As night creeps in with stealthy steps,
It hides the weariness of the pale blue sky.
Soft gray clouds brush against the crescent
Shy moon while streams of violet-hued light
Weave through the darkened shadows
Of the heart and soul of the esprit trees.
A gentle laden breeze awakens and stirs,
The clusters of black locust blossoms
Carrying the sweet ambrosia aroma.
Spring’s finest pastel weeds sway, sweep away,
Rise, mingle, lull, surge, and bend.
They flourish and grow, each a wild
Beauty with a quiet, profound charm.
Sometimes, life is falling apart
and all things seem out of order,
hang a sign, broken, on my heart,
close to serious disorder . . .
I cannot write, or think clearly,
laptop and cell acting queerly,
cable is not working anymore.
Lost at sea and cannot see the shore,
then, the sun is shining on me,
all good and I am feeling quite esprit !
“Summer vibes shimmer in cold mind
with tepid touch of warmth”- Quote by poet
The crimson sun of demure dawn
burns to show summer hasn’t yet gone.
Sapphire sky at high noon still glows
with shining luster of its own.
From the horizon hot wind blows,
on smoldered leaves rippling warmth flows.
Parched trees sieve streaks of sunburst light,
ground weaves lattice of scorched shadows.
Southern zephyr of tinged twilight
wafts with vibrant hues of dusk bright.
Singed sky shimmers with color spree,
paints summer portrait of delight.
In calm air at nightfall I see
the dance of moondust with esprit.
The alcove of my enthralled mind
saves summer ambiance with glee.
after “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud” (also sometimes called “Daffodils”) by William Wordsworth
I wandered weightless as a feather,
a muted plume from mourning dove.
A tuft afloat in breezy weather
connected now to skies above;
as long as winds will carry me
from over fields and out to sea.
My glad esprit more free than birds,
detached from mortal needs I fly,
where spirits long to share their words
among the songs in clouds, I sigh...
for Earth was never this composed,
this high I travel unopposed.
Oh cumulus, a meadow white,
I feel at home atop your waves
illuminant, in purest light.
Mid savored heights my mem’ry saves
inertia of the clover green
and shiver of the water’s sheen.
Such riches now I do enjoy
in solitude away from fray.
I'm free from living once so coy;
in spirits’ realm I long to stay,
for then, myself I will fulfill
with gild as gold as daffodil.
Emma, Empress of Unicorn Empire,
esprit de corps of elementary school,
expeditious at exaggerating expression,
eagerly extending empathy of enormous embrace,
endless enthusiasm, exuberant existence.
Deacon, Duke of derring-do,
diligently, doggedly daily to delightful displays
of dauntless daredevil, destruction,
determined gamer, droll demeanor,
dearly dedicated to devouring desserts,
Dad's double, diplomat of Dreamland.
Your needs unmet and, too, mine equally
fulfilled,—I s’pose it’s best to leave this where
it stands.—what other course could feel as fair?
But deep disturbances in mon esprit,
increasingly violent unto me,
(as roaring winds and foaming omens) stir
tidal wave emotions without compare;—
breaking—in terrific fatality.
My heart adrift,—stranded soon on your shore,—
beats weak, throbs sad sobs, sniffles back such tears
of torrential regret...—and for what?
you?
Really, need I lament—this dullest score—
the abandon of your tempestuous fears?
No.,—if I capsize now, I never flew.—
‘if I could I would fetch you the moon a spoon …’
opalescent like a chakra’s rainbow
your lustrous promise kindled
a path to peace and stability
to the moon and the back of beyond
shining darkness
radiance emerging from shadows
archetypal togetherness forged from above
a pearlescent moonstone
bestowed on our marriage
guided by an expanse of time and space
crowned with infinity
and transcendental esprit
infused by mind body and soul
lunar crescents shone waned
and waxed once again
for better worse richer poorer
in insanity and restoration
to love and to cherish ...
founded on divine intervention
heavenly bliss interspersed
by carnage and despair
blessed by the gift of recovery
it took what seemed like eternity
to understand that
not moon spoon nor
what wants to be written in stone
can be taken for granted
a moonstone
represents more than
stardust to become
or a fanciful pebble
carved by the Universe
love thoroughly vanquishes obstacles
and has inscribed miracles
into our wonderful lives
When you see a white sail in the harbor of Brest,
A sail under a burning sun,
It’s a nagging sail,
She has not the tranquility of a sail on the Nile,
Her mind is not at peace, her conscience torments her,
This sail flees life; it does not enjoy life,
So are most of the things we like
In This country.
