Olive trees all around us
the warming sun illuminates
a mysterious walk
two strolling strangers.
One brief introduction
yet no words follow
as your warm smooth hand
grazes over mine.
Chills become clenched teeth
your head turns suddenly
I freeze like a deer in headlights
a small grin widens on your face.
The sun finally goes behind the hills
a radiance in purples, pinks, and reds;
framing your face in a soft chiffon light
rise into the lovely twilight.
Shadows move through the old lane
scurrying all about the buildings
A bottle of wine and glasses wait
Time for a toast to the Tuscan Sky.
Categories:
tuscan, appreciation, beauty, destiny, imagery,
Form: Free verse
Many artists have depicted my lady.
They try to reveal conviction in her soul.
Posing in undulating fields so shady.
Complex composition, she's woman so whole.
Creative wiles of a temptress she’ll reflect.
Tuscan beauty is always shown huge respect.
Gentle round contours her body so diverse.
Ever changing woman, in the universe.
Categories:
tuscan, art,
Form: Rispetto
dusk
rains hope
perfumed to
quench crestfallen
roses as crickets
susurrate hymns
for a new
tuscan
dawn
Categories:
tuscan, birth, blessing, muse,
Form: Ninette
Cedars line ancient Tuscan roads.
Vines reach distant hills.
Bent couple slowly walks.
Hills pose no barrier.
Pear lovingly peeled.
Cheese and figs unwrapped.
Wine poured.
Words unspoken.
Time stopped.
Sixty seven years.
Categories:
tuscan, age, beautiful, fruit, love,
Form: Free verse
An outdoor scholar,
Chronicling nature’s truths.
Once rebelled against authority,
Way back in his youth.
With a love for soil,
He relocated to Tuscany.
Over by the mountains,
Of Lunigiana Italy.
A photographer at heart,
With a knack to disperse.
In retail I mean but
Gives his heart in verse.
He is Nigel Fawcett,
The one and only one.
He blesses us with words,
From below the Tuscan sun.
_______________________
A dedication to Nigel Fawcett,
a fellow souper and inspiration.
Categories:
tuscan, dedication
Form: Quatrain
Michelangelo was the Tuscan sculptor,
who carved the splendid Pieta:
the inconsolable and sorrowful Madonna,
who mourns her expired Son
put to death by Pilate, the Roman Governor,
by the will of a deranged crowd...
This Renaissance man carved
the Pieta out of white marble,
God created him out of the dust.
reminding him how vain is human pride;
and he pondered over that much,
giving his masterpiece a divine light...
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Categories:
tuscan, art
Form: ABC