Long Picturing Poems
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My family lives in a bee house she said and I laughed
Picturing six children swarming around each other
Hearing the buzz of lively conversation at supper
We are surrounded by flowers, you should visit in summer.
My mind smelled lilac and roses because this is Kansas.
Her mother is a designer, her father is an architect.
I was invited to attend a party there so I went.
I had never seen such a home, shaped like a bee.
It is the most challenging house I have ever seen.
Every wall rounded, so furniture does not fit well.
It was cozy and warm, as was her family.
Some of the most artistic beings I have ever met.
I'd like to be sitting in a café in France
Eating strawberries and cream with you
I'd find the biggest and reddest and juiciest ones
And feed them to you off my spoon
After we'd stroll down the avenues and rues
The afternoon lazing away
We'd window shop arm in arm picturing you
In the finest of clothes on display
A flower I'd pick for your beautiful hair
To highlight it's shimmering hues
Have I ever told you how lovely you are?
I think perhaps I may have given some cues
Then when the afternoon cedes to the night
We'd dress up and go out on the town
Aglow with the aura from Paris's light
The flower becomes now your crown
I use to think I had it all
Now I hope you trip and fall
All you do is put me down
I walk around with a big frown
I used to think you cared
How could life be so unfair
Years later I'm still here
" Waiting" on you my dear
Why am I still here?
I know it can't be fear
Maybe I'm just used to a fool
That barely passed high school
As I watch you lay your head
I'm picturing our old class mate Fred
I wish I had the nerve to leave
Or I had a devious trick up my sleeve
Oh darn you are about to wake
And I become a actress and fake, fake, fake.
07-30-16
For the Cheese And Whin contest
Sponsor: Phillip Garcia
Fortunes and good luck is for spoiled brats rotten,
when you have Destiny crabbing you so tide by your bottom.
She stares in your eyes in dept with tickles of pain,
making you wondering, what is insane.
Her smile no more pretense of craft,
affectionate awakening sincerely laughed.
When conscious metaphors shriek in panic,
one get the sense of some happenstance dramatic.
My wits and psychopathic prayers searching for conclusion,
picturing the firmament already in doomed collusion.
Oh almighty preserver, save me from this destiny,
knowing that I am the weaver of my own legacy.
The blues like lullaby inviting me into her blossom,
haunting echoes in subdued kind of awesome.
Moments become the slow motion silence,
still searching for those magical alliance.
By clarity of deep voice in me, I focus on my breathing,
remembering that creatures of shadows are deceiving.
The pain as metaphor of life is the survivor,
she looks at me with pleasure, that I am now a bit braver.
We met a few years ago, then suddenly you were gone
We danced the very last dance to our favourite song
Happenings in our lives took control of our tomorrows
That evening when you walked away, filled my heart with sorrow
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I heard the telephone ring, I answered and you were there
And we spoke of the past few years, these years we could have shared
The time flew by when we talked, sharing our pasts to date
When you said you'd like to meet up again, my heart just couldn't wait
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I picked you up from the Airport, you hadn't changed at all
Six foot plus with sky blue eyes, still leaving me enthralled
We settled into our night for tomorrows journey we'll make
To a rented cottage so idyllically set, down by the lake
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The morning came so fast as we set of on our trip
Again going over the years, picturing like a movie clip
Our destination now reached, refreshed we head for a meal
At a restaurant overlooking the lake, our pasts begin to seal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back to the cottage we go, as you gently take my hand
So dreamy under the full moon, is this what fate had planned
You play our favourite song, the one we danced to so long ago
As you take me in your arms, something in me flows
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
We look into each others eyes as you ruffle my long blond hair
I see desire looking back from your manly sky blue stare
Slowly we discard our clothes as you lay me on the bed
Adventurous discovering hands declare our minds well read
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Our passion resonates, excitement fills the air
Years of catching up in delightful bodily share
We awaken in the morning, spooned within my reach
Our love has been reborn, re-found visiting Qualicum Beach
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-15.php
As the flame, on the candle fades away.
The darkness starts to engulf my vision.
I close my eyes, and thoughts of God allay.
I envision the fields of Elysian.
Picturing, a beautiful bright green glade.
And, a lake filled with the bluest water.
Where peace, flows from the breathtaking cascade.
A blessed paradise, need no alter.
A home, for our souls to relax in peace
Where all the hatred and stress will then cease.
While the afterlife roams, joyous all day.
If I make it there, I will pray to stay.
I drift off with these thoughts in an array.
As the flame, on the candle fades away.
