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Details | French Poem | |

Starbright

As I gaze into indigo skies,
Stars are brighter tonight,
Twinkling in the darkness 
Of a new moon.
Orion's belt enchants 
My impassioned heart
As my thoughts of you soar
In a dimension devoid 
Of Time's constraints.
Let me feel the warmth of your
Strong arms wrapped 'round me 
As we breathe in the scent 
Of night blooming jasmine.
You are my summer nights—
In my dreams of us 
On cool cotton sheets
While Bach serenades us in 
Rainbows of ribbons~
In a symphony of sounds~
Your skin glistens,
And I am lost in love.  

© Connie Marcum Wong


(French translation)
Starbright

Comme j'ai regarder dans le ciel indigo,
Les étoiles sont plus lumineux, ce soir,
Scintillant dans l'obscurité
D'une nouvelle lune.
Ceinture d'Orion enchante
Mon coeur passionné
Comme mes pensées de vous atteindre
Dans une dimension dépourvue
Des contraintes de temps.
Je voudrais sentir la chaleur de votre
Bras forts enveloppés "autour de moi
Que nous respirons le parfum
Fleur Jasmin de nuit.
Vous êtes mes nuits d'été--
Dans mes rêves de nous
Sur des draps en coton cool
Bien que Bach sérénades nous dans un
Arc en ciel de rubans ~
Dans une symphonie de sons ~
Votre peau scintille,
Et je suis perdu dans l'amour.

© Connie Marcum Wong


Details | French Poem | |

Best Man

It has been 9 months since your sudden disappearance.

That Hallowed night when your 5’11” nerd aura
Handed me my early birthday gift
A cold shoulder wrapped in a velvet bow
Made in Sri Lanka, sold exclusively at the Dollar Store

That was your appraised value.

But, today, revival’s whisper enters my gently waxed earlobes.

Candy coated revelations
For my allergic blood

“I said yes!”, as she flashed Cracker Jack ring
Filled with Monopoly dollar signs and “Go directly to Jail” Chance cards

I almost applauded, my hands sarcastically never connected
While my eyeballs rolled in epileptic banter

We scream in misguided nerd joy 
As if we witnessed Monty Python & Darth Vader having a make-out session

Sudden urges to watch movies about Traveling Pants & Sisterhood
And PSing my I Love You
While we eat Dark Chocolate Klondike bars and Chipwich Ice Cream Cookies
My ovaries were bursting with INSANITY’S JOY!

But, WAIT, I quickly realized I didn’t have such parts!

It was then, reality crashed
As if Spider Man ran out of web during mid-air leap

My essence now halts at crossroads’ throat.

To my left, “celebration”
To my right, “other”

I chose to be a human this night.

Current time- 9:15pm
Current location- Reception Hall

A 5 course meal,
Including dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets
Smiley face French fries
And 3 glasses of Tang
Surrounded my space on the dinner table

Heavenly echoes of forks & glass,
Ringing in ignorant unison,
Give birth to Tinnitus in my drums

In their 9 months of togetherness,
They kiss with forcible ease,
Frogs refusing to show their true form

It is then, ignoring listless stares from guests,
I stood up holding my half-empty Tang glass
Which MIGHT have contained a smidge of Grey Goose

At the TOP of my LUNGS,
I whispered.

“Friend, I should be so proud of you. I would. I could. You never responded to my open-hearted palm. You left my vulnerabilities dangling at half-mast, as if I lost our final game of Hang Man. But, TONIGHT, it is I & this delicious Dinosaur nugget that will HAVE a final say! You are impeccably flawed, like I. But, I still wanted you to be a part of my tomorrows. Yet, you turned me into a muted yesterday. So, I will wish congratulations on your new slav…um, husband, Pouring this glass of yummy Tang onto this stapled dance floor in a straight line Each drop will be a symbol of how many tears he will shed, before that line is crossed.”
As silence slapped each other in its face Across candle flame blanketed, marble dance hall, With children pointing & laughing hysterically, “Security” enters the room As I hold hands with Cuban female rent-a-cop, her head warming my shoulder, “Thank you for these 9 months. For now, I have given birth to a new me. The Best Man that you will never hold again.” ©Drake J. Eszes

