Irene My Mother and I

Irene....My Mother and I. I cannot believe I am her daughter! She always dressed in the very best taste. Very little jewelry, conservative dresses, no slacks, are you kidding? A white-gloved perfect lady,she. Hats she wore yes, exquisite ones. Never a babushka on her coiffure. Boots,too, my Mother loathed, In those years, verily homely were they. However,in platformed  heels, she was     true beauty in motion.             Panagiota, her daughter, the dreamer, Thinks everyday day is Carnival in Rio! And would wear a Samba outfit  Right this day, if only she could! Be a true Sambanista, bringing the joys      of Brazil to your neighborhood. Loves humongous earrings and necklaces. People stare at her with strange faces. And she is insane over shoes metallic. With colorful gems upon them or flowers, totally exotic. Her dreams to be a Rockette, alas, if      only she could. Quite the woman~ a legend in her own       mind! Writing poetry, in an imaginary land of her own making. In her magenta robe, sparkling adornments in her hair and gold MaryJane shoes, as dainty as flowers! Writing her soul poems by the hours. Cannot forget her paramours! Listening to the music of Antonio Carlos Jobim, total heaven! Enjoying her freedom and ever so blessed! A Princess~ ruling in a land all her own       smiling with flowers. Her hand, with the giant moonstone ring from Peru, Her passion for all things turquoise, jade or Santorini blue Her head, never stuck in things practical. Just flies in all directions,never pedantic. Purely, romantic or totally magical. Thus~ is her setting for writing poetry, She cherishes your comments in this     land of the free! We roaming souls connecting by things so     ecstatic~ This is so very joyous and totally       far from all things tragic. Panagiota Romios 3/24/2019