In the genial glassiness of the glazed conservatory
the jade in the green of the jasmine yellows;
geraniums, plumbago, bougainvillaea on the wall
let go on the hold of their precious flowers;
only this rose persists and stands tall.
Flowers fade, but love forever endures.
The Summer Arts Intensive,*
Just in session for a week,
Put on a concert which was both
Amazing and unique.
The students, playing instruments
From brass and winds to strings
Or vocals, had the chance to shine
And test their new-found wings.
My grandson, one of the trombonists
In the group for jazz,
Performed with lots of confidence
And plenty of pizzazz.
Eight various ensembles
Got to show what they could do,
Their joy onstage (and those of the
Instructors) there on view.
To hear the music that they made,
With so much drive and skill,
Was proof such opportunity
Provides the means to thrill.
For, much as we, the audience,
Felt delight we could not hide,
The faces of the ones on stage
Revealed their hard-won pride.
*Held at the Conservatory of Music
at Purchase College of New York
Tho' not with a dagger in the library
nor candlestick in the conservatory
someone done the dirty deed
and yet of bodies none were found
perhaps the evidence had been concealed
interred deep down underground
so no one's doing time
it was eventually revealed
for the heinous crime
of thuggery and skullduggery
terrible as it may be
where the skeletons are buried
only the gravedigger knows
and after all allegedly it was purportedly
merely a murder of crows
We don’t know each other
but we know the rain:
we know the sound it makes
as the raindrops hit the ground;
the patter it makes on the conservatory roof—
it makes us all the same
as we trudge through puddles, drenched and cold,
whilst we go about our fake, miserable lives.
But I want to know you better than I know the rain—
I want to feel your touch on me,
like gentle rain falling onto my palm.
Somewhere along the way, the rain became too powerful,
and my note to you was damaged;
taken by the wind and left to drown in a gutter,
alongside my silenced feelings.
Brooding nimbus darken the sky
suddenly clouds burst
Rain drops thunder down
then subside to a gentle pitter patter
on the Perspex conservatory roof
I watch as raging rivulets of rain
run down the windows
and hear the old drains gurgling
at the deluge of water
I peer outside as the pitter pattering ceases
to see the sun
She’s playing peek a boo from behind a cloud
Huge puddles have formed on the stone flags
Millie, my young granddaughter grabs my hand
“Come on grandma, grab your wellies” she giggles
“Let’s go out and jump in the puddles”..
And so we did!
You move up one lead
Towards Conservatory
A singer-actor.
"The Flood Contained Electric"
walls of glass
sheathe this heart
a conservatory
for the lacking
of menagerie
the walls aren’t
bricked up
comme dans une
la orangerie
clearly seen
straight through
X-ray vision
dancing dervish
until the clouds
roll in and the
pea soup fog
mists over the view
jade is the colour
caught courting within
the flinting prisms
seen in the eyes
of jaded others
the storm's coming
warns Elektra
standing outside
the shattering
evaluation
rain like hands
clapping
hail like pebbles
thrown by the good
heavens above
turn Pollock
tomatoes crushed
hard thrown
the bleed painted
as water colour fades
pink and naked
cantoring in the mind
then, racing west
unbridled like
a white wedding
splayed onto the page
the bride stripped bare
surrenders
bricked in
l'orangerie
the flood
contained,
Elektra
turns away
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
canter
cantor
Procession of lights
Towards conservatory
Is life's satellite.
Colorful male peacocks flew in when the glass door opened.
They took up posts designated by themselves.
What do we feed them? The princess asked her guards.
It is unknown, they reported. We have never seen this.
The peacocks stayed the rest of their lives.
And the cooks figured out what they liked to eat.
The conservatory became a spectacular tourist attraction.
Thanks to three peacocks, a cook and an attentive gardener.
Swans and geese are in the parlor, a toucan is in the hall.
An ostrich just ran past the kitchen, he is at least six feet tall
A flamingo strut her feathers against the conservatory wall
The peacock is eating your breakfast dear. I’m going to the mall.
it is a Victorian garden with winding paths
with a formal terrace and a conservatory
where exotic plants flourish
and urns of wisteria and roses tumble
and worn benches beckon for me to linger
on this day where the sky is a muted blue
but, I am absorbed and meander down paths
lost in my own world ...
a pearl necklace embraces my neck
and I touch it often with a smile
deep in the shadow of trees
a man is watching ...
then, he steps forward and calls softly
and I run to him
_____________
May 15, 2021
Poetry/Verse/garden
Copyright Protected, ID 05-1355-816-15
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, All Yours (May 16)
sponsor, Brian Strand, Judged 05/16/2021
First Place
Bird fly to the sky
Through the garden structure: Thud!
Conservatory
A named Mercury plies the air
above his fountain
in the Phipps Conservatory.
Children wet their fingers
in the receiving pool
and stare
up at possibilities
that may enable them
someday
to match the blossoming
in the Amazonian Room.
Co-eds with athletic boys,
muscular Pitts and tall Duquesnes,
meander through
the scented aisles,
enlisting spirits of the place
to augment flirtatious smiles.
Wedding guests accompany
a bride and groom
who set their basic blue
amidst the foil
of dappled bloom
and celebrate their day
with words they’ve learned to say.
Then from a group home crowd
a single swain steps forth
and casts his gaze on all around
and asks the god,
“O where is my Marilyn;
who took my Marilyn away?”
I cannot answer him
and the god above,
as silent as a stone,
appears to have no power--
no balloons or wedding bells
or maps to Love’s sweet bower.
When the saddened lover asks again,
"O Marilyn; who took my Marilyn away?"
she appears,
not taken, only loaned,
to trees and flowers
and charmingly atones
for all her wandering.
Standing before the door,
she smiles broadly at her lover.
I see him see her.
Our hearts soar.
We’ve had enough of traveling.
We’ve had enough of travelling
At least by sea and air
The noisy ferry cabins
The crush of Ryanair
Maybe we’ll drive a hundred ‘k’
To hotel or ‘B&B’
For forest or a city break
(For we live close by the sea)
We’ve seen a little of the world
Though far less than our kids
And their kids will see more than them
For that’s the way life is
With gammy legs and short on hair
Now being home is best
Our own things all around us
Our own bed for a rest
We’ll lunch in our conservatory
Gaze out across the fields
Ignoring bumph from Thomas Cook
And all those special ‘deals’
The sparrows on the bird-bath
The neighbours calling by
A friendly chat, a glass of wine
Without a reason why
No, we’ll go no more a-travelling.
At least by sea and air
We’ll watch the world on our big teevee
From the comfort of our chair
John Hanscomb, 2018
When I was young I learned to play the piano,
I had classes at school with the Royal Conservatory of Music.
Then I had classes at my piano teacher's house,
I used to receive a monkey or a star if I knew the song
When I was in elementary school I asked my parents if I could stop,
They said I could stop the piano classes..
I continued to play as a hobby through my married with children years,
Then came the miracle when I retired, I used to teach myself songs.
I taught myself to play classical songs, popular songs, Christmas music,
Had quite the repertoire of music.
One day a friend heard me and asked me to play for the birthday and teas,
Which i did, I found this very satisfying.
At Christmas I would play Christmas carols for the neighbors,
They really liked this, then one day just before Christmas they moved the piano.
Now we have a brand new grand piano in the dinning-hall,
The chef said I could play the piano during the day.
I found my sheet music again, now the piano magic is back.
I am off to practice maybe I will give a concert.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
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