Details | French Poem | |

Where The Heart Resides

Like open arms
These broken gates reach out to me
And lead me to the lonely house
That overlooks the sea

Her door once proud and stately
Now splintered hangs in shame
As she realizes no longer can she
Keep out the wind and rain

I look into her beautiful
Sad and haunted eyes
These windows to her soul
Where alone she waits to die

Her rooms I see before me
Stripped naked raped and bleeding
And somewhere from within them
I hear her softly pleading

She beckons me to enter
I cross her threshold timidly
And suddenly an old familiar feeling
Comes washing over me

The floorboards squeak beneath me
As I move slowly down the hall
Tip-toeing through the paper roses
All withered on her walls

I step into her parlor
With tears falling from my eyes
As precious memories carry me
To the place my heart resides

I see her in her former splendor
Dressed in satin and old lace
Crystal chandeliers reflect the light
And caress her lovely face

French doors open to the fields
Where once I used to play
Make believe in lands of dreams
On sunny summer days

Silky curled beside the hearth
Purring softly as she sleeps
I caress her so tenderly
As my heart falls at her feet

The air is filled with music
As grandma strokes the keys
The aunts and uncles all join in
And sing in harmony

We take our places at the table
Laid out in fine bone china
We bow our heads and thank the Lord
For all the ties that bind us

Grandpa carves the giant turkey
Grandma brings the platters
We fill our plates with food and mirth
And an endless stream of chatter

And when the moon hangs overhead
In a soft and velvet sky
One by one we take our leave
With hugs kisses and goodbye’s.

I love you Grandma
I love you Grandpa
Rings into the night
And once again in my world
Everything is right

I close the door behind me
I say my last farewell
As I hear her take her final breath
In the trill of a whippoorwill

                    ~~~~~
Author:  Elaine George

My first entry on Poetrysoup  - Feb. 2, 2006

Details | French Poem | |

High Bred Reality

     Soul progress
     back field in motion
The guff
     Chose, chose, live grow leave!  GO!

Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold

    White clapboard poverty with tiger lily blooms,
blueberry rake poverty woolen looms.

Riffs of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow dawns,
mothers’ hazel eyes, father Davidesque form,
chosen to drive twixt a Jew and a screw.
          Magnet of lunacy...
Tumbled like an agate into the stream of life
part of the dream lesson
scream      lesson

Abuser of power, one who had once roared,
 Eve shaped now, weak and mewling
                 between the weeds of woe.
Care taken by lovers torn.
          Watched over by pedophile uncles.
Befriended by lewd Father of sons.
Adult child, searching amongst the Word
for the Word is God           and GOD …
       There are so many   words
    
Root ripped scenes from beauty to horror
Shiksa* taunts seep in with the smell of borsch. 
 A pumpkinseed amongst the pricks of Brooklyn
A wild rose planted in the asphalt soil 
     Doo-wop      ditty
Jew’s bop to a Dago harmony,
bagels, bialys and the French twisted strands 
of great grandma’s hair.
          Clipped, stripped of family shoved whole 
into yet another new mold.
      True believers,  ah yes,      fanatics all.
The struggle to survive whole healthy
dipped in, dripped in, a bath of acid and  thorazine. 
Polish priests pedal platitudes to the sisters of St. Joseph 
behind the gilded glory of the Church.

Raped by trust and betrayed by lovers,
a rose married to a prickles thorn,
so empathy is gained, and a healer born.
              Metal must be formed in a crucible of fire 
A healer can not be born without tasting the pyre.



Details | French Poem | |

Well I declare


Well, I declare

On artful prints her beauty dwelt,
diffused in haze, a pristine bloom,
ethereal her figure svelte
and French perfume.

Well, I declare, her love I sought;
unplaced on canvas her response,
was diffident her stare and thought
of renaissance.

Alike a dancing muse she stepped
her graciousness, a veil of night,
caressing wave, the shoreline swept
her smiling bright.

Upon the sands she coasted then,
of Springtime incandescent beam
an everlasting red cayenne
and fervent dream.

A classic arts connoisseur
well, I declare, my reddened rose,
I yippee yipped with spree and spur
and kissed her nose. :)

© 2014-09-06, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic tetrameter - Iambic dimeter)


Details | French Poem | |

Multi-Tasking

Wearing wireless headphones as I listen to the news.
I'm outside watching children playing, taking in the views.
There is screaming in my ears two voices disagree.
A little girl serves her playmates imaginary tea.

They're speaking on the pod, unarmed victims shot by police.
Captives tortured in war. I hear our own. I hear their pleas!
There's screaming in my ear a few voices disagree.
Little girls sitting pretend to speak French saying Oui, Oui!

There are typhoons hitting an island, reminds me of a tsunami.
Also officials gathering parts of a plane shot down by an army.
What  happened to the plane that went missing, no one remembers.
Teenagers on the street play basketball great kids, great neighbors.

The president uses his pen, makes some politicians angry.
There is screaming in my ears so many voices disagree.
The girls skip rope, laughter fills the air and singing too.
 Pundits discuss, argue this and that it's what they do.
 Night and day is closer then these scholars and their degrees.
Theres screaming in my ear, voices, everyone disagrees.

The guys still shooting hoops, living the life, always polite.
Protests on the streets, the  police display their might.
Some back peaceful protests others speak accusingly.
There is screaming in my ears, crowds of voices disagree.

I wave goodbye to the boys, we'll talk, I'll see them again soon.
The children want me to skip rope I play along like a buffoon.
They laugh that I can't skip properly. I leave them to their play.
There's screaming in my ear, voices...might as well talk to clay

My sleep will be hard, in the morning the sun will shine, children will wake.
What kind of world will we leave, you smile and laugh but feel like a fake.
Look how well we have done. When did we stop being one, being mild.
What happened to being cohesive? It takes a village to raise a child.
There is too much screaming in my ears, too many voices disagree.
I can only pray, lend my voice to the calm, hope we can all agree.

11~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillan
Contest Name: I CAN'T BREATHE: A peaceful Protest, An Anthology of Powerful Poems 
 

Details | French Poem | |

A Debutante's Ball To Remember

A Debutante’s Ball to Remember
In the autumn of my life, oft have I recalled that superb summer night, When I finally experienced my long-awaited heart’s delight. Family and close friends were all ready for my entry into society, To celebrate it with a grand debutante’s ball filled with gaiety.
In a dreamlike state, I felt like a princess with a golden crown, Making my grand entrance wearing a champagne chiffon gown. With matching gloves, and a pair of satin shoes on my tiny feet, My auburn hair was adorned with butterflies and posies sweet.
The ballroom was magically transformed with gas lights all aglow, And a glittering chandelier reflected on a highly polished mahogany floor. As the orchestra played, my body and soul were enraptured and consumed By its rendition of Ravel’s enthralling “La Valse” which pervaded the room.
Elegant ladies were all dressed to the nines in exquisite pastel gowns Of winter white, baby blue, powder pink, pale peach and beautiful browns. In tacit competition to out-best each other, social charms were well-honed, As they daintily fanned themselves and gossiped animatedly in hushed tones.
Refined gentlemen in their finely-tailored tails navigated the room to mingle, Keeping an eye out for eligible heiresses beautiful, graceful, and single. Wafts of mild masculine colognes came from discretely dabbed faces and hair; While the fresh feminine floral scent of French perfumes permeated the air.
Armed with a full dance card, I waltzed the night away with ardent admirers, Curtsying and coquettishly smiling, moving on to more exciting suitors. My enchanting evening climaxed with Strauss’s “Vienna Waltz” filling the hall. Oh, what a tale I will have to tell as my granddaughter prepares for her first ball!
11-21-2014

Details | French Poem | |

Quote compilation

In your eyes I see the person I am becoming.


