May 2017

May 29, 2017September 2, 2017

Glistening Bits of Gold

On a day where time stands still she sees
each quintessential increment of time
like the sun hitting tiny seed pods that
have fallen on the street glistening as
tiny bits of gold sparkling as jewels
that offset the black asphalt street
turning the harsh landscape of tar into
that of a black silken cape waiting
to be garnered by nature’s queen as
she strolls the avenue bending only
momentarily to gaze lovingly at all that
she has made from the beauty of flowers
orange as the poppy to that of the shrubs
close to the ground shading tiny insects
to the majesty of towering evergreens
she becomes entwined in the moment and
she is ensconced and feels content

© May 2017 Renee Espriu

This is in response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/05/24/the-sun-is-in-love-with-me-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. Please do visit to read other poets’ response. The photo below is my own.

Orange Poppies

May 15, 2017September 2, 2017

Being Unpolished and Knowing

Like strands of pearls uncultured, unconnected
they lie strewn at your feet tantamount to words
discarded and useless unable to be linked as one
until something more refined comes along

she knows this every moment of every day speaking
is broken by hesitation, pauses and frustration
like diamonds rough from nature not yet expertly cut
by the jeweler’s hand in minuscule sharp detail

something like disparate but not really the same
just as peculiar is not exactly being self-serving
for who can say she is not the bowels of that same venue
as she compiles opinions based on incomplete knowing

she ultimately sees herself on the fringe of everything
and anything but peculiar touting her uniqueness as
that of shrewdly knowing but like that of the pearls
as that of the diamond she too can be unpolished

This is in response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Writing Prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/05/10/our-prison-of-lost-hope-a-poem-an-writing-prompt. Please do visit her site to read more of other poet’s responses. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File and Digitized by myself.

Unpolished

May 9, 2017September 2, 2017

Eclipsing Rainbows

There are moments of clarity drenched in a soul’s peace
where everything is an eclipse of brilliant rainbows
and becoming is like being mirrored images in lakes
where coral reefs are arms cradling infinite oceans
whereupon mountain rising islands are pristine views
touched only by Galapagos creatures of uniqueness

entering into a communion devoid of ritualistic cups
and eyesight becomes like those raptors’ rapturous quest
to make the flight over the highest of mountain ranges
like child’s play when there is a vision to fly along
and wings are the freedom of song birds a narrative song
in chorus with insects accompanied by frogs croaking

perceiving the world in a field of flowers engaging in
the mystery of becoming seeds under dark brown earth
and pushing up toward the brilliance of mother sun to
sprout into every conceivable bloom with stamen covered
with the sweetest of nectar drawing hummingbirds for
their respite and insects unknowing a pollination of life

This is in response to Jamie Dedes’s Wednesday Prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/05/03/soul-as-incorruptible-as-stone-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. The photo below was taken from the Morgue file and digitized by myself.

Eclipsing Rainbows

May 3, 2017September 2, 2017

Dreaming of Children

A landscape of memory littered
with pieces of dreams
children that once lived
once laughed
oft times schemed

she sees a house abandoned now
ought times with love filled
each & every birth an
auspicious moment still
& each year

she knows she has been gifted
that any tears shed
were merely a bridge
between yesterdays
& tomorrows albeit

as other mothers cry oceans
of salt filled tears
for children that lived once
without fear in loving arms
with kisses, soft still

their auspicious moment shattered
a broken memory like
shards of glass
now buried descending deep
earth’s grief surpassed

whose sorrow cannot rebuild
houses in ashes smoldering
whose dreams
hold ghostly remnants
pale & fading

where a timeless epitaph remains
of young lives interrupted
photos tinged yellow
touched by death
a noxious poison

thinking of this she turns pages
a book of photographs old
& knows dreams
will still be her comfort
will still unfold

that some mother’s dreaming will
become a vile nightmare
an interloper in sun rays
unwanted slumber
empty days

I am a little late to post this on my site. It was first posted in the Bezine last month. You can read more of some wonderfully written poems and other posts at https://thebezine.com/project-type/the-bezine-april-2017-vol-3-issue-7. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File & Digitized by myself.

Dreaming Children

May 1, 2017September 2, 2017

Tarnished Goods

The fox follows her along the byway to reach untouched forests
those forests unfettered by time and pristine oceans devoid of human touch
and each time always she passes freeways littered with a garbage landscape
the fox glances at bottles and fast food wrappers collecting
on roads under construction on a continuum of future whys
where the smell of black tar invades with stinging and burning
she should be accustomed but wrinkles her nose in disgust
as does the fox now her shadow trusting she will reach a destination
not concrete and black asphalt now covering the richness of earth
and does she still hope windows rolled and closed will be enough
enough to keep her safe or will they be unable to block
out the constant drone of the noise of a civilized world
a world that is one built impinging on nature’s habitat
one adding insult to injury and becoming a macabre graveyard
to endangered species & the fox wonders if he will be next
but he cannot bring himself to let himself be absorbed
into track homes swallowing up citrus groves as the raccoons have done
stealing into the night to rob garbage cans of their next meal
this becoming an unnatural habitat as it has for bears and possum
and he feels oddly fortunate that tigers and lions do not live here
but he can still hear them all screaming in pain underpinned with sorrow
and the fox listens as he follows and always the level of noise increases
increases exponentially with every tree cut down and concrete poured
and the fox feels his shadow growing less as theirs becomes more
where claustrophobic habitats are multiplying housing for a rising populace
and the need to reach the forest to be able to stare in awe at the ocean
propels them down the road and she knows she is like the fox
and that no amount of polish will shine and bring it all back
to bring it back to a time delegated to past histories before her
before the fox became her shadow on a journey to find survival
the only solution being the ability of technology to merge with nature
to be a part of the answer in preserving the beauty here long before us
long before becoming tarnished goods in the midst of climate change
long before the fox became her shadow and she became the fox’s shade