Long Riviera Poems
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Myrtle Parker
Myrtle Parker lived on the Riviera,
That’s the English one not the French.
Her favourite tipple is Red Currant Cider,
Only beverage her thirst would quench.
Never did she marry no husband,
Preference for life single and free,
Though kept two doggy companions,
Twin Westies, Florence and Zebedee.
Miss Parker was a gatherer and hoarder,
Antiques, curios, lots of impractical tat.
Her catchphrase was somewhat familiar,
“I‘ll find a good use for that.”
Tumbledown Cottage name on the gate,
Aptly called for badly required repair.
The man from Devonshire Council,
Shakes his head in anguished despair.
Oh, dear Myrtle what are we to do,
I cannot see the wood for the trees,
Environment Officer is calling today,
He doesn’t like cockroach and fleas.
Myrtle lives close to Muscle shell beach,
Small cove of shingle and coarse sand,
Opposite the Cat protection league,
Where she buys new clothes second hand.
One summer had a house full of Kittens,
That grew into fully grown cats.
They left her in search of new comforts,
Plagued by visits of large rodent rats.
Myrtle decided on a radical clear out,
To make way for a new feather bed,
But could not let go of her treasures,
So continued sleeping on the sofa instead.
Seventy years old, obstinate and proud,
Devon Council man returned to her door.
“This house is making you poorly my dear,
Regretfully you cannot live here anymore.
Oh, dear Myrtle here’s what we’ll do,
Move you into a comfy town flat,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Condemn your cottage, so sorry about that.
Myrtle Parker was born in this house,
Her father he worked on the boats,
Mother stayed home baking bread,
From freshly ground buckwheat groats.
Tumbledown cottage is full of memories,
Though can’t find many for the clutter.
Diminutive rooms two up two down,
Walls dampened by broken pipe gutter.
If I have to go then take me in a box,
She chained herself to the newel post.
I’ll defend my rights for all I’m worth,
Then haunt Council man as his ghost.
Council man arrives excited with keys,
For Miss Parkers new urban home,
But Myrtle had been true to her word,
and perished on the staircase all alone.
Oh, dear Myrtle what have you done,
Your new flat was shiny and clean,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Demolition boss with bulldozer team.
1. The story started in sunshine on the sea shore
2. in reminiscent ambience like the French Riviera
3. where the colors of sunset were painting horizon.
4. When twilight merged with descending darkness of dusk
5. I saw your flashing figure, a fleeting deer, on the beach,
6. hair on air making charming lace on your face
7. blushing in serene grace in setting sun’s hued embrace.
8. The lasting picture I made into dream, I knew it could break.
9. That’s how my heart weaved love, and you … amorous tapestry
10. your sweet arms laid on an ardent pathway for me.
11. I saw it wind toward you as you paced in the wind,
12. a scene I’d seen in the mist of dream … I hadn’t missed.
13. The reverie came true when I slowly strode near you,
14. you let me hold your hands supple, how alluring they were
15. my mind felt … your love wasn’t the farthest one
16. for you were keen to lend your hand usher it in
17. from the waxing waves with the whispering wind
18. that broke the deafening silence between you and me
19. for we heard melody of romance in the air, in the heart
20. repeated again and again like the breaking waves,
21. the crests crowned by pearls pristine of the dancing sea.
22. In my own heart I could feel that you became only mine
23. so … together we could fly in the limpid sky of longing life.
24. At sundown hour like birds to the astral nest we’d return.
September 13, 2018
Poetic devices used in lines : 1. Alliteration, 2. Allusion, 3. Ambiguity, 4. Antithesis (also Alliteration), 5. Apposition (also Alliteration), 6. Assonance (also Consonance and Enjambment), 7. Consonance, 8. Dissonance (also Metaphor), 9. Ellipsis (also Enjambment), 10. Euphony (also Enjambment), 11. Homograph, 12. Homophone (also Ellipsis), 13. Internal Rhyme, 14. Inversion (also Enjambment), 15, Litote (also Ellipsis), 16. Metonymy (also Internal Rhyme), 17. Onomatopoeia (also Alliteration and Personification), 18. Oxymoron, 19. Parallelism (also Enjambment), 20. Tautology (also Simile), 21. Personification, 22. Pleonasm, 23. Metaphor (also Ellipsis and Alliteration), 24. Simile.