Contemplation, the art of seeing the magnificent in the simple.


I searched for wisdom within myself and found God.


Forget all others, until I am the last thought on your mind.


You hide, hoping that I will seek.


Do not set limits on your dreams, that's your boss's job!


I tried to give her a French kiss, unfortunately she was not bi-lingual.


I turned practice into luck, what others see as easy comes from hard work.


If you search for yourself in darkness, how will you find your way back?


His mind traveled at the speed of sound, yet no one could hear him.


She bent over backwards for him, with disappointment she lost her flexibility.


 She was an emotional anorexic, starving for a substantial love.





Details | French Poem | |

HEARTBEATS ON PAS DE DEUX

HEARTBEATS ON PAS FE DEUX Starstruck by your smile as I opened my eyes Snow-white cheeks glows to peaches sweet Running fingertip to heart shaped lips As spring breeze kiss, I am a lady longing to grow Fear a lost shadow because warmth flows With your presence alone, I am soppy blown You bestow me a new life within a universe that's dark Walk with me, don't you depart Let's decorate views: a tapestry of you and me Man ... how quick you boil my fire Your heart thumps a crystal chime choir Cushioned pleased from your musky scent Words weak and not needed for us to speak Beside the hearth, let's dance our anthem real slow as our heartbeats jive in a pas de deux If by chance you catch my eye I hope for you to see our sparkles high... Our footwork a unison graceful cruise Two become one in this dance we choose Best given as we don't wanna to lose © O. E. Guillermo October 24, 2014; 10:27pm ***Inspired by the poem made by James Fraser: THE FONDER OF YOU ***PAS DE DEUX (French, literally "step of two") is a dance duet in which two dancers, typically a male and a female, perform ballet steps together. The pas de deux is characteristic of classical ballet and can be found in many well-known ballets, including Sleeping Beauty, Swan Lake, and Giselle.

Details | French Poem | |

More Foolish Footles - Man's Best Friend

Overweight Terrier:
Porky
Yorkie
Un-cool Terrier:
Dorky
Yorkie

Spaniel dog breeder:
Cocker
Stocker
Parrot who mimics a Spaniel's bark:
Cocker
Mocker
Book on how to care for Cockers:
Spaniel
Manuel
Originally from England, a well-rounded Spaniel stays in shape by playing:
Cocker
Soccer
Then showers and dresses by its:
Cocker
Locker

Dachshund headgear:
Weenie
Beenie
Grouchy Dachshund:
Meany
Weenie
Proportionally, male Dachshunds have:
Teenie
Weenies
(But size isn't everything)
Dachshund making critcal life choices:
Eenie
Weenie...

A dog in Medieval France:
Feudal
Poodle
French dog's brain:
Poodle
Noodle
A French dog breeder raises:
Oodles
of
Poodles
(Cheated on that one)

Lassie was a level-headed dog and never engaged in:
Collie
Folly
Reared in a lovng environnment, she was a rather:
Jolly
Collie
Bred in the capitol city of NC, making her a:
Raleigh
Collie
To commemorate her frequent (and often rowdy) visits to N.O. a streetcar was renamed the:
Collie
Trolley

Snoopy immigrated to the States but alas, was found not to be a:
Legal
Beagle
Thus he was deported back to England but was promptly knighted by the Queen becoming a:
Regal
Beagle
Now a celebrity, he even has an entourage of nubile young female beagles named:
Snoopy's
Groupies
Footnote: He is also a regular on the foxhunt circuit where it is rumored that he is often allowed to cheat, prompting howls of protests from outraged and exhausted cohorts...


