Stone clad hotels and banks,
stone-faced facades.
Stone monuments carved by old money.
The stone-poor have no stone history,
they will leave no archeology
to be excavated and raised.
Their throw-away artifacts
go to the landfills,
If they have stone. it must be dug up
to clear the way for more hard-scabble.
Here is a celluloid picture,
I am in my prime,
a pretty woman by my side,
we walk a downtown boulevard
where solid stone is raised high.
The image engenders another image,
that same photograph
bursting into flame,
now curling to ash in a grand chimney
and hearthside,
a fireplace that speaks
of an opulent and gilt-edged wealth -
one built of an ageless and abiding
stone.
Gilt-edged first light visions greet
zestful horde in trendy street
Luscious coffee bouncing bean
set alight a dormant scene
Pumpkin seeds dot fresh brown toast
eager staff cool vibrant host
Ghetto blasters rock and blare
raucous voices split the air
Backbeat sold on grey stone curb
manic newsstand with the blurb
Toil worn riser half asleep
speed bump traffic jam’s beep beep
Noisy dockland, wharf or pier
naval fringe cry, coast is clear
Blue horizon sky high quest
humdrum route dull second best
Stock exchange a whirling disc
budding Gordon Gecko risk
Rapid urban belt whose rift
spurs its city’s latent gift
The breeze annoying trees entices me,
I drift away afar to fields abloom,
with silver tongues untied their whispers free—
..ah prairie-weed does burn a sweet perfume.
The flowered spikes do strike a reminisce,
the musky scent upon each purple spear…
your kiss, our bliss… you I miss… you I miss—
I fall upon each heady spear, despite the golden air.
The gilt-edged frills and thrills of summer days— that flutter!
The guilt-wedged sway and suede of lusty meadow sage.
The jilted sun, once young, still shines above the haze— that clutter…
an unfledged page from when we came of age.
I linger lone and lost and loathe the lure of wind
as fuzzy leaves flaunt drizzle beads beneath the clouds chagrined.
Trail of a Touching Dream
Under a star painted mosaic sky,
Sat you and I, in ancient Greek dress.
On a gilt-edged,alabaster,sculptured
marble bench.
Your eternal love for me ever beaming!
Then, upon your knees you went,
Kissing my seductive hands.
I kissed your curly, lustrous hair...
Smelling fresh of Amaranth, oh!
Lovers ever so greatly blessed
Eternally~on God's divine firmament.
Panagiota Romios
4/25/2019
3:45am PST
Where the Osages' God almighty once reigned
The almighty dollar their proud life- blood drained
As man- made arteries pumped out the rich black oil
Making a mockery of their sacred soil
Their native American dream withered and died
A bounty built on bodies the thieves satisfied
Slick concords duped and dealt deceit
Gilt edged profit a one way street
Guilt hardened minds plundered their lands
Blood and oil both besmirching their sands
With their sacred lands profaned ,laid bare and dry
Vengeance is their spectral spirits' only cry
The sky shone gaunt gold
on the lip of the storm
before the anvil shaped clouds advanced
upon the burning margins of the world
Like a dream
the thunder rolled away
leaving cotton candy swirls
before a spreading dawn
Gentle white horse clouds appeared
pulling pastel chariots
bearing angels -
rainbows, tinted on their snowy wings
Down they plunged
gilt-edged, into a pit of pure white
popcorn clouds
Feeling God-like before
the breakfast service
I watched delicate washes of pale lavender
mist into daylight.
Dedicated to Connie Marcum Wong who worked as a flight attendant for many years.
LATE JULY 2018 STANDARD,ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines
Contest Judged: 7/23/2018 10:59:00 AM
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
First Place
If love calls for me
and tells me words you say bear tears
I'd fend the fear
that melts those words,
until your sense
with me
agrees
If time defaced our vows,
and closed those doors
with sounds of life awash
with these fears
With our ungrounded tears
We would charm a distant well
without a cent...
for faith you lost in me
agrees
If silky goodbyes
crown a gilt-edged pledge with grief
I'd resign
all thoughts of guided fate
Cause then...
no tear with fear
agrees
a poem about pregnancy
The gentle swell, eroticism's outcome,
the heat of passion empirical,
cross-pollination's perspiration,
beads of love conceived this miracle.
So still, this tranquil life, yet felt
a heart in rough plan stages;
taps a growing rhythm,
embryonic, sweetly ages.
In the gilt-edged cameo of the mind
you, in my body edifice,
change face and gender seamlessly;
mysteriously as a chrysalis.
So still, this tranquil life, and then
his hand flat on my abdomen,
we jolt absorbent of the joy
when you kick...and kick again.