5/16/2017
We rarely get to see our friends
When they are off at work.
We hear about their colleagues
Or their boss who is a jerk.
But picturing their office
Or wherever they’re employed
Isn’t something we spend time on –
(Not unless you’re Dr. Freud.)
So tonight was most intriguing.
I’d occasion to attend
A memorial to Marilyn,
My dear departed friend.
It was organized by workmates,
Many whom she’d known for years.
Though I recognized their names,
We’d had quite different careers.
I heard supervisors’ stories
And from buyers in her field,
Nodding knowingly as all her traits
Were laughingly revealed.
They supplied some missing pieces
Of the life of hers I’d known,
For we each have an impression
Of our friends that’s ours alone.
Though the puzzle’s not completed –
That’s impossible to do –
I increased my understanding
Of the Marilyn I knew.
Remembering Mrs. Sully always makes my face break out into smiling mode.
Her face was as craggy as a grave, there was an aluminum tooth on the left.
When she smiled, it gleamed with pure happiness, making her stories even better.
When I first met her, her ferocious stories kept my gentle side terrified, for hours.
I thought she was the Hansel and Gretel witch, because she looked like my vision of her.
There was a unique smell around Mrs. Sully, an earthy, vegetable-type smell.
She was always in her garden, killing snakes, big black ones, with large mouths.
She relished showing us how she whacked them with her hoe, hacking them to pieces.
Although short, stooped over and old, she was a force no snake wanted to encounter.
Her stories were full of spit and vim, anger, and devilishly mean murders and such.
If you decided to share a story, she did not hear it, she did not pause if you wanted to talk.
You had to walk along beside her, acting like wearing two or three house dresses
over each other under a pair of overalls was normal, seeing the bibs and lace stick out like crazy.
Her expertise was incessant talking, not waiting for social cues or societal nonsense like that.
She knew about all the hangings that had ever happened in the county, and relished telling
About them in full-force detail, hoping to keep us on our toes, ripe with worry.
All you have to do is mention the words Mrs. Sully, and the old-timers smile, remembering
Those awful hangings, and what happened after the rope was yanked, because we all knew.
Sometimes I swear I see her in her old black hat, pulled down nearly to her eyes,
Stooped carriage, pushing a rusty brown wheelbarrow full of produce, from one farm to another.
We were lucky, our house was smack in the middle, so we would run out and hear the tale of the day.
She owned two properties, a block and a half from each other, one of them had goats.
If we were really lucky, she would have one of her mean goats on a little leash and we could walk our block with it, as it butted us with its angry head.
Rumors said the goats slept in the house with her. It did not matter to me, she was a character
I will never forget her, sometimes picturing that amazing aluminum tooth, which told excellent
Stories. Stories I do not dare tell my own sweet grandchildren, as they stay up too late already.
I heard you whispering
all night listening
your handsome face picturing
your hand strokes my hair
and you kiss my tear
and forever love I declare
in the distant other words
and the song of birds
the most beautiful heard
and a soothing voice came
to proclaim
my child leave the pain
give love to the Lord
he will become your sword
___________________________
January 2, 2020
Poetry/Free Form Sonnet/Love
Copyright Protected, ID 120-1213-453-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for FFI Blog Series 53 - sonnet FF
Brian Strand
Podium Place 1
"This might be of no value to your instinct though,
Losing my presence might cause your flesh nothing,
Basically to the wisdom surrounding this lost age.
But speculatively would hurt the cleanest and sacred spirit willing to direct you.
I need you every hour in my arms.
Just for you to feel the touch of my hand in a convincing state.
The weakest part of your heart will I dwell,
And the fragile center of your mind would I lay myself.
Getting you saturated is the utmost concern of my divinity,
Where I come from shouldn't be the unfortunate causative of your doubt.
Light is what you need through to the darkest night,even after a transition to a new world of uncertainty.
I wish you had the key to the highest level of picturing me.
Don't call this point a fallacy.
I never put a dime on limiting you.
Even when you're naked in my room,
The best thing even to take place would be a journey back to where you came from.
I mean you coming out of my own image and residing with me.
Wherever you heading towards is never to be deemed by self-accumulated luck.
My grace is sufficient for you,
So I wish you could make the best decision out of my rhapsody.
For your greatest life guarantee is maximised indefinitely within my words.
I'm loving you forever and don't wish you do same on compulsion.
But be vigilante my precious sheep among my flocks,
So you don't fall from my tender heart...",
This is the voice of JEHOVAH!
©walkingshoes