Details | French Poem | |

Slavery in Haiti

Haiti, the home of voodoo practices
Seventeenth Century Spain cedes to France
Catholic Spaniards trembled when they saw
“Dead” men revived to wander in trances

A vile poison can make men appear dead
Revival requires an antidote
But perhaps there is more to zombie lore
An explanation to why these souls woke

Brutally treated slaves worked sugar fields
Captives from Africa known as “Maroons”
As French aristocrats sat and grew fat
Blacks sweated for “sweets” in the tropic sun

Buried guilt deep at night still festers
For conscience is God’s gift to each man
Some may suppress it for just a short time
‘Til magical night envelopes the land

Spirits of those who were taken in chains
Are given by God a chance to rebel
Stalking the living in deathly pallor
Haunting their captors with visions of hell

“Zombifications,” Maroons erected
Spreading the horrors of slavery with anger
Showing the French what their evil produced
And putting their sanity in danger

So please put the voodoo dolls back on shelves
The needle-sharp pricks of remorse can sting
Enslaved Maroons prevail in heaven’s court
Our Creator’s eyes aren’t missing a thing

Magic, black or white, God sees no color
Love is bestowed on men of all races
And those who question the Lord’s intentions
Should look in the eyes of living-dead faces

Details | French Poem | |

Autumn on my page


There is a wind ,  which sketched,
Without my knowledge,  the message;

Autumn had lying words,
On my page.

It was by way of red leaves,
The bird of passage,
Twirling in space,

I followed it of my glance
And its woven loops,
On the canvas of the sky.

I just transcribed,
What the wings,

Supported on the wind,
Said to me.

-
(translated from french )
--

C'est un vent qui traçait,
A mon insu,         le message  ;

L'automne avait couché les mots,
Sur ma page.

C'étaient en guise de feuilles rousses,
L'oiseau de passage,
Virevoltant dans l'espace,

Je l'ai suivi de mon regard,
Et de ses boucles tissées,
Sur la toile du ciel .

J'ai seulement retranscrit,
Ce que les ailes,

Appuyées sur le vent,
M'avaient dit.


Details | French Poem | |

GROWING Together

After six months of living with you
I found it amazing how we grew
     As the passion seemed to fade
     The worst signs of this charade
Were the clothes I couldn’t fit into

Lovemaking’s a form of exercise
And then when it stopped, what a surprise
     I asked you if I looked fat
     You said, “There’s no truth in that”
As you consumed even more French fries

But the doctor’s scale would tell no lies
Some 25 pounds my weight did rise
     Still you refused to believe
     Just continued to deceive
Till friends noted YOUR increasing size



By Carolyn Devonshire
For Judy’s “Short Poem Contest”

Details | French Poem | |

The Last Waltz

La dernière valse

From the skies
Clouds fall upon my dreams
I am up high, away from it all
I am far, but my tears still fall
I stand up and shout to Paris ( Pareee)
You left me, you left me here to fend alone
I can not danse, nor can I waltz
I am here, overlooking skylines of desire
Graveyards calling out my name
The clouds in the sky grey and dancing
The tour Eiffel stands up high
The symbol of all that makes me cry
I can not dance, nor can I waltz
Alizee Alizee go go go
Arête, arête my love simply won’t flow
Abelard died, and so must I
Lovers of love, wine runs dry
Poets and words, vices and crimes
Lovers of the majestic and the absurd
I was pushed over the ledge
In Versailles they left for me dead
Grandiose mirrors and artistic displays
I can not dance, nor can I waltz
So in the castle I will be slayed
By the demons of lovers
From the past, they do say
She left me here
On the left bank of the seine
So here I shall drown totally insane

Notes: I have on purpose used french spelling for some words in the poem.

Details | French Poem | |

Charlotte Russe


The rain began with striking thunder noise,
the falling drops were pelting on his head;
his bomber's jacket, after shave and poise
anticipated just, her tall spikes' tread.

