Let us momentarily contemplate
The discourse on the very first date
Adam: Father You've been busy lo' these six days
Would it be too much to ask for a help mate?
(From a rib Eve became my wife
Then ribbed me for the rest of my life)
Eve: Oh Adam ! Where shall we honeymoon?
Adam: I hear Eden this time of year is in bloom
(We had our first date in the Pleasance
She bone of my bone. We cleave as one flesh)
Adam: This rose (of Sharon) is for you my bride
Eve: Who's Sharon?!
Adam: Let's take these horses (I've named) for a ride
Through the Sharon countryside
Eve: Oh Adam! Look at he stars and moon I adore
Adam: Breathtaking my love they've been since Day Four
Oh my fairest with kisses better than spice
Let us again be together on Day Eight and Nine
Now let us return to our demesne
As Father did intend
Written: November 05, 2023
________________________________________
Amidst spotless linen rosebuds
I observe you blazing a fire
In the core of a volcano's lair
slithering
glissading
laughing
Queen of the Sun,
Queen of Earth
angels shielding you with their wings
to quench one's thirst
for my vital breath.
A warm deluge of your embrace,
sets my skin into full bloom-
a mellifluous anemone aroma,
and marigold of whimsey bloom
wandering to my cynosure edge
the scorching primeval route;
you leave lush roots for our offspring
to nurture demesne orchards.
On the sands of your sunken tracks,
where conflate ponds
xerox the gleam of fire;
and trees widen limbs,
to embosom
sapphire sky for spring
and descry a year's cornucopia,
of succulent, velvety fruit.
A Part of the Past Frozen in Time
You can
drive your whole life
not look upon the face
of harbingers in spring wet earth
Remembering the ephemeral warm
Mediterranean summers
clean petrichor fresh rain
bucolic life
setting
Yielding
a nostalgic
propinquity city's
efflorescence dress brick buildings
The epiphany of an old church as
it sings the echoes of erstwhile
Redolent warm feeling
Victorian
versed homes
Yester
years fine brushstrokes
Trees towering on the
outskirts of the demesne beauty
Unique, intertwined dalliance with the
farmed and the wild a wonderful
serendipity find
quiet hunger
of life
Copyright © Eve Roper 3/31/2016
Winter fetches a hillock of the wind and downpour.
Exacerbating people to mislay their blight core.
Peculiar demesne keepers are utterly aroused.
While tiny dwellings, slums are bulldozed.
Flush breaks out among the poorest of the poor.
Thoroughly jiggling, they shiver in the spongy cure.
None of the people around me appear to descry them.
They are enduring dull, agonizing demise mayhem.
In the midst of the winters harshest season,
The scenery is desolate, and homes sap blacken.
Snow inversely overwhelms everything.
Making hills that are huge and transcending.
People in neediness succumb to the winter.
While we continue to offer a hefty fee for a heater,
We tuck ourselves into our cozy beds for the night.
People have stuck to death all around from frostbite.
Relish life by humming songs of love every day.
I'm unconcerned if it's winter or summer ray.
The universe is a child's hand on your shoulder.
When life is volatile, death lacks uniqueness jolter.
Written: January 15, 2022
Winter Wonders Within Nature Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: M. L. Kiser
In Full View
David J Walker
Twice this week
I failed the test of
mirrored self-recognition
Denying any demesne of the
face refracted in the broken
glass of time
It is not me
It is not mine
A patronized visualization of
which of the last pictures
I remember and recognize
From time
As if I had died at an early age
Of innocence and youthful beauty
As if wading up a spreadsheet
With the sum of the days of age
Which part of the tapestry
Would I unthread
As I lay my head on the alter
Of the pedestal of History
And fall sleep
In full view of the mirror
First and Last
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
You are the last arcane rose
of my aching,
my longing,
or the first yellowed leaves’
vagrant spirals of gold
forming huddled bright sheaves.
You are passion forsaking
dark skies, as though sunsets no winds might enclose.
And still in my arms
you are gentle and fragrant—
demesne of my vigor,
spent rigor,
lost power,
fallen musculature of youth,
leaves clinging and hanging,
nameless joys of my youth to this last lingering hour.
Published by Tucumcari Literary Review and Poetry Life & Times.
Keywords/Tags: rose, love, ache, desire, longing, passion, autumn, leaves, leaving, clinging, hanging, sunset, lost, youth, joy, joys, yellowed, golden, first, last, final
Waves roll against the summery shore, which glisten
As the ocean’s maw froths its foam upon its demesne.
Upon which I do recall, with ineffable ardor, you listen
To my cries and pleas, while your memory festers pain.
Once not that long ago, when the world was yet still bright,
We walked along the shoreline here, and windswept was our adieus.
But now the tempered waves do crash, wail, weep, at the sight
Of the foot trail limping in single file, for not two it shall refuse.
Now sunset comes, and burn the sky, a vibrant shade of red,
Erstwhile I believed the we, would still be young and wild.
But life continues yet, while my world, like you, is long since dead;
However turmoil I may retain, my future now lies within our child.
