I knew the hush of white verandas,
Where time lay soft as fading lace,
And magnolias bent like women dreaming
In their slow, untroubled grace.
The river held its silver rumor,
The fields wore gold without a sound,
And all the clocks of earth were gentle,
With no sorrow found.
Yet somewhere beyond the singing distance
A darker wind began to start—
A whisper moving through the cedars,
A fracture running through the heart.
I did not see the hands that labored,
Nor hear the breaking of the day;
Only the light, too calm, too perfect,
As truth was kept away.
Now memory is a haunted parlor,
Where portraits stare with patient eyes—
And every rose that once was gardened
Still learns too late what silence hides.
A step back in time
when verandas had rocking chairs
purposely placed in the sunlight;
waiting for Grandma to sit,
and rock until darkness descended.
(#1)
A gateway, as one leads from Terra firma to the sea
Or a path leading to experiences and knowledge
A leap of faith to explore newer potentials, to free
My enslaved self, from every chain of self-afflicted bondage
My passage is not merely spatial; it's spiritual.
My space, from earthly to heavenly, is separated.
Realms are split from perishable to imperishable.
With virtues and values, verandas are decorated.
Divine vibes, like a million suns, moons, and stars, radiate
Cherubims lead my refined soul to the celestial home.
I shrug off the moments when all that was good I did hate.
The portals are all straight now; I no longer need to roam.
Communion of the earthly and heavenly portals show
Shoreless seas of grace wherein mortal souls merrily flow
Ballerina firefly,
Your beauty,
Is that of enchanted vineyards,
In the sighs,
of the Summer wine,
Enchantress,
Down to earth,
As spring lillies,
Your beauty,.
Is scintillating,
And kind,
with its modest stars,
Even in autumns undressing,
And shedding of leaves,
The way you change dresses,
In evenings,
elegant and rugged verandas,
And shimmer in and out,
Of them,.
into a naked casualness,
Bright and warm,
as vineyard flowers,
From their petals,
And your Beautys gaze,
I kiss sweet,
enchanted butterflies,
From the fluttering wings,,
Of your exotic eyes
Reynaldo Casison
She felt the lavendar sunset,
Caress her love,
Like an evening gown,
In the maples autumn,
Silhouette,
She stretched her hair,
And crescent hips,
To the blush of moon,
Golden leaves,
Upon the green,
And candles,
Upon verandas,
She gazed,
Within the hymn,
Of her being,
And,
Like her wine,
She uncorked her sighs,
Letting her damp soul,
Cool like rose mists,
Her silhouette,
Shimmered,
Like the lake,
That reflected,
Her exotic beauty,
And its enchantment,
Of waves,
In midnights moonlight,
She kept her embers glowing,
With the soothe,
Of lavendars,
And love,
That she kept,
In the maple coves,
Of her soul
Reynaldo Casison
Exotic lady,
Night and day,
The vineyards honey,
Is in her hair,
And in her kiss,
Under the caress,
Of a champagne sky,
Along the shore,
A lovely mermaid lady,
Is combing her hair,
With palm leaves,
And the wild wind,
In the evening and midnight,
She feels the serene waves sing,
In the gazebos,
The brides are changing,
dresses,
And giving away,
Their bouquets,
While the bakers,
Are baking,
Another cake,
Under the caress,
Of sweet champagne sky,
Exotic lady,
Night and day,
The vineyards honey,
Is in her sway,
In her kiss,
And in her hair,
Upon the verandas,
The candles are lit,
With the moonlight,
And love,
While the doves,
Are kissing the moon,
Up above,
Exotic lady,
Night and day,
The vineyards honey,
Is in her sway,
In her Beautys kiss,
And in her hair,
Exotic lady,
The vineyards honey
Reynaldo Casison
Old wooden houses
In need of a paint
According to the authorities
The red faded roof
The white peeling walls
The veranda worn bare
By the children who lived there
And under the floor, thru manholes and more
They got a fright, One night
When they went in to fix
Whatever was wrong
And found the hut we played in
The blankets and rugs, food
Matches for the stove
Fearing a burning end
Scolding, ashamed
'You must never go ...
Under ... the house again'
Years later
The bulldozer came
But our memories remain
Verandas we played on
The hidden door
We laughed on the veranda
Climbed on the rails
Felt the smooth wood
Of the porch
Our bare feet squealing with excitement
Only now I can see
An old memory
No inkling back then
Of the times that would change
No inkling back then
Of the memories of our games
When they told us their memories
It was like a distant land
We would never go there
The past is the past, unravelling just so ...
Children will usually go ... somewhere ...
When told not to go.
Trees gather closely to the lovely wooden frame
The long hallway beckons,
It's skittles again!
I close my eyes and dream of winters so pretty that even angels sigh at the scene
cascading snowflakes softly falling, in shapes of doilies and paper ruffle dollies
Winter hats and muffle mitts of red, snowman whispers as red sled rides go by
carnival rides and children full of chide, what a wonderful world of white...