Her stumbling light steps were quick and graced;
- oh, sightly maid, that fondling drops wet,
he smiles; she smiles, so rarified and laced,
her acrobatic charm and walking fret.

Her wet, Venusian bends enthrall his brain;
those curvatures must be explored and felt,
his tips will tangle in her moistened mane,
her feminine perfume and garter belt!

Athletic is his run upon the quay,
as lightning strikes around, of Zeus wrath,
in style he throws his rendezvous bouquet,
her manicured lithe fingers long to catch!

A flash demolishes the rose bouquet,
another strikes upon his buckle's brass;
resembling Nureyev at ballet
with Dame Fonteyn, he proves his dancing class!

She joins his dance beneath November's rain;
thus, he forebodes her lustful flames and cries,
uncorking the Dom Pérignon champagne,
receives a third flash on his manly prize.

Embraced they dance beneath the rain and kiss
Mille-feuille creamed her finger tips, will fuss 
to tease his buds, while deponent his lips
descend to slowly taste her "Charlotte Russe".

© 11-24-2013, All Rights Reserved
(humorous-erotic-light poetry-Iambic pentameter)

Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Contest Name: Charlotte's Scorchers: Erotic/Sensual Poetry 

Definitions:

* Mille-feuille:
The mille-feuille is a creamy pastry of French origin.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mille-feuille

* Charlotte Russe:
Charlotte Russe is a cold dessert of Bavarian cream set 
in a mold lined with ladyfingers.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlotte_%28cake%29


Details | French Poem | |

Scherben des Lebens/ The shards of life/ Los fragmentos de la vida

Die Scherben des Lebens lassen sich nicht kitten.  (German)

The shards of the life cannot be cemented.  (English)

Los fragmentos de la vida no se puede enmasillar.  (Spanish)

Les éclats de vie ne peu pas être à nouveau ensemble.  (French)

I frammenti di vita non può essere di nuovo insieme .  (Italian)

Die skerwe van die lewe kan nie weer saam wees. (Afrikaans)

Ang mga tipak ng buhay ay hindi maaaring simentuhin. (Tagalog)

Cioburile vietii nu pot fi cimentat. (Romanian)

Details | French Poem | |

When All That's Left Is To Love

.

You are the temple, I worship within,
living prayers of merging love and lust,
breath writes holy scriptures upon our skin.
You are the temple, I worship within,
a sacred place for me to enter in,
my priesthood's vows renewed by ev'ry thrust.
You are the temple, I worship within,
living prayers of merging love and lust. 














*This is an adaptation of French Triolet, a form which is officially written
in lines of 8 syllables, incorporating Iambic Tetrameter. Instead of French Iambic T, 
I am in the mood for a more rambling Colonial English flavour :P



.

Details | French Poem | |

In the Harem of the Flower Kisser

at the break of dawn a Hummingbird starts his rounds Morning Glory sought flaunting a red hue - Mexican Sunflower tempts looking hot, hot, hot the Don Juan of birds sucking nectar from Beardtongue. . . drunk on French kisses Goldenrod at noon. . . Zephyr carries a sweet scent beneath a gold sun between Rose bushes the Flower Kisser gets lost in Blue Infinity Sweet Pea and Bee Balm entice with purple petals. . . Bees join the orgy Monarchs swarm in droves when blue Hummingbird alights on Butterfly Bush Evening Primrose waving in the dusk’s last breeze. . . the proper lover the Flower Kisser leaves his harem sated as white Moonflower glows By Andrea Dietrich *The capitalized names for flowers represent some of the most popular flowers visited by hummingbirds.

Details | French Poem | |

Butterfly Dreams

Giving in to desires dreams of butterflies,
Dancing to internal rhythms pulsing beat,
Finding Heaven's scent, devils delight, sighs; 
Wanting temptations forbidden fruits heat.

