Spiraling reams
taffeta orange
spun out into
ecstasy
finding
Home spun
goods a message
stitched with
love in the
past you
will
find me
Mary Janes
on tinyfeet a
ruffled dress
my grandfather
watching
over me
© December 2011 Renee Espriu
<ahref=”http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com“> Thursday Poets Rally Week #58</a>
“It is a wholesome and necessary thing for us to turn
again to the earth and in the contemplation of her beauties
to know of wonder and humility.”
-Rachel Carson (1907-1964)
Have been quite taken up in doing a portraiture of my youngest daughter’s four children so have not had time to post lately but saw this and wanted to share it. Nature is, after all, that which brings us to our knees with both its’ beauty and with its’ devastation it can cause. I am continually amazed.
Dreams a window to the past
youth takes fancy to enfold the wise
wherein yesteryear is held hand fast
such as life in amber encased lies
People passing who feel and touch
across the miles time stands still
dimensional moment hourglass such
compared to a Dali canvas surreal
Reach out and speak a name suspended
seasons nought where nature’s free
physical being is supple and mended
reality exiled from the mind scape see
© December 2011 Renee Espriu
Opinions swirling
like dust at your
feet resemling bits
of driftwood carnage
Upon which should you
choose to pay respect
as royalty would when
they are paying homage
Whilst sand and seas
polish them smooth a
tabula rasa is left you
amidst fragile ideals
© December 2011 Renee Espriu
Dreams softly edged in gold
viewed only by the keeper
Landscape as a vista unfolds
velvet-black night the sleeper
Memories of a life untold
’til morning wakes a slumber
Dreams softly edged in gold
viewed only by the keeper
© December 2011 Renee Espriu
<ahref=”http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com“></a> Thursday Poets Rally Week #57.
Hair silver strands of silk
sunlight dancing against her
face drawn but still youthful
few age lines caress her face
time tenderly holds as dear
Looking down her eyes light
on beautiful feet that
still loved to dance
Eyes in the mirror remember
times youth was her friend
running alongside her as she
played the wind in her hair
train flying down the tracks
Looking down her eyes light
on beautiful feet that
still loved to dance
Visions of newborn babies
light ’round her head with
cries of delightful chatter
growing into children who
quickly grew having their own
Looking down her eyes light
on beautiful feet that
still loved to dance
Aging shows in her reflection
a body very slowly moving
her mind cradles the energy
youth once displayed now
disparaged by passing years
Looking down her eyes light
on beautiful feet that
still loved to dance
© December 2011 Renee Espriu
My mother aged gracefully, I felt, although her ill health made life very difficult but in the few years just prior to her death, she would mention now and again how her feet were still nice looking. Her own mother’s feet were knarled and unsightly due to arthritis so I believe it was important to her somehow that her own remained beautiful. She loved to dance so having feet still able to do so was important to her.
Tiny droplets
condensed moisture
hanging thickly
atop houses
trees, gardens
enveloping all life
a chilling mantle
buffer against
all sensation alas
only the sound is
heard of heartbeats
soft breathing
hushed ‘neath warm
cozy blankets
© December 2011 Renee Espriu
Clamoring to the top a
precipice unknown as
silk unfurling
a banner adrift
on treacherous currents
carried along by
fierce determination
Passion unreserved
a love unbridled to
embrace a destination
mysteriously laden
sweet as aphrodisiacs
wonderfully laced
with wine’s afterglow
Not a single fruit
tasted nor a single
glass touched
only titillating
emotions encountered
clamoring to the top
precipice unknown
JOURNEY FULFILLED
© December 2011
Renee Espriu
Juxtaposed to the warm
sun’s rays lies hidden
inside ship deck gray
clouds’ impending storm
© November 2011 Renee Espriu
Filtered warmth reaches
out caressing window panes
roof tops in the dawn of
a chilling Fall morning
Yellow golden orb with
rays so real they feel as
a solid mass of butter a
tongue tasting delicious
Every surface a reflection
gleaming it’s majesty tinted
ecstasy held as in nature’s
mirror coveting it’s own
© November 2011 Renee Espriu
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