the beach is nature's playground
building sandcastles and splashing in the sea
as the wind blows through the beach
as cool as the gulf of lepanto
the waves washes away my stress
like water washes away,and leaving you pure
as it makes that beautiful sound
the waves lapping at my feets
feeling the ambience
i stood up looking into the water
the vast ocean has beauty all its own
i can feel the calmness of the chilly sea breeze on my body
i can feel each grain of sand
the warmth of the heat wraps me up
evoking the earth-mother in me
i can hear the grafting roar of the pebbles
it was a beauteous evening
the wind wafting my hair
the birds flying overhead and soar
a better place for a long walk with your soulmate
as we Nestle together
as i move towards the edge of the sea
bringing out the child in me
my feets leaving a footprint
as the beach never loses its inherent charm
@bint__abdolrahman
Categories:
lepanto, beach, dream, family, imagination,
Form: Dramatic Verse
Villanelle: Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day
Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day
As if those words gouged out paper or tape
Words distilled from a lifetime’s work and play
Write only what you think is what you say
And what you think never other lives rape
Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day
Write not to beg for praise or prize or pay
What you write must not want to prate agape
Words distilled from a lifetime’s work and play
Write like wordsmiths who worked for Old Vic play
El Manco of Lepanto fate escape
Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day
Write Dostoevsky’s death on pardoned day
To sink Underground swoon writhe out of shape
Words distilled from a lifetime’s work and play
Ugly Beauty makes Art loudly pray
For poets who blindly abuse Muse’s shape
Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day
Words distilled from a lifetime’s work and play
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Categories:
lepanto, art, beauty, creation, death,
Form: Villanelle
The homes are opening up in the mist
like grief of figures
with eyes, opened up to the sea tract.
The walls are crumbling, to this evening
groaning with strength.
Who is shouting there?
Who is building fire on the shore?
The oars were dying of the sweat.
The sails were torn by the winds
dead.
Did they bring ebony and silk,
myrrh and emeralds from Lepanto?
They remained with ashes of the sea,
with corns,
with grief, resembling anchor.
On winding, light-footed caravels
captains are shouting on the deserted shore
and building
Epiphany sacrificial fires.
Categories:
lepanto, life
Form: Free verse