My wish would be to visit Italy,
where my grandparents were with family.
One came from Florence, one from Sicily,
before my Mom and I were born to be.
I'd love to find out how their lives began-
those years in Italy before their plan
to board the ship- a woman and a man-
embrace the USA, their future span.
From tales they told me, Italy was home
to lovely gardens, winding hills to roam,
and special wonders, such as that in Rome,
with the Basilica's expansive dome.
To feel the rhythm of the countryside
and taste delicious entrees, well supplied;
confirm the recipes I've used stateside-
and the traditions learned and passed with pride.
I have these visions that live in my mind.
Someday, I hope, the real scenes to find.
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 streaming showers.
I have often had her tears
on my palms —
tears that sob gently, lest the temple yonder
hears her and pronounces them FAITHLESS.
Florence, battered in the rain,
frazzled by extreme caution,
with ambiance of July
and naivete of the grey ewe,
has prayed for her breasts, for her milk
and for the growth of her stunted soul.
I, too, have prayed —
for the rebirth of the seventh moon,
for Florence and her bedraggled sorrows,
and for strength on behalf of our weakened village.
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.
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 the lessons she said to me
" the way I was raised; you wouldn't let people know these things
cause then everybody would think they were pro!" I told her if everybody
you knew would be interested in this project I would hire them to
support you and your effords at success: not to allow them to bring our project asunder. She then told me: " that Ole Gal of Glotta would come up in here
take the instruction and rail and rile through the lyrics like Lottadale"
Who's Lottadale I asked and she said it was just sometime they said in the woods, when they were camping and stuff. I toold her well follow the instructions and don't flake up the pieces like LottaDale! More flowing and
less recitative: soothing rich tone rich singing. Aria , Aria with background ah-ooh ah's! He told me. Learn it and do it natural, when you have accomplished this you can do anything you want!
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, for I loved this story-telling dear.
her name was Florence, and her outrageous stories were the best.
She had goats in her house, a nonconformist without societies test.
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.
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 herself a royal red cross
she was surely better than the rest.
even though it's been
years since her passing
her impact in the world
feels everlastin
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 neighbor kids either loved or hated her;
there was no in between. She looked like a wizened witch, wearing men’s overalls,
grimy shirts, and that silly hat with the goat bite out of the brim.
My sister was terrified of her at first, but I despised her until I was forced to know her
by my insistent mother. My initial aversion revised itself
into an eerie fascination which eventually bordered on Florence love.
She told the most entertaining gruesome macabre stories imaginable.
At ten, I remember hanging onto every word about three men who were hanged,
a twelve foot garden snake, and other deplorable things I was not allowed to hear
anywhere else. This was the sixties, when TV was tame, all cowboys and Indians.
So I was grateful to have Florence. Here she is now, walking Gladys. Have to go.
More later.
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 flow.
Fight him!
Come back! To our wild forest.
Don 't give yourself away .
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 you are Florence
My flow got race
Colours I like to mess (-less)
Yet I be Florence
Oh my I am really Florence
And you are flawless
Meet me in the confidence ...(room)
I can tell you something in conference
Seriously we need to confer it less
So confidential let us go in conference
Can we really meet in the confidence ...(room)?
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 will be
Ripe olives and red wine served with
Artisan bread dipped in garlic
Sweet basil and virgin olive oil
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
George Jefferson
Was his mother’s son
He bought a cleaners; got rich
Settled in the east side, found his niche
Florence Johnson
Didn't hail from Wisconsin
Was a no-nonsense taking maid
Sometimes her chores were delayed
* Comedy Tv Show: The Jeffersons
09/28/2021
Contest: Clerihew 2
Sponsor: Joseph May
I could not get much dirtier
I stare at my hands and laugh
not realizing until now how much
I resemble Florence
The old lady we made fun of when we were kids
because she was always filthy; especially her hands.
My hands have paint all over them – and I did not notice
before changing my clothes and coming into this store
I have neon paint in green, blue, and orange on them
There is a splash of gold paint on my bare knee
and a dollop of red paint on my big toe
I laugh at myself
When I was a child I did not realize
this is how little you will care
when you reach your sixties
Florence makes sense now
I have recognized many old ladies, but I know two of them.
They were Florence and Duno, both crackerjacks.
Their sense of humors rose in the sky and went to Jupiter.
I saw lots of old ladies with lavender hair and lavender dresses at church.
They sat with their half way hose sticking out below the knee.
It was a funny sight, but we dared not snicker.
I had no idea old ladies could be funny until I met Florence.
Which is why I gave Duno a chance. Florence was a story teller.
Duno was a comedienne. They got me over my fear of old ladies.
Now I am the old lady, sitting with burgundy hair,
Trying to not giggle at silly stuff,
But not at church.
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