Long Florentine Poems
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(Mini Glosa)
Text:
Two pictures on an ancient wall
In the grand Florentine Hall
By Anonymous
Two pictures on an ancient wall.
One shows a fair girl who looks like a doll.
This picture is very old and kind of tall,
The other one in comparison it's not that small.
Multitudes attend now this art show,have a ball.
Two pictures on an ancient wall.
In the grand Florentine hall.
It attracts and fascinates the eyes of all.
The other painting showing the young man is fine.
He shows magnificently in his ancestral castle scene.
Both paintings hang now side by side
In the grand Florentine hall.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2011
September,24,2014
The crowbar rattled at the clattering noise,
In the yard, against the hulls and hoys,
A Cloud of tar smoke rose through the green,
Large oil slicks floating on the lake sheen.
Inconsistent hills throughout the landscape,
The sunlight was a deep purple color shape,
Similar to the finishes of Florentine bronze,
That's it for the day, no real swans.
Overwhelming sadness now needs our song,
From death, an awful lot of sadness sprung,
What type of tears? What heart's grief arrest,
What sighs on sighs lobs the mom's breast?
With faint homes to brilliant ethereal light,
The enchanted guiltless has taken flight,
On the liberal bosom of undying love,
We find a concealed elevation above.
Warden, I realize you both mourn her loss,
She no longer feels the hold of pain across,
The regulations of elegance are without bias,
You can turn your pain into grace and praise.
The dread of the interminable assault,
The arrival of gizmos has long been sought,
All these notions had a major effect on history,
Each was a frightening age-related mystery.
The attack on slavery was nonsense,
Designed to hide the ambitions for pretense,
Never before has a tiny beast attacked so hard,
It just bites its horns and hides with its tiny shard.
Thoughts on webcasts, phone calls, Facebook,
Rising vitality contains attacks and an ebook,
Both were made by teenagers in their twenties
Bounty drives and precious realities.
Do not shed tears in the flowing river,
No real pain in the dark pits to deliver,
The first light was magnificently bright,
It was soon covered by the haze of the night.
This eliminates spontaneity, love, and anxiety,
It steals time and hides physical and moral piety,
Concept, politics, creation, and profit come first,
A blitzing slave was a lie to hide the curst.
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: September 08, 2022
Pick-A-Title, Vol 32 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Anti-Poem – “At The Hollywood Plaza With Eddie And Dolores”
(Poet’s Instruction – Kindly play “You Can’t Be True, Dear,” by Ken Griffin, 1946, while reading).
she be smelling mighty good my dolores
she be my mexican chick from silver lake
man her deep brown eyes hypnotize me
her momma say she like me and my ford
I be driving a red ’46 super deluxe coupe
my catholic beads be hanging down from
the rearview mirror they tap like dancers
tonight she be dressed for eating burgers
my dolores she and her tight green dress
we be cruising the miracle mile for shows
when she say she want to see cary grant
i say you mad girl but let’s go to the plaza
in hollywood we can sit close in the lobby
we can listen to the organ music and kiss
maybe we see cary grant walking by there
maybe your big dream come true tonight
now we be kissing under fiery chandeliers
the flashy famous people be passing us by
the organ whining from a distant corridor
howling like a ghost in a greasy graveyard
my sweet dolores she be asking the time
when a pretty woman she sits down by us
i’m thinking she be a star at last i say hello
the blue-eyed babe she smile back at me
a red flower be pinned to her brown curls
here on a date she say to us smoking now
my babe say we be waiting for cary grant
now the girl say we might wait a long time
she say she saw him once at the florentine
she say he even tipped her a five dollar bill
man her deep blue sky eyes hypnotize me
now she say her date is outside in a sedan
be careful she say hollywood can be cruel
the organ music still be playing in whispers
moaning like pale ghost girls in a neon fog
Teardrops born from
inflamed elated eyes.
Fetuses of euphoria
slips and slide down
thy cheeks for they
are genuine touch
that emblazon the
trail upon the abyss
of thy bosoms bare.
Come o thee, thy
desirous flames
and quench the
ardor of my thirst
that wanes in an
ancient domain of
soulless wanderers
tarrying for release
into a realm that is
yet unclaimed and
hail me beyond the
clutches of myself,
virgining an instilled
wonder. Venturous
being to be sprung
into the glory of the
true light, and then
stretch yonder from
this firmament hold
and embolden upon
a righteous climb to
heights unknown so
at the appointed tryst
with destiny, burst at
first, a tight existence
of brevity, ere I then
explode my essence
as an unfurling verse
of a red florentine for
eyes to behold and
breaths to yield into
submission, captives
that toys with their
emotions. Preying
upon fickle souls that
meanders yon my
presence, for I am a
simple soulless oddity
in their life.
Date: 06/16/2019
Crunchy the bite, sweetness tis out of site;
It’s so right a fruit an October Sun plum;
Hint of sour, from Australia;
Lo, weary traveler;
Where can you go?