Come to where butterflies desires go to kiss,
On wings that whisper of earthly tones,
Carried to heights of sublime bliss;
While butterflies whisper orgasmic moans.

Plunging deeper, coaxing french vanilla cream,
Eyes wide open drinking in butterfly dew,
Giving in to butterflies secret desires to dream;
Devouring ambrosial butterfly nectar anew.

Trembling beneath each stroke of butterfly wings,
Release struggling to cascade in brilliant form,
Tender hushed whispers, as the heart sings;
Caught off guard during a butterfly storm.



Details | French Poem | |

Strings


Musical renditions
The voice in unison, together we chante
Strings play their story
In harmony fate sings along
The winds blow in from the sea
The sun runs away
We are the band of the night
With whiskey we sing and play
We are young and we are old
The night breeze carries the tunes
I may be fao, and I may be inebriated
Harps and chords, strings to be strummed
I see you stare, would you like a Rum?
You know what you want
So close your eyes
The kiss will be sweet
Tomorrow you may fly away
Tonight the strings they are all in play

String me along
Not for long
All strings fall
Naked is your deception
The strings are all gone


Notes "chante" pronouncec shante, = sing in french
Fao = ugly in Spanish

Details | French Poem | |

THE CITY OF LOST SOULS

Beware, out-Lander for thy tread on the sacred ground,
Of Louisiana, guarded by the ghosts of the Mississippi,
And here the dead tell know tails, of the living's returning,
After adventuring into the darkness of the night.
Rattle them bones, sister voodoo woman,
Black magic's high priestess, cast asunder the 
Ivory teeth of the white devils, across the streets
Of old New Orleans, behold the ancient city of lost souls.
Hidden beneath the glittering mask, of La Carnival,
It is the celebration of the dead, my friend, and faceless
Figures, do toss the beads of evil, to the lustful
Crowds gathering, for Mardi-Grad's extravaganza.
Phantom walkers, without names or emotions, spirit stalkers,
Roaming the old French quarter, seeking to catch the
Innocent traveler unaware and unprotected. 
A wall of realism and illusion, thin is the veils that divide
Light and darkness, sheer vaporous mist of transparency,
Existing in this the forgotten realm, where southern
Comfort invites the living to visit, but never allows them
To leave alive.
As the flickering rays of twilight fades, swallowed whole
By the spectral invaders, the creatures of light seek refuges,
Holy places, as the church bells ring, calling unto the innocent
Make heist to salvation's shelters of grace.
In he city's center, lays a dry leathery organ, sunken
And misshapen, feel the rising, the awakening of the
Heart of evil emerging, its veins arteries made of 
Cobble stones brick, thus are the webbing's of streets leading, 
Unto the deadened heart, metamorphosing it alive once more.
Slowly bloods spiritual essence rushes through
These ethereal veins, reaching this source most
Evil, it owns this city of lost souls, unto the tolling
Hour of dawns first rays of light, crossing the horizon.
Red bricked buildings lay side by side one 
Another, in a design of Gothic manipulation, feeding
Stations made cozy for the living and dead to reside
Within, as the crimson curtains blow freely from the 
Inside out, welcome my friends to the French quarters,
The threshold's crossing, between life and death.
Hear the low thumping of the Jamaican drum,
Mixed with African tongue, chanting in rhythm's
Echoing breeze, softly spoken in whispers are the spells
Of misfortune, a vow's crimson promise, written in blood
Long ago, a demonic pack made between the spiritual native
Inhabitance and the dark heart of the Cajun Bayou.
On bloods throne the Grim Reaper does so sit, next 
To his bride, the Queen known as Mrs. New Orleans,
Both laughing in tandem, with the musical chorus
In this requiem of the dammed.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | French Poem | |

