VISUAL IDIOMS
a
contemplative
venture
in
tokens
of temperament
conventions
of
emotional
immediacy
with
inseparable
prejudice
hesitant
casual
simplicity
a
foretaste
of
utopian
thrills
in
decorative
dots
a
timeless
barbed
synthesis
on
an
arcadian
panorama
of
paradoxical
possibilties
Deep within a pallid night
moonbeams sing of shadow's flight.
A rippling cloak, on loam snow fell,
placed to herald winter's knell.
Whispering winds on bloodless lands,
a cold caress of unseen hands.
Wisps of shimmering snow entrance
atop the blanket like a fairy's dance.
Quivering boughs of pine and oak
vaunt slender limbs 'neath a silvery cloak.
Bare and black and laden with snow
the windswept beauty of branches held low.
Through murmuring limbs the wind did gust,
blowing spectral kisses of frozen lust.
The moaning zephyr to dark realms fly,
chasing silvery mists beyond the sky.
Towering empyrean on horizon burn,
blue fires of brumal sapphire churn.
Flickering stars of crystal light,
celestial sprites of an enchanting night.
Pale citadel over midnight looms
Cast blue shadow on Arcadian tombs.
Moon's kingdom alight with chill desires,
crown the hold of winter's spires.
rejoicing in the gap in your teeth
from 3 meters out
my eyes sought you out
i could see imperfection
dutch girl of sensitivity
of arcadian stock
render your loving glare
I’d prefer to live in a bygone era of
unsophisticated innocence
I’d prefer to live in a bygone era
where there was no ideology of ideal idleness
I’d prefer to live in a bygone era
where there was no sense of conscience,
no ken of moral nous and no subtlety of civilization
I’d prefer to live in a bygone era
where there was just absolute tenet
of tenacity as probity
in every inch of milieu’s existentiality
as of Mother Nature’s intrinsic innateness.
Spellbinding place where rainbow water flows
Frogspawn and tadpoles such enormous change
Arcadian forest where pixie dust blows
All creatures are welcome no one estranged.
Twilight is magical what will happen?
Atmosphere filled with dire baritone croak
Whispering rustle, low-lying bracken
Fae folk appear under red velvet cloak.
Fireflies lighting wonderful oasis
Elderly toad croaks musical score
Pompous owl tries to intimidate
Proud of position he is the law.
Beetles scurrying they are so anxious
Happy invitation it's party time
Cantankerous bees prickly as cactus
Covered in honey they buzz "all mine".
Terrapin plays music on his bassoon
Boisterous sound that creatures adore
Leprechaun baked magical mushroom
Mesmeric food eaten they all chant more!
Pixabay image by Sandra_Schoen
Put me gently down, on our great, confort-rose
petalled bed.
Brush your lips on mine, warm and cherry red!
The gentle clock of time, breathes ever so softly
into the Springtime night.
Of our beautifully choreographed lovers samba
of sensual might.
To create a child born of love’s grand, memorable
Arcadian continued history.
To bring into this world a magical offspring
To bless this world with tender, loving, mystery.
12/ 18/2021
Your warm hands hold mine,
That with desire both shine and shiver.
Like the moon, looking for a silvered river.
Oh, how long for you I pined.
Sparkling burgundy wine, in tinkling crystal glass.
Hypnotized by your Arcadian, invasive eyes.
This moment, under clear San Francisco night skies.
That time still lives eternally, which nothing can surpass!
Your sweater, soft and dark, green like a sensuous forest.
Stop time in this place~ no, there is far more ahead for us.
We, in love, so totally, eternally obsessed.
I felt like your goddess in a golden, Greek, love-!bodice!
3/5/2021
~6 ~
Quatrain
A,B,B,A
A crystal glass brimming with fresh, ambrosial grape juice.
Some do desire imported grape wines.
No matter what, always recall, their source is God's holy vines.
I do live in heavenly, arcadian, wine country.
Occasionally, wearing, a purple see through scarf with lovely, gold leaves.
Misfortune, though, when one gets purple stains on luxuriant, shantung sleeves.
2/15/2021
~ 1 ~
The Handwriting of the Marionette
David J Walker
The confessional was
Paper-thin cursive in ink
A life of sin laid out in as few lines
As were memorable in a
Second person narrative
The ventriloquist's voice opened
The service with a far-off prayer
In another language of tongues
Which only the faithful could bare
As the maître de la marionette
Guided her signed confession
Utopia would open its gates
In the wake of the waves drowning
The funeral pyre
So goes the soul as the steam rose
From the cut strings to the
arcadian clouds somewhere higher
And higher
You are the melody that echoes in my life!