Being sensual isn’t necessarily about sex.
I recall a night of such immense innocent delight
that all my senses -heightened- far exceeded
my teenage expectations of romance.
My sense of sight had already been triggered
from the moment I first met the young man
whose eyes so flirtatiously met mine.
As sweet as chocolate, his eyes melted me.
His smile was honey and his voice too,
which dripped with an accent which was French -
instantly attracted my sense of hearing.
In the front seat of his Buick Riviera,
this boy from Quebec taught me the allure
of taking time . . .
taking time to gaze into each other eyes,
taking time to feel . . . to really feel
each little nibble on my ear lobe
and the sweetness of his breath
at the nape of my neck; to feel his fingers
as they softly traced the features of my face -
worshippingly -
as if I were a goddess he was touching.
Even my sense of smell was aroused by his colgne.
Taking his time . . .
such lingering precious time,
he arrived to that first anticipated kiss,
and my sense of taste was then aroused,
for his kiss was ambrosia of the gods.
To touch his silken skin and hair,
and then to feel his lips moving smoothly over mine!
In synche with him -
romance was nothing but sublime.
All the while his hands – so magical -
caressed my hands, my arms, my shoulders,
and my back down to my waist.
Feelings I’d never experienced before
overwhelmed me with bliss.
I was still a virgin, and he knew exactly how far
not to go.
Keeping me at the brink
of something I was not to know till I was married,
I was more than satisifed and never before in my life
had I felt more cherished.
Every sense of mine was totally engaged
by his dulcet whispers
and the beauty of his eyes, his nose, his mouth,
and his entire tall slender body.
The touch of him, the feel of him,
and the feel of MY burgeoning emotions -
for me this was a virgin’s dream
of sensuality.
Feb. 3, 2021
for the Sensual Poetry Contest of Charlotte Puddifoot
yogi under the banyan tree
yogi under the bodhi tree
bikku under the banyan tree
waiting for release
bikku in blissful nibbhana
yogi in extinguishing moksha
Penniless poet under the tenement roof
Jazz organist under the pavement sky
Struggling novelist under the Riviera blue
Russian ballerina under the American umbrella
Apprentice painter under the Sistine Chapel
Sculptor Underground
waiting for the agent’s call
burning Anne Frank manuscripts in an air-raid fire
singular melodies drowned in the descending drone
Kafka writing without a morrow
van Gogh dabbing his tormented palette under the Arles sun
Sartre turning the Nobel Prize down for teenage girls
Siddhartha abandoning his body’s palace for the people’s pain
the common man unable to abandon his workload family
bikku under the bodhi tree
his body shrivelled under the saffron robe
his begging bowl filled by karma-earning hands
the last trichinosis-filled moksha meal
bikku rising on a thousand-petalled flower
bikku piercing through the cakras’ splendrous colours
bikku on a burning pyre
©T.Wignesan 1992
April 29, 1997
Paris
[from the collection : longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999]
THE COMFORTING GIRLFRIEND CREW
Poor little Pierrette is feeling nostalgic.
Sur la plage, she’d oft look for the boy friend.
Her countenance blue — in teen years tragic,
yet there’s safety in numbers, with girl friends.
Sur la plage, she’d oft look for the boy friend.
Down by the Riviera, whilst she shakes off blue sea
for there’s safety in numbers, with girl friends.
They say, “Won’t you dance the Charleston with me?”
Down by the Riviera, whilst she shakes off blue sea.
Ne’er perfect young ladies, wild with vigor,
They say, “Won’t you dance the Charleston with me?”
Fancy forgetting boyfriends and her perfect figure.
Ne’er perfect young ladies, wild with vigor,
dancing and eating all night pizza.