A winter scent of magic, white deer and shadowed antlers of incandescent wood
log cabins with fireplaces and verandas with copper foot welcome matts, come in
make yourself comfortable while the kettle roars to life, tea toddler or coffee lover?
Enter into my little jovial cottage glory and stay a while.
Pots of geraniums down the front steps
peeking from the windowsills
the hanging baskets on the front verandas
or the back porches,
Ravishing beds of fragrant shrubs
adorning the sidewalks,
Swathes of jewel-like crocus flowers
throughout lawns and rockeries,
Patches of cheeriest golden daffodils,
The deciduous magnolias blooming...
There are flowers everywhere
brilliant beauty and wondrous aroma of roses
a kaleidoscope of gorgeous multicolored tulips,
The air is rife with sweet scent
and the sun is shining bright;
Can someone please tell me,
is this spring in full bloom
or my lady just smiled at me with love?
~A Brian Strand contest
Cathexis
I see you silhouetted in a vague haze,
On the far end of this breathing hallway,
Way off in the strange distance there,
Amid the suffocating cigarette smoke,
And the obscene wallpaintings,
Of nude pale women wearing necklaces,
Reposed motionless on verandas by the Seine.
Then, I look and see you squatting there,
Under the tinkling chandeliers,
Aglow as with a halo,
Sainted only when wearing white lace,
As you are now, goddess of mine!
Shhh! Listen!
I hear violins outside, two or three of them,
Playing Traumerie in the rain.
Come here, and let us explore with blindfolds,
This side room of esoteric pleasures.
Shhh…It is unlocked, and there are pillows inside,
Numerous soft cotton pillows,
Piled wall to wall, up to the knees,
And the elbows.
Come here, goddess of mine,
And let us dive into this tundra
Of plush velvety incinerations,
This mind field of amazing meltings.
i watch the sunrise
unbuttoning the stuffed pouches
of thunderclouds
soaking
imagination
with dry-drunk dewdrops
becoming bubbles
blown through
ringbarked
jewelry
worn
by the roots
of rhinestone rapids
growing in
spider
webs
trying to catch
a flying_fox
there has always
been a silent
soft echoed
beauty
dancing on the tides
from down
under
perfect pirouettes
showing ligneous dustdevils
proper form
forming
Dead-Sea
chiseled
respect
healing ones
inner folds
unfolding miracles
tucked away in moonpedicured
moments missing myriad music
marching in eucalyptustars
shining smiles upon licorice
chainlinkisses
in my minds eye
blackroom sound-proofed
in blacklighted boughs
creating windframed
wisdom
seen with the hearts
meshed monocle
revealing purity into
eternaluminum sliced skies
painting
memories
throughout dimensions
of a multi-faceted
prism
watched
from verandas
of velcro vicidreamt
sand
waking
up the sleeper
still
nowhere
near you
but
closer
than we've
ever
been
Now that I am older and wiser I like red
Red is the color of vibrancy and brightness
Red says hello I am here, I will be heard, and I stand out
I will not be ignored or hide in the shadows no more
I will wear red floppy hats in the summer with bows or flowers
I will wear red shirts and dresses that say I have arrived
I will decorate in red and plant red flowers
I will dance on the verandas and sing my favorite songs
I will visit all of my favorite places and read all of my favorite books
Now that I am older and decided that my favorite color now is red
I find beauty in things that I never have before
I find brilliancy in colors that I haven't when I was young
Now I sit and ponder, I wonder, what I will like when I am old blue?
A picturesque scene revels in snow
As the snow globe turns skaters whirl
Arm in arm with their handsome beaus
A picturesque scene revels in snow
Lighted houses lined up in rows
Welcome mats 'pon verandas unfurl
A picturesque scene revels in snow
As the snow globe turns skaters whirl
Sponsor: Brian Strand
December 05, 2014
A Lament--On The
Quality Of Life
Those homes made
of wood and mud!
Mud would in winters
keep cold away
In shivering
summers heat
And wood would give
them an artistic
appearance
The tin-roofs and
fenced verandas.
My mouth would
water with the smell
Mom often fried at
school time
The eggs were laid
by the healthy hens
We raised in our
open yard.
Those potatoes
were hard, and had
a different taste
Although sliced and
fried the same way.
Those village-
women would bear
Every year or two
bear-sized babies
And, with ease!
In the woods, fields,
or orchards
Or in frozen-winters
at home.
Similarly, Love too
was true and pure
When people fell not
in
What the letches call
love,--
So effortlessly and
frequently!
When phones were
not there nor any
dating site
And horses were
used to ride.
(people of developed
nations can't relate
their thoughts and
feelings with the
poem!
But machines,
artificiality, genetic
engineering have
deteriorated for
example the taste of
vegetables; and
destroyed our
emotions.
Hope it's agreed.
Thanks
We can’t catch the breezes inside,
so we take to the porches, verandas, fire escapes.
Watch an asbestos moon rise
over steaming rooftops,
and count flags from far away cities.
Below, beetles swallow our Elm trees whole,
as I listen to the neighbors bickering
and someone else’s harmonica.
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