Quand vous voyez une voile blanche dans la rade de Brest,
Une voile sous un soleil ardent,
C’est une voile agaçante,
Elle n’a pas la tranquillité d’une voile sur le Nil,
Son esprit n’est pas en paix, sa conscience la tourmente,
Cette voile fuit la vie, elle n’en profite pas,
Il en est ainsi de la plupart des choses que nous aimons
En ce pays.
The President is the Commander-in-Chief
of every US military force
which makes it a very important office, of course
The person who holds it must command
respect from the troops
if esprit de corps is not to droop
His face should be inscrutable to
our many foes
never revealing whatever he knows…
Someone who giggles and laughs
at inappropriate times
brazenly this country undermines
When songs of joy are sung, full-throated and deep,
lines of gay rhyme and cheer may blissfully spring;
but songs kept furtively never lie or sleep
within a bard's secret, inward being.
What germ of hidden verse can be his art?
When the mind envisions poetry, profound
phrases of love pouring out from the heart's
impassioned lips may multiply unbound!
But riddled in a cipher, kept inside
a closed conundrum, there's a magic key.
Encrypted, made to go viral, far, and wide,
in rhymes apparent is his mind's bel esprit.
For beautiful souls always shine, and find
in the other the gift of a great mind.
Gambolling along as ewe do, happy and carefree.
Ewe’d do it all over again, in the greening esprit.
Gambolling in full wool, unaware of morrow’s snip.
Ewe see only what is in fashion, not the future clip.
Gambolling with the Shepherd’s crook, behaving baa-dly.
Ewe do you, follow the sheepish crowd gladly.
Gambolling off a cliff, unless the one snatched from danger.
Ewe were there, curious and excited alongside the manger.
Gambolling strides bring you beside still waters and rest.
Ewe’re after risen sun, a greener pasture where ewe are blest.
Tis springtime's warm and gentle grace
As love and romance fill the air
Spring flowers bloom and hearts embrace!
And all-around love's sweetness flares (a sudden outburst )
The trees regain their verdant tones
Birds sing sweetly so carefree
Their melodies until now unknown
Of love, joy and so esprit
As breezes blow jonquils fragrance
Whispering secrets sweet to hear
Lovers' kiss reveals those blushes' radiance
And passion's flames appear
Sunshine is bright and clouds scattered
All around love's lighter atmosphere
As springtime's angular light flatters
The world is full of soft yesteryear
Their fluttering starts in moonlight
When Luna reaches zenith height
She croons as butterflies take flight
Magical night Magical night
I was in awe without askance
Mesmerized as if in a trance
A cotillion of circumstance
Butterflies dance Butterflies dance
On nights when the golden moon sings
They flit in nocturnal musings
What pleasure to me their waltz brings
On velvet wings On velvet wings
What a delightful sight to see
When they whirl with grand revelry
Dancing with such joyful esprit
In front of me In front of me
It's a garden party soiree
Beneath the moon and stars they sway
A charming celestial ballet
Then fly away Then fly away
Summer's green vistas sang a farewell tune
as bare limbs gently swayed in a chill wind.
It swept o'er hills, beneath a harvest moon,
filching leaves; a theft it could not rescind.
Autumn is gilded with bucolic hues.
Fawn feathered birds wing in indigo skies.
Burnished umbers and rusts imbued with blues
on a landscaped palette, my eyes apprise.
Nature's artistry paints without a brush,
picturesque valleys in ginger and gold.
Rouged in the season of red crimson blush.
Fall's grandeur provides bright scenes to behold.
Vivid, the months when from mountain to sea,
they're washed in beauty's prismatic esprit.
Was here yesterday morning, disappeared this afternoon
Gone a certain aegis, like the wearing off of perfume
See nothing can last forever, time elopes with esprit
Winds of change unchangeable, mother nature’s a banshee
I don’t want to think about tomorrow, no… not just yet
Trying to cling onto some zeitgeist, it fades I forget
Memories and pictures pique me, dreams I can second guess
Moments are all but snuffed out, building up to more duress
Coming apart at the seams, disintegration follows
My need to retrieve zest, pukes up bits I cannot swallow
I’m just a trier who failed, however that’s not the point
Takes a man to face his losses, sorry to disappoint
And in the end we all know it, life’s our true living hell
Next week I’ll be back in heaven, to its one prison cell
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