Fancy forgetting boyfriends and her perfect figure.
Quite unlike West Side Story - Maria.
Dancing and eating all night pizza,
forgetting mantra “I could be happy with you.”
Quite unlike West Side Story - Maria,
she listens to her comforting girlfriend crew.
Forgetting mantra “I could be happy with you.”
(Her boyfriend tried her in a room in Bloomsbury.)
She listens to her comforting girlfriend crew.
(Too old for her...this love’s imaginary.)
Her boyfriend tried her in a room in Bloomsbury.
Her countenance blue — in teen years tragic!
Too old for her...this love’s imaginary.
Poor little Pierrette is feeling nostalgic.
4/6/2018
Silent One’s Music Pantoum Contest
All songs in bold from the musical “The Boyfriend”
I was in this play in Middle School and I am feeling nostalgic.
Sur la plage — on the beach
I'm looking into a mirror at the age in my eyes
And the lines on a battle scarred face
Wondering where it all went
Children have grown and time has taken its toll
But the dreams never die and I feel a joy in knowing
That while death is a worthy adversary and will win in the end
Some have never lived
It doesn't seem so distant that a cowboy walked down the street
Plastic handles on the pistols
A back in the saddle again mindset
And dreams of heroic maiden saving feats
Dominated the thoughts of a little boy
While the ocean called his name and new passions arose
Oh the maidens! A pirate at times
But laughter and good times were ongoing
Never really facing the inevitable fate of one's own mortality
And life was to be led for the moment
A walk down the streets of Cobh
A smile from a young woman in Stavanger
Bracing for cold in the air in Vaernes
But sweltering in the warmth of the Norwegian people
GOD Would I do it again
From Christmas in Barcelona to a late spring adventure
In the back room of a bar on the French Riviera
You can take all that I acquired but leave my memories
Of that Sunday in Edinburgh and the castle in Patras
The arms of a dark haired beauty in Athens
And the grace of her charms in Genoa
In review I felt the joys and sorrows
Triumphs and defeats
Happiness and anguish but without regret
Should we choose anew I would return
Until the time approached again
For review.
INSURRECTION
There was absence of nonviolent intent exhorting fierce opposition
Fanning the flame of loathing and disunion fueling a grim situation
Not one listened to the voice which implored for reason and sanity
They heard the gavel evenly struck but nobody heeded the decree
Among mobs of the disenchanted the Authoritarian falsely grieved
Planted noxious seeds in the souls of those who fervently believed
Embodies evil enticing mesmerized ill-informed disciples to imbibe
Drank his wine of toxicity and deceit and pledge to fortify the tribe
Peaceful transition of power mangled by insurgents altering reality
Shards of glass blood on faces and banners of lies unfurled enmity
Heroes defended the gate overwhelmed by an invasion of savages
In concealed haven lawmakers feared for life if seized as hostages
Within a flash heads rush turning rage into madness inciting revolt
Pointing fingers at faces who aptly believe the validity of the result
Eyes wearing blinders defied not to listen bent in declaring a battle
Blemished the foundation of democracy and justice intended for all
Those who worship freedom aptly stood up against seditious storm
Laid down wreaths and red roses for a warrior masses sadly mourn
There is space for reconciliation allowing wound to heal in due time
While this page in history fades optimism awaits arrival of sunshine
*the incident has passed, yet the effect has been carved in the hearts and minds of those who endeavor peace and prosperity, not war*
01/25/2021
5:09 p.m.
Riviera Beach, Florida
USA
Our hot girl summer rolls on - like lava downhill or male models doing - anything.
We’re in Athens, Georgia, yes, it’s hotter elsewhere - but you can die in the sun - is this really a competition?
Fashionistas and trendsetters are adorning themselves in fluorescent lime green this summer. Making it the must-have statement color for the cool kid's club. The whole aesthetic was inspired by Charli XCX’s lime-green album cover for ‘Brat.’
