The Cornish shore …
Where golden sand lies next
To dappled grey granite rock,
Where the sea breeze sweeps
And the mussels flock,
Where the rock pools gather
And the small crabs patrol,
Where the white foam curls
And the breakers roll,
Where the sea birds call
And the salt spray stings,
Where the seaweed sunbathes
And the limpet clings,
Where a stream’s course meanders,
And reflects the azure sky,
Where a starfish gazes skywards
And white clouds go scudding by.
By all means take treasured memories,
But please take nothing more,
And leave nothing but your footprints
On this sacred Cornish shore …
The Cornish shore …
Where golden sand lies next
To dappled grey granite rock,
Where the sea breeze sweeps
And the mussels flock,
Where the rock pools gather
And the small crabs patrol,
Where the white foam curls
And the breakers roll,
Where the sea birds call
And the salt spray stings,
Where the seaweed sunbathes
And the limpet clings,
Where a stream’s course meanders,
And reflects the azure sky,
Where a starfish gazes skywards
And white clouds go scudding by.
By all means take treasured memories,
But please take nothing more,
And leave nothing but your footprints
On this sacred Cornish shore …
Wolves congregate on nightly prowls;
claiming the rights of kith and kin.
And hail Luna with baying howls;
closing ranks as the wails begin.
A pocked-faced moon beams down with joy
as wolves pay homage without pause.
And each harmonic they employ
rises from massive upturned jaws.
In their charcoal coats, dappled grey,
it's as if they weren't even there.
And concealed from the eyes of prey;
they stock the night with little care.
Praising the moon to no avail;
they fail to convince Her to stay.
But, slinking through the forest trail,
familiar odors guide their way.
With late-night jaunts through Glen and Glade,
these stealthy creatures shadow black.
And taking stock of all surveyed;
families form a hunting pack.
Silver floats the moon and boughs slender sway,
fleeing on her trembling breath
her light feet braves.
Rising of the lea in the dappled grey,
As she wore her verdant robes,
on her vestal form in surging waves.
He shielded her beauty in his embrace..
Her golden showers 'tween their stillness clasp,
as she lay glistening in his sighing grasp.
Stars shine in sheaves amid the elven shades,
that linger upon her fair brow,
hemmed with crystal strings and golden flakes.
His bride to be ne'er,
nymph of forest glades;
heard afar, beyond the hills,
her lone whisperings,
his yearning heart is left on her braided wings.
His love sweet fragrance with each breath endowed,
to wreathe the laurel with his words avowed.
Inside her heart she felt, his eyes' commands,
beneath the curling hair in misty wake,
that floated rough, untied about those lands,
his breezy handsomeness enhanced, and ache.
And she accepted him, at dawning break,
upon her nape then felt, the greening sea,
his vows proclaimed and triumphant heart's spree.
3rd Stanza in Rime Royal
©3/01/2014.Giorgio Veneto,Gautami Phookan.All rights reserved
Whenever I see a horse decked out in fancy tack
or going round in circles, it always takes me back
to a part of my childhood I remember so well -
riding the carnival’s calliope carousel.
We’d purchase the tickets and the minutes we would count
until that gate opened and we’d race for our own mount.
The horses were all decorated in brightly colored array
and my favorite was a jumping horse, a big dappled grey.
It was exhilarating fun to sit on that equine toy.
I’d fantasize about me being a rootin’ tootin’ cowboy.
I loved the happy music as the racing horses spun
and I hated to dismount when the carousel was done.
Some kids would only ride for five minutes or so,
then they would lose interest and off they would go.
But I wouldn’t leave until they finally shut it down.
It was a circle of happiness, that wonderful merry-go- round
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