Long Strews Poems
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"Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house;
can you hear the whispering? "
Quote by _Constance La France
I suspect that most major cities have abandoned houses.
I have lived in three large American cities, ranked in population,
3rd (Chicago), 17th (San Francisco), and 35th (Sacramento).
Of all the abandoned housing sites that I have seen, none struck me
as sadly as those that I have seen in rural America these last 15 months.
Perhaps my suspicion ascends from my being touched by the site of them
because they represent a history and experiences with which I am familiar.
This write is forcing the question of whether it is better to be abandoned
than to be torn down; to be torn down or to be permitted to return to nature.
The torn-down factor deeply affects me personally, and I am grateful for the
opportunity to share this experience with fellow soupers and others.
There was once a plantation house occupied by my parents
and their family. It was our home where I and at least 10
of my siblings were born. It was a well-built house made
of concrete blocks. We were farm workers and never owners.
After our father had passed and I grew up and went off to
college, my mother was later asked to move.
Some 30-plus years later, I learned that some of those
plantation houses were moved and converted into hotel rooms.
Our house was not among them. Presently, I don't know what
became of our house where so much life was lived and a myriad
of memories were born. Whether brick and mortar or wood and
nails, or asphalt or tin and strews; And whether torn down
or permitted to return to nature, they are now gone to places
unknown to me.
Did our house and the others become a part of trees as some
others I have seen recently, or will the trees knock down
the house? Anyway, their usefulness had expired, and they
were abandoned with no one desiring them anymore.
Indeed, I feel the souls of those who resided in our abandoned
and torn-down house. I feel the souls of Grandma, Mother, Daddy,
8 sisters, 3 brothers, and a dog named Jack. Indeed, I hear the
whispers, the loud noises of children laughing and playing.
Indeed, I house a bank of a thousand memories and more.
052723PSCtest. Constance La France
Contest Name. Writing Challenge - C Quotes -. 2P
Sandro Botticelli's
masterpiece
Primarvera
painted in 1478
with no clear explanation for
the combination of characters
it is to be viewed left to right
the bright colors contrasting
with the dark trees
and foliage behind
the paint pigments are divine
the flesh colors pale and sublime
on the far right
the mighty west wind Zephyr
chases a white wispy woman
and when he catches her
she exhales flowers
and changes into Flora
the goddess of Spring
who then strews the ground
with blooms
from her beautiful tapestry like
embroidered dress
in the center of the painting
a subdued Venus of love gestures to the
three graces who personify beauty, grace and charm
to dance with their filmy gowns caressing
in an eternal circle
on the flower strewn ground
on the left the Greek God Mercury
disturbs the clouds above
with his staff held in his left hand
and cupid flies with his arrow ready
no matter what Botticelli's intended
the effect is beautiful with his
attention to detail
I imagine the painting
as being the joy of Spring
___________________
April 29, 2022
Poetry/Ekphrasis/Myth of Primavera
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1451-725-29
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Brian Strand Premiere Choice
sponsor, Brian Strand , Judged 05/04/2022
Fifth Place
The miasma of Understanding
Been raining and the pale nature is green again like a new spring, but
it is a fake spring, in end of November winter will pale all living plants in
submission. There is o point sending poetry to anyone, till February,
when my almond tree blossoms and strews petals about in opposition,
thinking the winter has been occupying the stage too long. Last winter
snow fell and for a moment it was winter wonder land, old people said
they had not seen snow for forty five years the river runs yellow after
much rain on the upland and I think of a China’s main river and a rare
dolphin no one has seen for years. Rumours have it animal still exists.
This morning on the track a boar stood, the wind was against it, stood
still it sniffed the air; yeah the bloody animal is in need of good specs.
Standoff took time restless I moved and the fattish pig disappeared into
the undergrowth grunting as talking to itself. Often on my walk I take my
camera with me, but animals are shy, don’t like to have their photo taken,
except trees and thorny bushes that are vain preening and vying for my
attention, so in order not to offend them I take a few pictures and they
let me pass unmolested. Retrospection: my laziness has paid off I have
a charmed life no one expect and I can be forgotten in peace.
I yearn for shades of Autumn and all that it could bring
the chromis strews of redding bricks the chilly burrr
Blushing apples high as kites tied to apron strings
and acorns full of french berets and nutmeg tinted plur
falling down like parachutes with no inter ;
I do foretell the signs of summer's end and so salute
the fury tilts of sapling greens in soakly forest wood;
Those elongated serenades of change with no refute
who can question them beneath God's plentish hood
except his "FIVE" bounteous leaves of cherry wood;
Swiveling down here and there aiming far with dip
the rusky calls of brownie birds as they lose their fur
The cheep- cheep- cheep of a baby's nest, a quip
that zings across the equinox of fall and oft conjures
the memory of an Autumn's tale and sweet procure ;
I yearn for gatherings of pumpkin pies and feast
the shaky janks of corn roast romps
the evening hearth that says "you're truly blessed"
Yes I love the Autumn's bold audacious stomp,
that sells to me its beauty and its comp...
