Sweet Layers of Imagination

Imagination

There are moments I believe
that de’ja’ vu really does exist
when I walk into another world,
an alternate landscape

to escape my obsessed compulsion
crafting a skewed vision filled
with black and white reality

ethereal as stepping on solid clouds
drifting over a technicolor scene
where a yellow brick road
leads to perspicacity
strangely curious

or yet upon closing my eyes
I sleep so deep imagination unfolds
in sweetest layers I inhale
swallowing each one
anxious for
the next

beautiful as pastillage
settling on my tongue
like honey

I see a girl who speaks to trees,
smiling at flowers who
innately knows
her secrets

and where the eyes of animals
reflect her soul
back to her in
infinite profusions
of color

painting details like the spices
completing ingredients
in foods from everywhere
smelling of a full life
in every inhaled
breath

where upon touching a mirror
she steps through liquid mercury
pure as water chaste
before rigidity touches
her image
with age

yet these images might be to me
only lucid as a million stars
in the night sky where
Zeus holds court

only quick
in twilight hours
before I wake

© June 2018 Renee Espriu

Remnants Loved

Remants Loved

Altered Google Image

we might walk along
the ocean shore
to collect driftwood
a carnage
i implore
washed here from
other distant lands

or linger as i do now
in your embrace
listening to words
that will leave
no sign or trace
we have been here as
the wind and sea
carry footprints

away so effortlessly
but tell me only
of your
passion filled heart
and do not share
that which you
should not impart
of secrets once shared

with another heart true
who you left for a time
  so that you
  could walk with me
  here to collect driftwood
  washed smooth and clean
remnants loved and
left by the sea

© February 2013
Renee Espriu

This is for dVerse Poets Pub http://dversepoets.com/category/openlinknight/

Whispering Softly

the wind whispers through                   "Whispering Softly"
branches of trees
innuendoes of endless seas

whispering softly
murmuring low
secrets unknown

perhaps there resides implicit
knowledge of us there
bewildered if we really care

whispering softly
murmuring low
secrets unknown                                              “Whispering Softly”

pantomine gestures leafy boughs
quietly holding birds at rest
hatchlings held within a nest

whispering soflty
murmuring low
secrets unknown

the wind whispers through
branches of trees
listening forever endlessly

© July 2012 Renee Espriu

Inkwell Legacy

Reminiscent of a
time when inkwells
held secrets of
auspicious authors

when they dipped
their quills
inside and with
a flourish of
script containing

dots and crosses
left their legacy
to span time
connecting their
hearts and souls to
ours

© February 2012
Renee Espriu

Inkwell

An inkwell is a small jar or container, often made of glass, porcelain, silver, brass, or pewter, used for holding ink in a place convenient for the person who is writing. The artist or writer dips the brush, quill, or dip pen into the inkwell as needed or uses the inkwell as the source for filling the reservoir of a fountain pen