To spend the best destination for October Sun;
Alas, try Costa Brava;
At the port of Blanes up to the French border;
Golden beach sands, Chartreuse, Emerald, Seafoam, Cerulean
Auqua waters found so Florentine;
Such an end run after the summer begun an Autumn vacation
All this and more plums in my hands amongst the October Sun
OCTOBER SUN Poetry Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
MIN 6 lines / MAX 12 lines.
Humming as she arranges an assortment of biscuits
On pastel green plates,
(Viennese waltz)
Beryl checks the clock ticking softly, three thirty,
“Come along, Shannon”,
Her young charge steps in alongside her
As Beryl works the care home rooms.
Teas and coffees, counterclockwise,
In the waltz of the afternoon tea trolley.
Beryl choreographs and guides as they go,
“Now, remember Reenie is partial
to the vintage charm of a custard cream,
Whereas Doris will go for a fig roll –
Sturdy with a hidden sweetness,
That surprises,
And Edie will tell you her stories twice -
Will want for the Twix.”
Shannon pours teas into proper cups with proper saucers
As they glide over to Ballroom Blanche,
“Danced through life haven't you, love”,
Beryl adds in whisper,
“Blanche can seem a bit crisp around the edges,
But she's really quite a softee – sweet,
She leans to Viennese whirl”.
Shannon adds two sugars,
Twirls the spoon in the cup
As she hands silent Marjorie
in her beige cardy,
A malted milk.
They reverse turn to the sun filled lounge.
Jammy dodgers with heart-shaped windows
Are shared by Norma and Dierdre
Receiving bouquets of babbies in bonnets,
Children gathered
to see their great nannies.
And by the window looking out,
Connie,
For whom standards never slip,
In wig, pearls, red lip,
Takes the Florentine of glamour.
Young Shannon turns in awe to Beryl asking,
“How do you remember who has what?”
Beryl smiles, and with mock curtsy,
She blushes
“What am I to say?
It's like I have a gift.”
I sense how flummoxed one becomes
staring at the starless night while the rising fog
drifts around the grotesque figures
more terrifying than a wild, hungry dog...
nobody notices another transient
challenging fear and being too persistent!
Walking through the grove of elms
with an unfogged mind, I take slow footsteps
not being frightened by the groans of a lonely wolf,
a human can be more dangerous than an animal
when he has lived in the remoteness to escape grief;
I push forward being drenched by a sudden rainfall...
nobody notices another transient
with a zealous and intrepid spirit!
Where's that path which leads to torturous Hell?
That imagined Hades the Florentine poet described so well?
Why was Dante driven by foolishness, vengeance, and folly?
He despised the horrible deeds of his peers
and confined them in the place of eternal fire,
taking on a role which made his intolerance conspire;
he begged God to make them suffer in agony,
he could have felt compassion and stopped their screams...
nobody noticed another transient
enthralled by a vicious intent!
WE GOBBLE GOAT’S CHEESE
Scales of justice weighed in gold and coal
cherubs and demons cheer without fear
horns blow, rooms gather fat
Coaxing a grey Persian cat
climb stairs of glamour
or disillusioned clamour
Heads dance across Florentine floor
joy shiver silent at a wooden door
hazardous stealth the cunning core
Roti fry in sesame oil to serve
with Côté D’ Or, everything coiled
drops of champagne sorrowfully soil
Chameleons cut own coloured flesh
hiding wounds wry waistcoated breasts
Botox gone awry, confess !
Scales dramatise to legitimise
two platters evenly plead
weighing a crafty compromise
We gobble goat’s cheese
celebration up in a breeze
©GhairoDanielsPoetry&
Songwriting2016
When he first began that canvas
with gentle brush' strokes,
he was unable to control those swift fingers:
did he realize that he was creating
a masterpiece...that painting
of ordinary woman with such serene eyes?
Was Da Vinci paid for his painting, or was his intent too probable:
to be immortalized as others in an era too rich and indelible?
Did Mona Lisa's attire made her not appear so noble to the Florentine court?
And although he was charmed by her, he only concentrated on his fine portrait!
Even the long-bearded Leonardo in his ingenious and creative mind
couldn't have imagined the viewers' admiring feeling;
and I look at it in awe envisioning the master's skillful hand
carefully giving it the final touch to complete the immortal painting!
A coral pink design on glistening ruby tapestry--
Reminiscent of ingenuity of sculptor's blueprints
In scarlet-orange tinges and teal-green imprints
Hanging spectacularly in the cosmic art gallery.
You are the brushstrokes of Florentine artistry--
Verses of poetry scripted in ornate vocabulary
Articulating the vision of a star studded galaxy
Flying in the universe on wings of your beauty.
The scent of purple heliotropes you often vied for
Lingers in search of your golden yellow persona
Since you left the earth floating on dream clouds
Ingesting dusty gases to forge your own replica.
Jealous are the stars of your blushing rose motif
Shaped like a monarch besting your surroundings,
An ornament you are, flashing your royal charm--
Jewel that took the crown from dying supernova.
June 10, 2019
Placed 3rd: Your choice (7) contest by Brian Strand
Placed 3rd:Nifty named nebula poetry contest by William Kekaula
Picture 1: The butterfly