Exotic lady,
Night and day,
The vineyards honey,
Is in her hair,
And in her kiss,
Under the caress,
Of a champagne sky,
Along the shore,
A lovely mermaid lady,
Is combing her hair,
With palm leaves,
And the wild wind,
In the evening and midnight,
She feels the serene waves sing,
In the gazebos,
The brides are changing,
dresses,
And giving away,
Their bouquets,
While the bakers,
Are baking,
Another cake,
Under the caress,
Of sweet champagne sky,
Exotic lady,
Night and day,
The vineyards honey,
Is in her sway,
In her kiss,
And in her hair,
Upon the verandas,
The candles are lit,
With the moonlight,
And love,
While the doves,
Are kissing the moon,
Up above,
Exotic lady,
Night and day,
The vineyards honey,
Is in her sway,
In her Beautys kiss,
And in her hair,
Exotic lady,
The vineyards honey
Reynaldo Casison
Millions used to roam across Africa’s plains,
But, sadly, not one Gazebo still remains,
Yes, unfortunately, they are now extinct,
Their fate and Man’s greed, clearly linked.
Treasured for their waterproofed hides,
Used as Marquees by jetsetters and blushing brides,
Eyelets used to mask inappropriate holes,
Their thin straight legs used as supporting poles.
The world’s appetite for awnings was immense,
Pressure on their survival became too in-tents,
Most were poached - but some were boiled,
Corruption rife and palms were oiled.
Did I detect tears in Attenborough’s eyes,
As his films captured the Gazebos sad demise?
Let the whole world learn from this,
Not allow species to head into an abyss,
Never let us again, our powers abuse,
Just so we can enjoy shaded barbeques!
A remote Irish valley, where mountains are stark,
Boasts a castle in Glenveagh, a national park.
As expected, the site is imbued with the past,
But its beauty conceived with intentions to last.
In the gardens, the colors just burst from their blooms
As a challenge to hills where austerity looms
And those purples and oranges, yellows and reds,
Though quite joyous, seem ready to leap from their beds.
With their gates and gazebos, meandering trails
Encourage reflection, which naturally pales
Next to simple acceptance that fortune's bestowed
On the visitor, interest on debts life has owed.
My dream shines brightly with ambitious gleam,
And in my heart, its vivid brilliance rivals even sunbeam.
I dream to be among the ranks of landowners,
To have thousands of acres and a hanseatic house,
Adorned with colorful feathered grouse,
And lush gardens fit for soirees and dinners,
Gazebos hosting bands and crooners,
And a view of a river as fair as the Great Ouse.
By day I shall paint,
And write prose and poetry
Lauding flora and fauna.
By night I shall play
Baroque tunes on a lute
Or Bach on a harpsichord.
All rights released into Public Domain
Sept. 26 2016
Three style II poetry contest
i will forget you
just as i have forgotten my first kiss
and third grade teacher
you will be forgotten
and sent into the backyard of my mind
and forbidden to return
i will turn away from the push cart
with purple asters
and ignore gazebos and river walks
i will not go where people mingle in twos
and where apple blossoms touch the air
i will be too busy forgetting you
nothing will be related to you
not the key hook you forced into the wall
or the tablecloth you scorched
because you turned for a kiss
everything will be what it is
without a remnant of what was you
i will forget you
even when dreams resurrect us
and you take vengeance in your absence
i was forgetting you with another
but saw the baby robin peak from its nest
and excitedly said, “carol, look!”
i will forget you
through every temptation and hint
daisy fields and haystacks
the first green suggestion of spring
you returning to bed for “just a minute”
i will forget you
but not just now
Easter is a time where we construe
The beauty of renewal blooming through
Little birds that chirp above the vales
While sweeter ladies peep at passing males
Charming is the humour passing round
Faint scent of Tulips, Daffodils abound
Strolling couples giggle by a stream
Planning the delights they like to dream
Gazebos filled with bands that blow their brass
Shiny belts and buckles, best in class
‘Le déjeuner sur l'herbe’ a luncheons treat
A very Manet way in which to meet
Ah Easter is a time for daring stuff
Two clothed men that dine with naked fluff
At last the joys of springtime are revealed
Milk white flesh and precious else concealed
©david byrne Easter 2012
The house amid the spruces and pines,
Had stood for several decades.
Many a story was told and written,
Experiences both pleasurable and difficult.
There were weather worn benches,
Where the seniors would sit and weave their stories.
Many miracles and blessings were experienced,
Generations thankful to be here.
Each summer they were luncheons and socials,
Blessed by the sunny and warm weather.
Gazebos where you could sit and have conversations,
With a good neighbour and companion.
Bazaars with delicious cooking and baking,
Treasures purchased inexpensively.
Many a romance came and went,
Sometimes the man and woman actually married.
The house read like an excellent novel,
Blessings from God and thankful to be.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz