds people
Painted on the iris canvas and tinted from the sepal.
Of Flowers in greens in different hues of the spectrum
A Seductive kalidiscope in greens and golds beckon.

 

Like the gaze of ancient Egyptian Queens
Her tilting gaze of perfect symetry she beams.
To those  with no excuses
In the hours she chooses.

 

Reminds me of a beautiful Medusa
With eyes as delicate as flowers of anchusa.
Whose gaze is not a prison of stone
Or a sentence to atone.

 

Beauty like this comes but once a millenium
Gazing into her eyes takes you to Elysium.
She makes you understand why you are a man
Searching you with her green and gold scan.

These green eyes of eight also telling
Sometimes winsome and hurt spelling.
Their grief in crystaline tears that flow
Leaving tracks of pain in liquid woe.

 

Has seen their share of dissappointment
Through focal points of unwilling acquiescence.
A product of twentyfirst century thoughtlessness
These people with her heart wreckless.

 

Would at times let her heart turn to stone
These thoughts to herself contemplate alone.
In the gathering gloom
In the darkness of her room.

 

Looks at herself in the mirror
A glimmer of a smile now becoming clearer.
Tugs at the corners of her thin red lips
“Well who am I to be so glum?” She quips.

 

This brave Viking heart
Has been with her from the start.
It’s ramparts forged of iron
Like a furnace the flames of passion within burn.

 

This strange mix of Gold, Iron and the sea
These Eyes of Eight will set you free.
Probably too much for you but enough for me
Just depends if you look or really see.

 

The woman behind the eyes
An original artifact in no artifical guise.
What you see is what you get
The woman with eyes beset.

 

With emerals, and pieces of eight
She’ll make your soul vibrate.
To some cosmic symphony in the key of Quasars
Illuminating the heavens with her own savor.

 

Fire red hair and sea green eyes
From her pictures mesmerizes.
Me from thousands of miles
The Eyes of Eight upon me smile.

 

Her name is Dorothy
And I am proud to call her my friend.
And I believe every single word I’ve said here
And I could write volumes about her.

 

Dave Proffitt
1/18/2014
11:58 pm

A Letter To Mrs. Kirkey


She was my sophomore History Teacher
Down the hall this fine feminine creature.

Statuesque and tall legs to the ground
Her clicking high heels made a fine sound.

 

She used to wear this tight blue dress
I think she was giving to me a test.
To see my interest she did seek
My pleasure to see her each day of the week.

 

I loved to follow her down the hall
Watching her tight hips rise and fall.
A beautiful, strutting middle-aged queen
My boyish fascination with this scene.

 

Her long legs shaven and stocking bare
Tall black high heels her feet did ware.
Crossed legs on her desk she was perched
Her beautiful knees my eyes did search.

 

With long slim fingers she wrote on the board
Subjects and predicates I looked toward.
Seeing her turn her fine hips to see
Her dark eyes staring directly at me.

 

I need to tell this woman how I feel
A young heart this woman did steal.
Just a note or maybe a letter
 Makes things worse or maybe better.

 

I’m writing to her in class right now
“Mrs. Kirkey I don’t know how.”
“To tell you this but I must”
“To keep this private to you I trust.”

 

“To put my arms round your small waist”
“Your thin handsome lips I would taste.”
“That has spoken a thousand and one rules”
“Of sailing ships and explorer  fools.”

  

“I would do anything you could ask”
“My heart strings you’ve surely taken to task.”
“To smell your femininity and touch your white skin”
“Makes my knees weak and my head really spin.”

 

“Salt and pepper hair to your high heeled feet”
“There’s not a woman finer or as sweet.”
“I would kiss any spot that you would choose”
“My teenage heart to you I would lose.”

 

“Sincerely Dave Proffitt” to end this letter
Maybe for worse or maybe better.
I watch after class as she reads my letter
A smile on her lips yes this is better.

 

She tells me to stay after class the next day
My letter, my boldness, I might pay.
She rises from her chair and walks up to me
My letter in hand for me to see.

 

Her eyes twinkle a smile on her lips
She glides up to me on her fine hips.
Her high heels click on the hardwood floor
I look to see a locked class room door.

 

Long legs and heels make her level with me
I gaze into her dark eyes a passionate sea.
She’s so close I can taste her wondrous scent
My will power suddenly is spent.

 

Her long fingers I feel on my neck
I’ve become her emotional wreck.
She pulls me towards her thin red lips
My hands touch her fine wide hips.

 

She kisses me and I’m electrified
Her dark eyes have me mesmerized.
My body chemistry has gone crazy
My self-identity becomes hazy.

 

A motel address she writes on a note
She hands it to me as she puts on her coat.
“I’ll see you dear boy and don’t be late”
She whispers to me my middle aged date.

  

I watch her disappear as she clicks down the hall
A smile on my face it was good after all.
Glad that I wrote her the letter
It wasn’t bad in fact it was better.

 

I’ve loved this woman for two decades or near
No harsh words or ever a tear.
She left one day without telling me where
I wonder dear heart how will you fare?

 

I’m older and a little wiser now
She’s still in my heart somehow.
At times she brings tears to my eyes
I’ll love this woman till the day I die.

 

Dave Proffitt
October 16, 2007