August 24, 2018
She isn't beautiful as Nefertiti was.
And unlike Helen,
her face will never launch a thousand ships.
My Maggie's beauty is more open, than entrancing
more welcoming, than enthralling,
more giving, than demanding,
more durable, than perfect.
Perfection inspires no passion,
no lust.
Nefertiti over Maggie?
Maggie, with her woman's body?
Maggie, with flesh where woman should have flesh?
Maggie, with fullness where love and longing
would suffer nothing else?
Yet she strews a careless beauty all about her,
the tender beauty in her gaze
that holds and softens and moulds
a better man within me
than the one that she first knew,
and the bold, brave beauty of her crooked smile,
her smile that tells me who she is,
and who she does not care to be.
Her smile may never softly kill a single soul
but it warms me, softly warms me
as I hold her spent and gentle body close to mine
it warms me to dream dreams beyond my worth
and aspire beyond my dreams.
“Listen to the Wind”
The wind arrives, with secrets stitched in its breath,
It hums through the hollows of abandoned trees.
A hush of silk, it weaves the dusk with longing,
Its fingers comb the grass, gentle and unseen.
And each guest watches, trembling, through the curtains.
Rolling like sorrow across forgotten shores.
And against the windows of weary houses.
A lullaby layered with echoes of loss.
The wind remembers the steps that have passed,
And strews them as petals over the earth.
It carries the salt of tears uncried,
Spilling them gently into the quiet air.
Listen—the wind is not empty but aching,
A voice unmoored, searching for a place to rest.
In the rafters it bides, as restless as a soul,
Drifts away and takes some pieces of us.
The wind does not ask for witness or reply,
Yet, it teaches us how silence still can sing.
When night tucks itself into the folds of shadowed valleys,
The wind keeps vigil for all things who have no voice.
"Death is the mother of beauty;"
Death
as nothing is
not separate from
beauty~
death is
mother appearing
as beauty~
resulting in This
as it is~~~
She says, “But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss.”
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.
~~Wallace Stevens, Sunday Morning
Tuesday afternoon in November.
Well this is, the ending of another day I’m looking out
of the window the road is clean and tidy after rain.
The sun is coming out of hiding and strews golden dust
on the window ledge, it is a sort of thank you since I’m
taking care of a sunray I found huddled behind the gas
bottle in the back yard. It was too cold for it to get back
so I put it under my bed – I need only one blanket now-
so there are times being kind can be helpful.
The sunray, not talkative, hides behind the china I bought
for my daughter’s wedding only I never had a child; it
was a dream I mistook for the real thing; but never mind
the cleaning lady likes to drink tea and pretend she is
a grand dame. It is darker outside than inside so I lit the fire
drink a cup of coffee, at this end of a beautiful day.
Silent Night the heaven's sang
While shepherds wathced their sheep.
With Camels bearing kinds on high
To lay reverrently at HIS feet
Gold and Frankinsense and Myrhh
the symbols of His life.
A life so filled with sweetness
With love and full of care
Of helping a brother on his way
of lending a shoulder to share
the burdens of this wicked world
The Trails and temptations
of Satan who strews our way
with Pitfalls and damnation
He gave us a path
that we may follow
a path so filled with light
That if we choose the lighted path
then nothing can transpire
To take away the joys of life
And bring to all we know
A truly Christian feeling
One that will set hearts aglow
So on this festive morn
Let every Christian born
Listen to that silent plea
be good, be brave and follow Me.
Form:
Love is a spirit of all compact fire – William Shakespeare
Love walks on faery footsteps
In the garden of my soul
With long, red hair that falls in wild folds
About a face of undefiled beauty
Wherein two orbéd cat’s eyes, loving, reign
-- Twin meteors with pow’r to bless or burn
Stol’n from the opal’d moonbeams of Night’s ceil –
And all the flames thrown forth from myriad stars
Ignite my muslin heart with deathless fire
Unquenchable, save in the fiercer glow
When living spirits meet in Love’s embrace.
Love sings in faery whispers
Of the splendor of your touch
When flesh meets flesh in tender union sweet
And strews the treasures of a thousand flow’rs
Whose gentle odors weave their mystic spell
About my bounden senses -- lost in you
As ev’ry blossom breathes anew your name.