In A Meadow

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I can feel the breath of violin, upon my face ~ The fluttering wings of fingers playing, 'A Lark Ascending' In sweet release, I close my eyes, and drift away to inner peace ~ All strife takes flight, the music takes me to a meadow growing…. Two clarinets, in soft duet …..are timeless, ageless, knowing I'm standing still, in waving grass, a cello plays a soft breeze blowing I weave and sway…the music plays …a french horn makes sweet love to me As if a lark, I leave the ground, upon the lilting sound, and fly away…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Inspired by the Classical composition, "A Lark Ascending" Composed by Vaughn Williams

Details | French Poem | |

A "Hopeless" Diamond (in the Rough)

French trader Tavernier in a greed-inspired way
Glared at an idol of a temple in Mandalay
Prying a gem from its eye socket, a curse prevailed
Tavernier died bankrupt soon after making the sale

Louis XIV bought the stone, 1668
A gift to his mistress, Louis had it cut heart-shape
For dabbling in Black Magic, this madam was burned
A century passed with the curse’s power unlearned

The diamond was then bestowed on Marie Antoinette
For wearing it with boastful pride, Marie lost her head
She lost respect from the commoners of her nation
This gem has since been linked to the French Revolution

Cut far smaller, the gem resurfaced, 1830
When a London banker bought the rock of infamy
Henry Thomas Hope survived; the curse appeared to break
For 70 years the Hope Diamond’s wrath lay in state

A Hope heir’s marriage collapsed; his wife evoked the curse
As she foretold, subsequent owners’ fates would be worse
French broker Jacques Colot went mad, suicide his road
Sultan “Abdul the Damned,” insane after being deposed

Then to an American the Hope Diamond was sold
Washington Post owner Maclean watched horrors unfold
Other household members died, but it was Maclean’s son
Ten years old, struck by a car, his Dad’s mind came undone

Ultra-light ray tests caused the mystery diamond to glow
With safety in mind, Hope’s eerie stone found a new home
It remained locked on display in the Smithsonian
Could it be to blame for all that’s wrong in Washington?

Tragedy also tied to raiders of King Tut’s tomb
Perhaps lessons can be gleaned from those who met their doom
Robbing temples, burial sites, outcomes always bad
Greedy souls’ quests for wealth can leave them totally mad

So don’t expect me to purchase a diamond in the rough
Considering this gem’s history, a sandstone’s quite enough

Details | French Poem | |

Cashmere Wishes

You waited for this moment,
As if you were an incomplete salutation

You waited for confessional breaths to alleviate this finite evening
Missing its constellations

You wept for their sunflower touch.

A touch to engorge the gaps of your imprinted thumb
With honeysuckle madness

Dry

Another cashmere moistened parable
Hungering for ink-plated resolutions

You waited for their Haiku smile.

A smile condoning resilient waterfalls
Unto ocean’s distant memory

Aching for risky walks above coal-ridden tomorrows

No forest green pupils observing
The hindrance of time

You wished upon wishes
For blanketed convenance to warm aspiring, French kiss upon promised morn

You wrestled with downward spirals,
Uplifting loneliness from Heaven’s chasm

Lost

Enough

Regurgitated sobs reserved under no-name invitations

But, I...

…I was 						h	e	r	e.

All along

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | French Poem | |

MY QUIET PLACE, SOFT



My favorite sanctuary is the side porch where I would screen the horizon and
amble around to feel the wonder of this place--- robins trill in the morning ;a garden path leads to rows of flowers and plants. At any given day, the round table and brass chairs act as a breakfast nook, night party lounge ( with its cobblestone floor and collage of lights), and wide-open painting /writing room. Transparent glass hinged on French-style frames hangs above my porch with a bevy of orchids trailing below it.
My alone time to gather my thoughts and awaken all senses refreshes my soul in this abode.



Soft lights glitter through bench on porch As moon carves a flossed line; Words gather to arc hands’ torch On brown pages, reclined. Floral thoughts climb through patio doors Where language reels around The way mist floats like raindrops’ pour Dipping odes wet, I drown.
My Quiet Place Contest of Sara Kendrick