Musings on the façade of Seville Cathedral
How patiently they suffer, these old saints!
Their sandstone features, crumbled, vague,
some noses gone (some medieval ague,
or Time's cruel drip?) they offer no complaints.
Stranded seven centuries on this reef,
they bake, and wait resignedly, begowned,
for bell-tower shade slowly to inch around.
Do bas-reliefs experience relief?
This church was once a mosque. In point of fact,
the holy ancient venerable Gothic pile
(and here one struggles to suppress a smile)
has relatively recently been sacked,
and only lately put to Christian use.
These saintly faces, preternaturally mild -
do they still fret? Or are they reconciled
to slow decay, as hand or ear works loose?
And do they savour time as you or I,
observing how, below them in the street,
perukes give way to pony-tails and pleats?
Or do, for them, Septembers flicker by
like squandered seconds? Do they muse on Fate
and Destiny? What if my youth has gone?
What if this woman keeps me hanging on?
They also serve who only stand and wait.
The corn has ripened.
With it is the wizened laughter of a
Mirthless age, showing ashy teeth
Of dappled cowries.
A flavescence so bantered by the courage
Of wilting bloom!
Sadly, sea waves truss the feet of
Burning skies, loosening the tongues of beaches,
Which, with ague, recline on cold, cringing currents.
Old cats mourn the fall of strafed pillars
Burrowing through silt-buried kennels re-grassed for the
Salutation of new vistas.
20 Gently!
20 is the age,
That many feel,
Is life’s apex
A self view,
Dream’s engage,
Visions unreel,
Of Youth’s rare vortex,
Energy accent ague,
Center stage,
Focus visions steal,
From our older annex,
Simcha True!
Love gently, yet rage,
Agin’ emotion neuter unreal,
Cuddle is the text,
Sensate Focus is the rule,
Be infected via phage,
Of 20, Gently!
Love is a collage
Of dreams, unlike a mirage,
Vague, and yet precise...
Even sharing a massage
Done with love, gets enjoyed twice.
(TANKACROSTIC)
5/19/2021
TANKACROSTIC Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
Love little dears erode to lovers as a couple
Onot chews chocolates and drinks red wine
Vague desires wish seals love with a decent kiss
Estrider passions stops on hold endearingly reserved
1/12/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Nameless nomad from nowhere needed nestling niche
Emotions enveloped evermore excitement exuberant
Vague venture veered on valiant venerable voyage
Ever eager to enter enticing enclave of enduring endearment
Recognized remote rhythm of romantic reverie in rippling rapture.
Life’s listless landscape lighted lunar luminosity lured by your lilac love
Evidently eager I’ll earn, emerge enamored at edge of ebullient ecstasy
To tread the twilight trail, travel to your tulip tinged turquoise terrace.
My mind marauding in mauve meadow murmurs don’t maroon me
Even if eroding emerald enchantment ever ends embedded in ember.
Glitzy green garden gone grey, growing gloom grabs, never let me go
Open obscure old orifice on orb, I’ll orbit out of oblivion owning you.
March 27, 2019
Contest : Pick A Title, Vol 3 Alliteration
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Title chosen : Never Let Me Go
Available options stand the bile as they make the will bent
Massachusetts may be best for the holiday to be spent
But the rod of its weather may hit the comfort of its rent
Indecision, glorified from knowledge’s available dent
Vague is their understanding to a result from what they meant
Abstract control and power, making the priest eat meat in lent
Light, maybe heavy, not knowing where the definition went
Eight out of twenty, in idea makes contribution absent
No end point, as in midway, the anger of shortcoming vent
Thought or decision, on many roads, leading to no tent
L-ight
O-f
R-adiance
N-ever
A-llows
O-bscurity
C-anceling
H-aze
A-nd
V-ague
E-ventide
Topic: Birthday of Lorna G. Ochave (June 18)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
D-evise a new strategy,
A-s you form a fresh design;
V-ague pattern doesn't make
E-verything well and fine.
Topic: Birthday of Dave C. Anacin (March 26)
Form: Acrostic Quatrain
J-ust obey first and never complain,
U-nder the Lord God's command;
N-ever express discontent, as you ought to understand.
A-s you obey first and never complain,
V-ague longing is left behind;
E-arly twenty-sixth of May,
L-earn to open your mind.
L-et your heart be submissive,
A-s you endure the grief and pain;
N-either rebel nor defy,
O-bey first and never complain.
A ghostly shade of white that cloaks the ground
Of contoured guesswork and ominous mound
With flecks of skyward flakes tossed by the storm
That frost the gray, obscure the day and change its form
Observed within to look beyond a misted window pane
Into bitter extremities of ague and blaine
A snowbound silence that inhibits the soul
And uncertain depth that impedes all goals
Struggling iconic beauty that stealthily grows
Haphazardly drifting across the moors
Confining rugged scene of whitened dune
Snowbound and shackled this afternoon
To gaze and sit and reflect and ponder
The greenery beneath the shroud out yonder
(Idle musings on the facade of Seville Cathedral)
How patiently they suffer, these old saints!
Their sandstone features, crumbled, vague,
some noses gone (some medieval ague,
or Time's cruel drip?) they offer no complaints.
Stranded seven centuries on this reef,
they bake, and wait resignedly, begowned,
for bell-tower shade slowly to inch around.
Do bas-reliefs experience relief?
This church was once a mosque. In point of fact,
the holy ancient venerable Gothic pile
(and here one struggles to suppress a smile)
has relatively recently been sacked,
and only lately put to Christian use.
These saintly faces, preternaturally mild -
do they still fret? Or are they reconciled
to slow decay, as hand or ear works loose?
And do they savour time as you or I,
observing how, below them in the street,
perukes give way to pony-tails and pleats?
Or do, for them, Septembers flicker by
like squandered seconds? Do they muse on Fate
and Destiny? What if my youth has gone?
What if this woman keeps me hanging on?
They also serve who only stand and wait.
Jump Start
Reflective pebbles dash the lost marbles of my kind,
I struggle to get going, almost certainly lost my mind,
An ague aches drawn lines upon a taut canvass,
Sandwich hammed into a figure, I guess you can't understand,
The calamity of breathing, the noises damning man,
Each motion an act towards living of utter devotion,
Gurgling innuendo, with the slow clammy sweat,
Which is owned by another, carrying my name,
To be sure last night I said no more,
But the wine won my game just the same.
@Andrew Carnegie, Hungover in Wiltshire, 12th Jan, 2017.
I wake up alone
Lying on my bed
On my own
Vague dreams in my head
Engaging ahead.
Yet my love is clear for
Only you, that I adore
Undeniable, indeed.
Innocent dreamer from the start
You pawned my bleeding heart
Titilating every brokered part
Raw beauty veiled by anesthetizing art
Melodic notes that time could not chart
Gainfully pierced each heart string with passion's dart
And o'er time lust's residual a lingering ague did impart
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