And then it will seem to be true, that remembrance may embrace
My soul, and it will not have to be a saddening endeavor to face.
Florida gardens boast menageries most marvelous—
Vermilion hibiscus nodding in the breathlike breezes
Infused with night-blooming jasmine and selenicereus scents.
Mockingbirds trilling like nightingales in the palm trees,
Twilight fading in the lush and dusky thickets…
Iguanas on perfumed frangipani blooming beneath
The luscious mangoes ripening on the bough;
And all overlain with pellucid starry skies…
Atavistically touching on my ancestral demesne
Like ripples on profound and placid pools
From time to time
She wandered in solace
To a place only she could find
It was her demesne
That only she had access
A quintessential paradox it became
Each moment she wished lasted a lifetime
Never wanting to leave
Awakening in her dreams was her favorite pastime
It was where the impossible
Was a part of her existence
A striking rose blooming in the snow
Beauty almost blinding with brilliance
Though she was so enraptured in this dreamland
She was sleepwalking through life
Forever cursed eternally damned
I had
a wonderful
dalliance one day in
a town -its bucolic setting
redolent of petrichor and roses.
It was in propinquity
to a demesne where I
saw the face from
my dreams!
He was
a harbinger -
Sweet serendipity!
Where efflorescence clung to stones,
he kissed me; then came my epiphany.
In erstwhile days I‘d seen his face.
Oh, joy ephemeral!
I had kissed my
cousin!
Written April 10, 2016 (checked by Howmanysyllables.com)
for the "A Day in a Town" Rictameter Poetry Contest
of Nayda Ivette Negron
Evening.
A harbinger,
the breeze is redolent
with petrichor. Soft rain begins.
Across my bucolic demesne, I see
My erstwhile dalliance’s town
Ephemeral it was
But such passion
lives on
That day
A willow tree
Where serendipity
Turned propinquity to romance
The epiphany of our love brought not
Open doors, but a higher fence.
Ancient love eons old
Recalled from my
wheelchair.
Jade eyes
Chocolate skin
Casualty of hate.
Granddaughter rolls me back inside
Efflorescence crunches under the wheels
Her eyes flit to the ebony
Young man down the road
Perhaps times change.
Hope lives.
4/10/16
A wonderful day in this town
Ephemeral efflorescence all around
The pervasive propinquity of dark clouds
The harbinger of rains
Accompanied by the petrichor
I have an epiphany
Redolent of our erstwhile demesne
We had had by sheer serendipity
It would bring us very often
Similar beautifully bucolic moments
Of dalliance and delight
_______________________________
April 9, 2016
A Day In A Town – Poetry Contest
Hosted by : Nayda Ivette Negron
A Day In A Town Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
I wanted to try a bucolic life, this tiny town, just me and my family,
the demesne I owned caused realistic perfection of an epiphany.
During ephemeral days my petrichors lingered into a fantasy,
the zealous sunshine illuminated my son’s smile within propinquity.
Willows by the creek lead to blooming whimsical efflorescence,
simple redolent fragrance makes me recall Nicholas’s dalliance.
Impending harbinger of visiting to feel the warmth of its existence,
the erstwhile of this wee little town brings serendipity within its presence.
A Poem using the following twelve words:
1.) Bucolic 2.) Demesne 3.)Epiphany 4.) Ephemeral 5.) Petrichors
6.) Propinquity 7.) Efflorescence 8.) Redolent 9.) Dalliance
10.) Harbinger 11.) Erstwhile 12.) Serendipity
Date Written: April 8, 2016
To a quiet demesne
A holiday they'd planned
Informing only that it was bucolic
A little slice of wonderland
The locals informed from the harbinger
Knew of the impending arrival
Some folk knowing the family erstwhile
Others quietly still in denial
The expected stay ephemeral
At the local store to be met
The bakery purely redolent passing by
More pressing was the time already spent
The host in a state of dalliance
Although within propinquity of the store
Welcomed with a firm handshake
Muttering about an expected downpour
Arrival at the manor and raindrops began to form
Hydrating the colorful efflorescence blooms
It was then he had an epiphany
Wondering what these country folk assume
Surprising them he commented on the petrichor
Assuming he was a city bloke with no country vibe
It was only through sheer serenpidity
He'd read about it on his holiday ride
You can
drive your whole life
not look upon the face
of harbingers in spring wet earth.
Remembering the ephemeral warm
Mediterranean summers
clean Petrich or fresh rain
bucolic life
setting.
Yielding
a nostalgic
propinquity city's
efflorescence dress brick building.
The epiphany of an old church as
it sings the echoes of erstwhile.
Redolent warm feeling
Victorian
versed homes.
Yester
years fine brushstrokes.
Trees towering on the
outskirts of the demesne beauty
Unique, intertwined dalliance with the
farmed and the wild a wonderful
serendipity finds
quiet hunger
of life.
3/31/2016
The city's two-block business district consists of the original brick buildings built in the 1880s and 1890s
I use to work in the Oakland School. They have left the very small town the same, it's like walking into the past. It lays in a valley surrounded by mountains. A very old silo still stands where they use to burn the woodchips. Very beautiful old town.
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