On the day I was wending my way down south,
barely before crossing the border,
I was warned, when there, 'Don't drink the water,'
so as to keep body and soul in order.
But what about all those crops they grow,
are they hydrated, by any chance,
(and exported to the United States)
with bottled Evian from the Alps in France?
Winter wonderland through the Alps.
Fabulous romantic lovers' trip of a lifetime.
Mesmorizing memories to last forever.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2025
Snow Globe Memories – Mystic
As my wrinkled old hands grasp the glass ball,
I watch as the glistening snowflakes begin to fall.
I gaze into it and give it one last shake.
There’ll be no room for all I was hoping to take.
My heart strokes the strings of memories, sublime.
This little snow globe has stood the test of time.
I watch the soft flakes settle on an old oak tree.
Alpine trees echo enticing chants, beckoning me.
I was bound for paradise, such a splendid upward climb.
The alps bringing peace, when church bells chime.
My wanderlust cured, no more would I roam.
Such amazing years I have spent in my mountain home.
Lost in the vision of my little snow globe here today.
As the last of the snow has settled, I really want to stay.
Along with some other treasures, I pack it in my port.
My love of this home just couldn’t be bought.
I wonder if there’s a snow globe that depicts where I am going.
I’ll miss my lovely chalet especially when it’s snowing.
I’ll keep my wee globe with its snow falling under the dome,
and I’ll take the snow in my glass ball to the old age home.
Because of the holiday the Lourve was closed.
Mary was impressed with the French pastry
that tasted just as good as it looked.
Horrible coffee, good chocolate & delicious thick soups.
Beautiful clothes with prohibitive prices.
We boarded the Albert Express for Switzerland
with a bottle of wine and a big bag of pastries.
Take me back to Paris, I can’t stand the fresh air and healthy people of Switzerland
Arrived in Lucerne with time to enjoy the fountains in all the squares —
they were boarded up a couple days later.
Delicious cheese fondue, murals painted on the old houses,
a quaint town for William Tell, with his bow and barefooted boy.
A Train from The Alps to Venice.
Train to Florence, Hotel Majestic,
whole city is an art Gallery.
Michelangelo square, mosaic jewelry, leather goods.
Flores Hotel in Rome, Vatican, Parthenon.
St. Paul without the walls, St. Peters in chains,
Nightclub tour of the city, Old Appian way,
Capuchin Church with all the bones...
A cold wind has the breath
of Antarctica coming up
from the south. Snow is falling
in the Alps. Small boats
huddle in the sheltered corners
of the Bay as I make my way
towards the foreshore
and the spray swept pier.
In the far distance, gulls wheel
inside a shaft of sunlight
gathering gold on joyous wings.
Suddenly, something leaps up
from out of its wintry solitude
to join them.
Attila, Hannibal, and Genghis Khan
Were comparing the many battles they'd won.
Hannibal boasted o'er the Alps he had coasted
On elephants and conquered the Romans.
Khan's hordes did maraud both at home and abroad
In places they'd ne'er make their home in.
When Attila's turn came, he said, "I'm to blame
For campaigns that make you look like babies.
Of God I'm the scourge, just like lint is to serge,
And I'll brook me no ifs, buts, or maybes.
How these guys (very unheroically) ended up:
Genghis Khan fell off his horse and died of his injuries; Attila died of a massive heart attack on his wedding night after a huge feast of celebration; and Hannibal died of suicide by poison.
Marly’s gasconade about her chalet in Switzerland was not braggadocio
I sat for two hours keen to see it all, stunned by the dazzling clear water
Captivated by the lace topped Alps, the air was crisp and clean.
Her description of a delightful dazzling scene was not an embellishment.
Ravishing flowers beside the cool bench where I sat were vibrant
within the Alps I heard the crisp tweet of a songbird.
This was an innocent place, I was keen to see more.
This gasconade does not do this alluring scenery justice.
A ravishing, captivating, enchanting, marvelous wonderland
the mountains call my name
I hear, but am fearful about responding
they come to me in dreams
demanding to be heard
I keep dreaming of them, I complain
you are meant to go, they want you.
is this possible? I turn in for another restless night
the alps are demanding.
