Florence Poems

Florence

Florence has warm blood
and cowrie teeth that seldom clatter,
even in the chilled, fluttering dance of July rain.

She’s an element of Shiloh
in weeping quest of a promising Samuel,
and for this,
walks through long and clammy paths in July rain.

July, a month of sacred yams,
with breast tubers and milk tendrils,
befriends Florence,
an eloquent lamenter,
the quintessence of languor,
this day of

DAVID : Sculpture : Michelangelo: Florence : 1501

  “Sweet is my sleep, but more to be mere stone,
so long as ruin and dishonour reign ;
to bear nought, to feel nought, is my great gain ;
then wake me not, speak in an undertone !”
                  

Florence Nightingale

Social reformist Florence Nightingale -
her many good deeds make for a fascinating tale.
Not only a nurse was she content to be.
An innovative statistician was she.

From Palimpsest to Glory: The Music of Florence Price

In Ouachita's tales, where pine needles sigh.
I trace the mountains' ancient, weathered crown.
Silvered river forgotten secrets float by
And fills my heart, a sonorous chamber now.

A flame ignites, dispelling shadows deep,
A beacon for lost souls on twilight's rim.
Forgotten songs within my spirit leap,
A lullaby for weary hearts, I hymn.

Florence, 
Our palimpsest where 
sun-kissed tones reside.
Her heart

The Option To Participate

We  asked her to sing at a certain range. What she had been used to
was changing the tempo to recreate the song: but we hired  her
with instructions. We had to retool her gifts. We hired a training coach
with instructions and examples. We wanted to teach and inform since
she had know formal training. During

Loving Florence

her fantastical stories raised the hair on my chest
I am a girl and she gave me her wholesome best
her life was colorful which she did not mind sharing with me
I visited her Iowa farm house daily in the summer for afternoon tea

she told me tales children should not really hear
but I kept them to myself,

Florence

Named as a flowering city;
By a strange happenstance.
For of new ideas, buzzing round
Twas then pollinated.
Which seeded this other glory
Time's renaissance.
Among all the epochs, the one
Lily; highest rated.

They Boo'D Him In Florence

she became inspired when she
changed what was on her agenda for the week
placing fridays shedule for mondays she 
found time to purchase her husbands new
bassoon at the mall.
there she meet Forte Cresendo,
someone whom she admired.
He had the connect to get
her husbands music heard.
One catch, of course
she had to pretend to be his wife
while her maade

Florence Nightingale

Florence Nightingale,
born on 12th may ,
was a British social reformer,
a statistician by day .

She was a nurse
who had a magic touch;
helped all the men around her
would never make a fuss .

She was called the lady,
the lady with the lamp
who'd come and provide aid
all throughout the camp.

Out of all the nurses,
she was one of the best
earning

An Ode To Florence

The sacred lily of antiquity;
                      vital, that centuries have not defied.
                       

Florence But Not Italy

I never associated weather-faced seventy-year-old Florence with Italy until today, sixty years later.
Florence’s hands moved as fast as she talked.  She was usually accompanied by her favorite goat, 
Gladys, who knew when to bleat and when to keep still.  Florence’s mouth was always going; 
she had a reputation she had to maintain. We

To Nymph Florence Welch

Florence, Flower,
Where is mysticism?  Where is the ghost? 
Where is , what the water gave you?!

Where are you - "Alone", the one that was deserted.
Well, there's A Crowd around, 
it's cut into your very word.

Falling, there is you!
And now , your camp has moved to the foreign lands.

Oh, I see something has enveloped your

Florence Flawless

Florence -flawless!
You said you are Florence
Are you really flawless?
Sorry there is no language I can speak with Florence
I guess you will bear with me, flawless

Are you really flawless?
I mean you are Florence
There is no human, Florence
How come you are flawless?
Are you really Florence?

You are flawless?
In his cell Friar Lawrence
In his own faultless
To find you fortress
Surely

The Ripe Olives and Red Wines of Florence

The Ripe Olives and Red Wines of Florence
David J Walker 

Austere is the way I remember 
The convent in Florence
 
Perfectly white walls 
And the small single bed fronted
 
By worn floors from daily 
kneeling in prayer

A simple soup 
will be served
At supper 

My native guide says 
Possiamo fare di meglio in città

Either way there

The David

The David
David J Walker

I’ve touched the David’s
Blackened toe 

Standing in awe below 
a man captured in marble 

And marvel at his patients 
For a rescue chiseled in stone

There is a line of admirers 
Standing in an August rain 

Waiting to see him 
Waiting their turn 

To touch his toe
Smiling for a camera

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