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Rosanne Sbrigata Poem
On the stone whitebeige border of a bridge over the Seine,
she rests her two arms, her body leaning on her outer forearms;
the tearlet longlaced white ruffles on her longsleeved dark skyblue dress
fall in small tiered cascades from long somewhat full sleeves
gathered at the wrists;
her medium light brown hair with orangey tints hangs in
voluminous ringlets over her shoulders.
She looks across the Seine with her longlashed mediumlight brown eyes.
A very light breeze touches her hair, ruffles and long full dress lightly,
creating a soft ripple (tingle), tinkle; her folded-in-an open-clasp hands
look like they are folded in an earnest suppliant's
prayer.
Oh for a sight of Jean (her cavalier), or even a word or letter - to ease her
ruminating anxious (but also hopeful) heart.
Copyright © Rosanne Sbrigata | Year Posted 2012
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Rosanne Sbrigata Poem
Swans crowd the lake
scattering their white feathers
like lost love songs;
like my love song,
lost upon the
downstream drift.
Copyright © Rosanne Sbrigata | Year Posted 2011
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Rosanne Sbrigata Poem
The blackberry tree, hanging some of its branches over her,
arbors, shelters and comforts her. The blackberry honeycombs,
like little dark blueblack hives of hexagonal shapes, fall around
the ground near her feet and on her lap, lapsing down like
tears. She sits on a chair underneath the tree.
It is not goodbye, this leave of absence he has taken ... it is only
a reprieve, an intermittent restraint of silence. The other, her
brother, has darkish brown eyes, tender and compassionate,
and is of a symbiotic nature akin to hers: loving, lonely, longing
to be loved; humane, musical, altruistic and intuitive. He seems, in
his talks and communications with her, to be teaching, tutoring and
guiding her, telling her to be patient and wait for her softly-sparkling
blue-eyed love - as he, her brother, gently plys and plays his lute
in chords of harmony.
Copyright © Rosanne Sbrigata | Year Posted 2011
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Rosanne Sbrigata Poem
Her heart rings out to meet the church-bells of
a city by the sea, as she stands on a shoreline
of Sicily;
singing bells, which patter her pampered heart, pitter-
patter, fluttering her hybrid soul like a hybrid
flower, in tones of light-medium pink and blue, peach
and white.
Hybrid, because her soul is aligned with a handsome Greek
man who is now living on an eastern coastal town in
southern Greece.
They made a promise to each other to come to the shore of
each one's respective town, at noon when the church-bells
in each town ring, far across the Ionian Sea, deeply blue
and beckoning, which seems to sparkle-smile in the sun.
Every day they will do this, as well as continue to write their
letters to each other, until the day when they will be together
physically again, walking hand-in-hand, by the sparkling
white-crested white-foamed blue waves of the
blue sea, waves which are bouncing, curling, rolling and
dancing beside them, with the sea-breeze fanning in and
out of, and fawning in and out of, their hair. ... And their
love will be a perpetual perennial joyous happy poetry.
Copyright © Rosanne Sbrigata | Year Posted 2012
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