Time twirls slowly,
when tragedy sunders
antiquated wings—
maimed and eroded, becoming
featherless angels,
ferociously combatant,
sparring to win,
wandering in vacant division,
while penetrating the walls
of our wildering downfalls.
Finding clemency in the
glimmer of our healing ambience,
realigning the quills of our love,
with every breath and pace across
idyllic esplanades, soaring above
catacombs of lawless perdition,
remedying grievances, while
reveling in the haven of
rhapsodic euphoria amidst
lingering plumes,
diffusing eternal tales of our
blissful hereafter.
Categories:
esplanades, change, dedication, devotion, emotions,
Form: Free verse
Apricot Trees
David J Walker
My mother randomly spoke of the beauty
She saw in trees that lined
The streets in town
The boughs and branches placed
in parks and esplanades on Arbor days in the
all but forgotten past now hidden in the ether
Of dementia that was literally riddling her mind
But If I listened carefully
There was a story connected in
Every 3rd or 4th word about her
Childhood on a prairie farm
with a large garden and
Fowl of every kind
Where her mother
Planted apricot trees in line
by the dirt road leading to their
Front door
and plans to make jam
that fall
I stood by the bed as
mother lay dying
Reaching with her right hand
I imagined her as a
Young girl picking apricots
Near the farmhouse
Taking her time
Going down the line
tree to tree
Carefully placing the ripened fruit
in her apron pockets
I imagined her smiling again
in a youthful glow
That I had never seen before
The day she had to go and
Help make jam
Categories:
esplanades, memory, mother,
Form: Rhyme
The City Is a Garment
by Michael R. Burch
A rhinestone skein, a jeweled brocade of light,—
the city is a garment stretched so thin
her festive colors bleed into the night,
and everywhere bright seams, unraveling,
cascade their brilliant contents out like coins
on motorways and esplanades; bead cars
come tumbling down long highways; at her groin
a railtrack like a zipper flashes sparks;
her hills are haired with brush like cashmere wool
and from their cleavage winking lights enlarge
and travel, slender fingers ... softly pull
themselves into the semblance of a barge.
When night becomes too chill, she softly dons
great overcoats of warmest-colored dawn.
Originally published by The Lyric
Categories:
esplanades, city,
Form: Sonnet
Perched on a cliff,
Towering from the sea.
Embracing a cool breeze;
Lima is the city.
Miles of pueblo jovenes,
Surround her heart.
Like a flock of sheep,
Not wanting to part.
Slums lay there
In shades of beige.
When they really want
Be red with rage.
In Cono Sur
Dreams fade in and out.
Children run free;
Through fields of drought.
In hillsides huts
Families strive
With endless hope
But never thrive.
Fear falls upon
Their honest faces
Perils of reality dawn
In this dangerous place.
So different from
The city's heart;
In these forgotten slums
People fail to start.
In Miraflores,
Privileged are the people.
Abundant are the shops
And churches with steeples.
Men here hold keys
To an absolute power.
With steel arms of might
All they do is devour.
Climbing up the submit
On backs of their countrymen
They control liberty
Through venal assemblymen .
The streets are wide
Lined with houses of white.
Men pruning hedges
How lovely a sight.
Life in Lima
Is a glimmering façade.
Most live in slums
Or her many esplanades.
This is the Lima
They want all to see.
Grand desert city
Down by the sea.
Categories:
esplanades, imagery, poverty, travel,
Form: Rhyme
Strands’ fluid strength; bliss, distress, routineness plait,
Tears multi-colored seeded, love's wisdom grows.
Esplanades calico edge Shangri-la’s gate,
Memoirs in motifs bittersweet and rainbows.
Thruway taken true.., not meandering fate.
Garden, Eden’s stroll sought, golden lit primrose,
‘I love You’ lives in amaranthine splendor;
We know love is actually... Surrender.
Susan Ashley
August 7, 2017
N/A
Contest: Love is Actually... Premiere
Sponsor: John Anderson
Categories:
esplanades, appreciation, love,
Form: Rispetto
BLANK
blank face
blank stare
blank wall
blank fear
white glare
I disappear
man at my back
100’s in my hair
a 1000 peg legs
I disappear
receptions polite desk
not all knives are in
museums behind glass
shaped like a deckchair
I disappear
first ripples in the marble
façade tame bird in hand
wristbark notched six times
I disappear
past nude whiteblue beaches
flockflooded esplanades
into chill lensed telescopes
I disappear
blank face
blank stare
blank wall
blank fear
white glare
drowning in my
sea again
I disappear
© Kim van Breda—15 January 2016
Categories:
esplanades, introspection,
Form: Blank verse