With the atmospheric aroma of an angel.
How is it you broaden my horizons to magnificent heights?
I am christened with your cosmic charisma.
It dazzles on my forehead..see it glisten in golden-sunlight.
No matter how rough the turbulent seas of life get,
I know you are behind me on life's slippery deck.
Completely safe in your cherished company,
With only your arms and stars to guide us on stormy seas!
And even when our earhly lives do end,
To our star in the sky we will be sent and shine ever so bright!
I know our perfect eternal home is waiting for us.
A honeyed Arcadian home, grape filled and luscious, especially at
a luscious, sparkling twilight cove!
10/17/2020
Opus#2
So difficult to go to sleep!
I watched movies, read,then
decided to re-create being
with you again.
Your face came to light in
full starlight hue.
Long eyelashes imparting such
exotic, Arcadian kisses,
I recall, with fond appetite being
again with you.
I shall never forget such passion,
Like an intoxicating flower.
And because......I cannot....
I can re-create you any day and
any hour, my passion flower!
September 15, 2020
3pm PST
taciturn springs rising
from within the quarry
of deep earth's wisdom
urging lyrical waters to transpose
while held like singing seas of living reveries
of history and infinity
misting to meld with rainfall dreams
Falling like ancient messages
into the orchard of molecular landscapes
drawn to penetrate its legacy
embedded in the rockeries and rills
blanketing the groves of dirt and ferns
teeming in the arcadian oasis
feeding feast or famine
flourishing the solicitude of springtime
in spider spun dreams
of longings in ancient oaks
merging with the ebb of shedding sycamores
in salted seas teeming and exalting
the rhetoric of existence
in musing opaque vapors
mingling into pervasive clouds
bleeding life
cached in the creche
of pastoral beginnings
of everlasting eddies
watering the garden of dreams
April 22, 2020
Rewritten: October 3, 2020
Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Under the canopy of the pine trees we lay -
from the poem 'Under the canopy of pine trees by Eve Roper
UNDER THE CANOPY
Under the canopy of the pine trees we lay.
Fervent scent gives undertow noses a heady sway.
Four eyes closed, we swallow the coniferous forest.
Love thrives in our paradisiacal protraction of rest.
Blinded to adversity, verdancy thrives in aurora splay
As our minds run into the river of sunlight to play.
We make promises — nothing sovereign outside our love.
He squeezes my hand, our engagement rings think of
Only this moment, the splendor of our crashing lips.
Our bodies envelope each other like an eclipse.
The force of nature — the arcadian elixir, its bliss.
I shall nevermore forget the chill of reminisce.
4/10/2020
Poetic lines from a Poetry Soup Poet - Eve Roper Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Silent One
Cell in every cell of my body,
I sense your every heartbeat.
Dreaming always of your most intricate, dancing feet.
Savoring our secret special liquor.
Seeing those dark loving,luminous olive eyes.
Desire, still alive under twinkling, magical skies.
Endless and deep as the Nile, those sensuous smiles.
And, yes, still decadently so utterly beguiled!
Into a poetess you have me transformed,
By your Arcadian charms~~groomed and warmed.
Into a poetess, by your love in truth, I was born.
You, the elixir of my life, that keeps my pen flowing!
The springtime of my life, even if it is snowing!
March 21, 2020
1:30pm PST
To Taste, Trenchant Flavor Of Her Soft Kiss
To taste, trenchant flavor of her soft kiss,
Under night skies' munificent moon rays,
Arcadian smile, touch I now so miss,
Her guileless wit, stirring soul to this day.
To touch yet again, lush lips so divine,
Feel her deep warmth that this soul still invades,
To remember waking, to dawns so fine,
Absent embarrassing human charades.
To hold her heart, as if sweet Life it gave,
Its beauty, her amatory appeals,
Gifts of Love's Truth, did this wayward soul save,
From sclerotic heart, that too oft Life kills.
To think ruminative thoughts and agree.
Such an angel was far too good for me.
Robert J. Lindley, 12-08-2019
Romanticism, ( A Blessing, Lost In Folly Of My Wayward Youth )
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