The interconnectedness
of our two lives is astounding.
We are both high and low tide,
and as meant to be
as wings on a sea gull.
Our need for one another
is as great as an oyster-gray sea
being absorbed by a thirsty shore.
As the pearl requires the shell to protect its luster,
our essences live inside each other.
Within us there lives a coastal garden
where respect and trust
nourish and let flowers
blossom in adoration,
passion, and fulfillment.
More than lovers, husband or wife,
we are conjoined hearts,
twin souls who are destined to share
heartbeat with heartbeat while we walk
the sands of time as one spirit.
Together we are moonlight on silver water,
ecru tidal pools warmed by a mid-day sun,
the ambers and corals of a sunrise,
and warm winds moving pink clouds
across pale azure skies at sunset.
As we live our forever lives together,
breathing in what the other exhales,
may we hold fast to the awareness
of these grand universal pairings;
not the least of which is our love.
Riddles
Riddle me this Batman:
what is the middle of a fat man?
Is there anything clean
about a garbage can?
If two can dance
can Toucan Sam?
Is beige the same as ecru or tan?
Why
-does it come between ex and zee?
Is the alphabet
a good bet,
or is beta better?
Are you meant to sweat
when you wear a sweater?
Or for that matter
pant in pants?
Or ambulate in
an ambulance?
At Wimbledon, you must wear white
To play upon the courts
And that includes your sneakers, visors,
T-shirts, socks and shorts.
The colour police do not allow
Off-white, ecru or cream
And sneaker soles and laces
Should be white enough to gleam.
A single trim of colour
May adorn your neck or cuff,
No wider than one centimetre,
Which should be enough.
These rules apply to underwear
As well, and all obey.
How shocking it would be
If some black lace were on display!
In other tennis venues
Players’ fashions may beguile
But at Wimbledon, these regulations
Cramp some people’s style.
silent sea from afar
glazed in admiral and arctic blue
softly shifting to pointilism
as it rushes to the rocky shore
whilst sky in faded ivory and teal
spells prelude to April rain
rugged rocks in wild brush strokes
like dripping ink
of British tan and dark khaki
blended in tawny and ecru
are luminous glossy gems
cascading from celestial source
like my streaming teardrops
as I watch you go
25 April 2021
For "All Yours (April 25) Poetry Contest"
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
Notes:Coast Scene, Isles of Shoals is a 1901 painting by Childe Hassam which is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Done in oil on canvas in luminous colours, the painting depicts the remote Isles of Shoals off the rocky shoreline of New England, a favorite haunt of Childe Hassam at the end of the 19th century and where he painted a series of similar coastal scenes. (Photo and info credits to Wikipedia)
Eased onto an exsiccated embankment
Enchanted by the empyreal expanse
Exhausted from day's endued earning
Yet elated at the endowment of esprit
Enjoying earth's earnest, emoting eye of
Emerald engraved in ecru in eyes that are
Endlessly enamoured with all existence; I
Echo 'er expression of enthralled euphoria
Evoking an effusive extolment of Eminence
OluDola2019.
The distant brass haystacks tune on shorn ground.
Vanilla fence posts chime in saffron sun.
Adjacent jonquils trumpet lemon sound
as amber goldenrod and china mums
in stil de grain complete a trio 'round
high jasmine shrubs, which in the octaves run
aureolin to beige. Nearby is found
a vegetable garden where blond onions,
squash and carrots in harmony abound
with notes of maize and amber. Faun melons
grace a clef of trellis where ecru-crowned
warblers and the sunglow-breasted Hutton's
Vireo twitter in tune with corn-downed,
bumblebees and drone: summer has begun.
Viking Funeral
When that day comes that I will die
Dress me in the finest clothes
Patterned from ecru silken threads
In contrast with my hazel eyes
As the sun sets west and reflects
upon the sea so warm and blue
Place me in a sailing craft
Hand carved from exquisite teak
Surround me with my memories
My keepsakes and my written words
When the tide goes out to join the sea
please set my sails all pointed east
Aim and shoot a flaming shaft
To pierce the boat set it aflame
And consume me on my final quest
to delve into my watery nest
When the last flame is extinguished,
Retrieve my ashes from the craft
And place them in an marble jar
And toss them in the ocean deep
My life has always been mundane
I never lived to seize the day
My luck and judgements never meshed
My essence nor my core refreshed
To take a trip in such a way
To be remembered on that day
Will seal the memory of my death
When I have breathed my final breath
*Revised Poem from years ago 4/3/2017
the murky depths of the night drifts off the lone fisherman
to the tamarind yellow river shaded with ecru of ambiguity;
wind whispers wrapped in sweet somberness and shivery softness;
yonder a hint of golden honey light beckons a beautiful uncertainty.
Saffron yellow sunset reflecting yellow gold
Amber yellow mindset in an ecru boat of old
Banana yellow memories of fields of jonquil flowers
Crayola yellow dreams in mango yellow hours
by Daniel Turner
Here
I am here.
...a small weathered grey stone in the middle of an ecru cube
I am, as if woven with willowy white by spider to this chair
shedding my last skins
molting, melting, swelling, crusting over
a dampened facade of makeup…
and hidden band aids
and instead of drinking
Coffee
in the cafés of Berlin...where a handsome stranger leans over
and kisses my hand
stares long into my un-wedded blue eyes
I flush and blush
17 again
an irresistible bowl of fruited ambrosia
but here, at my faux wooden desk…
with my green porcelain pear vase …sprouting fragile pale cream roots
facing a blank wall
my roots …are grey and silver
I am more a dried apple
in a pantry drawer…listening for foot falls
than a place where red flags dance
nostrils fill with rich beaned aromas
I am here ...instead of drinking coffee in the cafés of Berlin
The drinks were brought before us,
The rusty pretzels dangle,
Tonight we were exquisitely attired,
Long silk threads and spangles!
Tablecloths in toasty ecru,
Flowers floating in water,
Candle holders lending light,
Loose sparkles; no bother!
The band was playing soothingly,
Strings kissing the atmosphere,
Black and white piano keys,
Spreading music, without peer!
Without a perfect spotlight or
Other prominent disclosure,
They entered, sat, and ordered
Something fruity, perhaps ambrosia!
The splits of champagne followed,
They chatted, giggled, and pranced,
The rustle of their dresses,
Caught our attention, as they danced!
Through glints of light
When they returned,
We watched their coming in awe,
Very sure of what we’d see: So attractive!
We dropped our jaws!
As each of their dress folds fell,
Red and green satin covered by lace,
We adjusted our ties and realized,
How elegant their taste!
CATERWAUL
A sound unpleasant to the EAR
A screeching LUTE that’s loud and CLEAR
A sound that makes your hackles CRAWL
An EAR-drum pierced by sound wave AWL
A WART, an ULCER; leaves you RAW
No TRUCE, a WAR, against the LAW
It might sound like a Raven’s CAW
A blackboard that’s been scratched by CLAW
A CURT and very CRUEL CUT
Of sound stuck in an awful RUT
If painted it won’t be ECRU
That’s beige in ART if you’ve no CLUE
If drink, it would be bitter ALE
If read, a dark and haunting TALE
It wouldn’t be the cup of TEA
For RAT or CAT or even WE
It’s something that you’re sure to RUE
Right on CUE I swear it’s TRUE
You can’t believe the WEAR and TEAR
The sounds that come without a CARE
It tastes like something you just ATE
Way too spicy, way too LATE
It leaves a taste like old road TAR
Not CUTE; no CURE and there you ARE
CATERWAUL
Mdailey 6/2/12
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