Now, before you roll your eyes at the state of America, where silly people are bilked by influencers - isn't that what happened in the 60s with ‘flower-power?’ Wasn’t that ‘counterculture’ flagging, where everything from school buses to bikinis were flower adorned, driven by bands like the Beatles and umm.. [fill in the blank]?
So, we tripped (sounded psychedelic) to the mall of Georgia, to shop for unnecessary, lime-green things. Nail polish (which I think eats), beach bags, coverups, Crocs, friendship bracelets (cause we’re 13-year-olds), Cinnabon's - which aren’t technically green but are delicious and the Apple store - because it makes us happy.
I’ve read, or heard it said that “malls are dying.” Not this one, on a weekday mid-morning it was packed. The line for the eighteen-movie-plex looked like Spring Festival (Chinese New Years) at the Beijing airport.
Sadly, it’s time to admit that as 20-year-olds we’ve aged out of the “Clare’s” esthetic. A 12-year-old in line to get her ears pierced, looked at me, while I was looking at friendship bracelets, like I was her grandmother and I felt it - it was real.
.
.
Two songs to go with this:
This Girl's In Love (Live At HMH) by Trijntje Oosterhuis
Riviera Life by Caro Emerald
Shannon watched a royal wedding
one afternoon on the TV,
the flowers, coaches, and garlands,
all the pomp and majesty,
the fancy gowns and ornate hats,
black-tie suits that fit handsomely,
noble steeds pulling carriages,
in her minds arose fantasies…
She saw herself in a ballroom
twirling ’round her paramour,
taking the hand of her suave prince,
in the arch of a gothic door,
cruising the warm Riviera
in a yacht that would leave most floored,
closets full of lovely dresses,
rows of the fanciest shoes galore.
She dreamed of sprawling palaces,
of servant to see to her whims,
four-poster bed, with chandelier,
to lie down and make love to him,
a gilded, bulging treasury,
gold and silver and jewels within;
all girls want to be princesses,
the thought of it still made her grin.
But then she recalled another
prince who had gone on a talk show,
airing all the dirty laundry,
sought to lay his family low,
and another caught cheating with
a stewardess while on the go,
the tabloids found out, ran wild,
until folks were all in the know.
She recalled the older prince who
folks said was a pedophile,
and how it all had been hushed up,
elites don’t like to stand trial,
and she saw how they lived planned lives,
schedules just weren’t her style,
and travelling without her kids,
not seeing them for long whiles?
It make her look out to the den,
on the couch slept her husband, Stan,
in his arms snoozed little Carmen;
as a father, none were more grand,
he worked, he sweat, he came off rough,
but always by her did he stand,
what need had Shannon of princes
when she’d landed herself a man.
Eyelids heavy with memories
Cover lights and shadows of a hospital in ruins.
A baby with grown-up fingers
Reads the past in Braille
Barely touching the meaning of broken cobblestone streets of her past.
Her fingertips retract like eyes of snails back into the present
Where handsome men - immoral in their animalism -
try to understand LOVE for the very first time.
Great White sharks kill tri-athletes and place them in immortality
as writers reach the end of the journey frustrated by their lack of gills ...
The torrid yellow burden rolls down incinerated crystals between her breasts
She senses people as zigzags with burglarized drawers
rhythmically roaming up and down the Riviera...
The ocean breeze murmurs: “ Michelle, my belle...”, “ I love, I love you, I looove you...”
Invading her nostrils with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee
and the smell of barbeque that, once she could digest.
The sun drops gold coins into the turquoise as they ricochet into her degenerating eyes.
I see myself in her from the above as unscrupulous tides rip open our sandy abdomen
Violently sucking my body's sand sculpture back to the undertow.
It's almost dusk and seagulls fly through me to a secret shelter I wish I had...
I'm scared to fall asleep as I might wake up without wings
while numbness's taking over my bleeding shoulder blades...
"The body of a peddler with broken clocks on sale
was found tonight
on the landing pad of a hospital in ruins"
for Deb's contest "Real, UNreal or SURreal "