AESTHETHISTA
central
to
life
art
& beauty
in
exquisite
harmonious
sensuality
upon
the eye
with
didactic
paralleL
sentiments
personified
The whistler,
In the moonblossomed,
Evening,
Hums along,
Like a modest star,
His own company,
And melody,
With the golden leaves,
Bound to nothing,
But his own romance,
A drifter of drifters,
A gypsy of gypsies,
He and she,
Is like a great and sweet,
Actress,
With astonishing range,
Improvising,
Waves,
Delighting,
Windkissed flowers,
And unsung holidays,
The whistler,
As he hums along,
The shores of soul,
Dawn, and evenings,
With his holiday presents,
Of melodies,
Windcaressed,
Through the haze,
Is cool as the mallards,
Upon sunset lakes,
A jazz wanderer,
Romancing hems,
And crescents
Reynaldo Casison
he was ..her own dear butterfly-
&made her more famous,in reply
You can't hear me
But i am whistling
Name that tune ??
On the subway, oftentimes
Some people stroll through, singing,
Hoping folks will pay them
For the “joy” that they are bringing.
Sometimes writers hawk their wares,
Selling self-made books,
Sure they’d make some money if
We’d only take some looks.
Then there are the beggars,
Bragging that they’re not out stealing,
Thinking this admission makes them
Somewhat more appealing.
Today, though, I encountered
Something that was new to me –
A subway rider whistling
An annoying melody.
He seemed to whistle for himself.
He didn’t care who heard;
Then promptly he was finished
And he never said a word.
You never know what you may find
When riding on the train.
What drives me bonkers may for you
Sound like a sweet refrain.
Loose
subtle
colours
interplay
with
the
changing
light-
instant
moments
fixed
forever
as
exquisite
night
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