Best Terrace Poems

from beyond his
vibrant palette
that bore all his 
lifelong scars

is what I see
beneath his sky
and myriad
of stars

a scene of shades
and silhouettes
formed by the
yellow light

that hints at
The Last Supper
at that café 
in the night?...

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Stir my moonlight coffee
with your freshly dipped brush
in bright  yellow ochre ~
I will not complain.

Sprinkle pigments from 
from your pallets 
on my unflavoured coffee~
I will not complain.

Even when
your indigo eyes
spill Prussian blue 
to veil my night sky~
I will not complain.

Come sit with me
share this...

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Huge red-orange sun slowly recede,
Upon the sky seem to bleed;
Whispers of night, calling home,
Such sunset days rarely spent alone.

Look ahead to starry skies;
Not time for early goodbyes.
Without love cannot the heart grow-
A new day comes beyond the rainbow!

Warm Paris breeeze gently blow-
Roses atop the bureau;
Music...

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CAFE   TERRACE   AT   NIGHT           (Van  Gogh)


Orbital focus of assured kindness and hospitality
From the waitress in long white apron
Where time stands still for a moment,
Where the  golden interior...

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Café Terrace (Coffee House) In Arles, France

Beneath stars of heavenly grandeur,
In a café, romance prospects dwell brighter.
Patrons entertaining escapades of camaraderie,
Charismatically whisper away the evening.

Visible under the illuminating gas lantern,
Of sulphurous yellow revealing customers
Who say, “S'il vous plaît” to the French waiter.
As passersby stare at...

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tonight I will not be absorbed by the blue/black 
I'm in the gaslight
the hum of people, protecting me, unbeknownst to them
as undercurrents don't grab, for now
comfort exists in surface energy

within circling echoes my heart is exploding
too perfect, too neat - look beyond -
but I won't,...

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He remembers times with her.
Sharing moments alone in,
the cafe terrace at night.
Not too long ago.



The Cafe Terrace At Night.
Vincent Van Gogh
For the "Famous Art" contest.

http://artsunlight.com/artist-NV/N-V0002-Vincent-Van-Gogh/N-V0002-0019-cafe-terrace-on-the-place-du-forum-cafe-terrace-at-night.html...

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(An Addingham Poem)

With the strength of
gentleness, sparrows make love
upon the windowsill,
frigid glass pane pulsates
within the pageant of nature,
numerous battle scared plumage
float wanting, towards earthly cracks
that conceals another world, where
rain and sleet beat down a
forest of subversive weeds,
if only to perjure
hope and fortitude.
The wind! Screams imperfections,
orchestrates...

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Terrace of crops

Down under the sky
Down under the terrace
Terrace of neighbour
Terrace garden
Garden of Eden
Garden of tulips
Tulips for bouquet
Tulips for wedding
Wedding so opulent
Wedding is bliss
Bliss of union
Bliss for life
Life is wonderful
Life is short
Short film
Short dress
Dress of satin
Dress of queen
Queen of music
Queen of palace
Palace of pearls
Palace so...

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"SATURDAY NIGHT ON THE TERRACE" 


run where there is only room 
to walk.
how else can you understand 
your strength?

put the possibilities up and 
create new steps.
the word will always be there
unlike the whores of the 
night.

although some whores stay in 
at night the blood for...

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enveloping warmth....
pungent aroma emits
lingering sweet taste...

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Every day she was abused at home,
She was locked up; not allowed to roam.
Her mother breathed for the last time
when her father was charged with a crime.
She was reared up by her cruel uncle,
who never permitted her, to see the stars twinkle.
Tears dried up; heart...

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Oh! No. I won’t wait until you’re seriously terminally sick
Or to expire in order to send you bouquets of ritzy flowers
Today is indeed the time, the hour to stand above the big brick
To show my love amidst the hubbub of seasoneless showers.

You are profoundly loved,...

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Outside the restaurant are many chairs
A place to sit, to relax, and to eat
This is a spot to cast away your cares
There are some people lounging on their seats
Also dogs love to come sit near their feet
Persons walk down the sidewalk, just shopping
They go talk...

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Poverty sneaks
through her wet garment
on the terrace

she talks to herself cursing
the day she was born and left
to negotiate truths
of gender, sex and adulthood

in the middle class
one-room apartment
physical rigmarole
buries sick delight
hope of wellness
fast and Sunday mass

sink into dusk
and darkness eats
into her silence


--R K Singh...

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