I must have lived there in another lifetime.
I always had an affinity for the book Heidi.
Knowing I have to go, I booked the trip.
It was an experience of a lifetime.
I felt like I was finally home.
I have been back six times since.
Cannot get enough of them.
They make me feel beloved.
My heart strokes the strings of memories, utterly sublime.
Alpine trees echo enticing chants to welcome me there.
Whirling in spirited hurry, now free from all worry.
Anticipation is engrossing my mind, before time.
There is magnetism in the alp's compassionate embrace.
I am bound for paradise, such a splendid upward climb.
Wanderlust cured, no more will I roam from my mountain home.
The alps bringing peace and security, as church bells chime.
Exiled no more, I return to breathe each breath of fresh air.
Now free from all worry, whirling in spirited hurry.
Blessed by God, I'm back to my mountain home with snow and rime.*
The thought of traveling is inspiring to me.
So many amazing countries I've read about.
Places I've dreamed of visiting and long to see
by plane, rail, or car. Whatever my chosen route.
Excitement begins when my decision is made
as to where I'll go, close to home or far away.
Walking on a beach and watching the sunlight fade.
Perhaps this winter, riding in a one horse sleigh.
Planning the journey is always part of the fun.
Whether I'll be daytripping in Scotland's heather
or the Alps, my travelogue will be finely spun.
When it's time to get away, I have no tether.
I'll pack a bag on an impulse or merest whim.
Destination not always chosen in advance.
I've not thrown a dart at a map as a prelim,
but wherever it lands, I'd find reason to dance.
Snow capped button mushrooms
circle the old oak
Boot prints have shuffled the shade around
so that what once was darkened
is now lighter, the small heaps of melting ice
look like the Alps when the sun sharply defines
their shadowed rock face.
My skis are in the attic
along with the wicker basket
we used to gather mushrooms in.
This small woodland find
links me to her
the scene has painted a memory.
A trick of the light,
here in a time and place
half-hidden
in the not yet forgotten.
The lilacs are in bloom right now
Deep purple, mauve, and white
Fragrances so heavenly
Even through the night
But in the cluster one stands out
Different from the rest
She's a lilac there's no doubt
But grander I attest
She's like no other flower
More beautiful, more wise
More magnificent than the Alps
At least to my brown eyes
She's all three colors wrapped in one
She's something to behold
The other lilacs are all the same
But her colors are made from gold
Exquisite, Alpine daisy-like flowers
Desired for my concrete, city garden.
Emblem of pure love and deep devotion
Labeled as "noble white" by old Germans.
When my star-shaped petals began to droop,
Environmental pollution at fault;
I was told they are hardy, however
Success would be greater if I moved to
Switzerland - and a garden in the Alps.
March 8, 2023
an acrostic
I have a curious mind
About humans and their life’s
As I correspond with PS poets
I wonder where they reside?
Do you live in a house in suburbia
Or an apartment in a busy city
On a farm or ranch in the country?
With nature so captivating and pretty
Or are you beside the ocean?
In a cottage overgrown with thistle
Perhaps in a huge mansion
With all the bells and whistles!
Maybe you are a nomad
Your home on wheels and mobile
Or live in a boat on the water
Or is off grid more your style?
Do you just have a room?
Maybe a flat or a retirement home
Or high up in the mountains
In a commune or all alone?
Do you reside in a dry hot desert
Or in the alps covered with snow
Or by a babbling brook?
Where fresh water trickles and flows
Maybe you are a free spirit
Living life in a tent
Is your home your sanctuary
Do you feel safe and content?
I live in a house in the suburbs
One street back from the sea
I love my home and where I live
It is “my” sanctuary ….
Follow me and together we'll go
Over the mountains, to romance the snow
Ride a gondola lift to the great Matterhorn
Alsace-Lorraine to Château de Landskron
Love in the Alps on the French side of town
Lifted to heights, we won't want to come down
You'll feast on sweet crepes on Champs Elysees
Or take in an opera or the Paris Ballet
Under the snow moon I'd profess my love
Give you thousands of kisses and millions of hugs
I love you, I'll tell you again and again
Volumes of romance but I've reached the
End
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