My quill is, simply put, – a magic tool:
It plays on winds and rhymes, on evening-mornings,
On sonnets and sonatas, never boringly;
The summer-winters, sunny moons fulfill its orders,
This verse – a pass to stars and heavens, too…
A pass to feel the spirit of adventure;
Into the theatre of storms and passions, dreams –
Where you’re the playwright and the actor, you’re free
To breathe the air of rhymes and beauty, reel
And hear a voice so young, enthralling, ancient…
My quill knows no choice, except to win –
It’s blessed by Shakespeare, Puskhin, many others;
And long ago, in ancient Greece, or maybe farther –
Apollo told me: “We are destined yet to father
A magic tome of futures, so whimsical…
And so we cooked the nectar: chords of lyre,
And Aphrodite’s smiling, thrilling eyes,
Some truthful flattery and magic in disguise –
It had no equal – healthy! – no lies.
The stars fell down for luck, the drink – so clear.
Each master and each maestro came to see –
From all the centuries and lands, and all the nations.
The wizard Merlin worked his fanciful equations,
And Cicero would speak – to melt the glaciers.
Became my palette – Earth, and skies, and seas…
Each poet, philosopher, composer, pretty muse
All nymphs and heroes, and grandmasters who came,
Inspired the drink with their talents, skills and aims,
So rose art to heights of starry fame,
And Mr. Orpheus and Lennon sang their music.
My quill has no choice, except to win:
It holds the kiss and smile of every beauty,
It lives those dreams of other artists – futile
And never made to be by their music;
To carry forth and make them true was their will.
What is this nectar? – All the legends, all the whims
And genius of masters through the ages.
We dipped my soul and quill – I dare wager
That after drinking such a mead, there’s no danger:
My pages will withstand the harshest winds.
And so they kissed the poet and the quill
To bid me luck through all the future ventures –
These charming dames of all the legends, ages;
My heart was calm but quick; serene, but raging
Before creating Universes-quilts…
My quill, it shines with festive lights and stars,
It writes and rhymes with spirit – joyful, ringing.
So what if someone angers, spouts, cringes?
So? – Winter rages when the spring is springing.
I am afraid we’re in the future – speed of flight.
So, drink the rhymes and verses, breathe the scent.
The planet spins anew, without the mires;
The violets will bloom, to be admired,
And tales are true – of mermaids, love and fire.
So go on and read, my message sent!
Now Earth will spin a little quicker, calmer,
Our world will turn a legend, true and rhyming,
Where bombs will hardly soar – only gryphons,
Where marriages and fruit will ever ripen
And never rot, where dreams are bound to come.
My quill has no choice, except to win.
It’s young and old, instant and eternal,
It’s flippant, ethical, and magical, and ornery.
Remember? – Blessed by every artist’s orders.
It’s meant to father worlds, and so will…
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 6:52 AM UTC
She’s cool like Samirian mornings,
She’s hot like spouting springs,
She’s clever and agile and ornery,
And she owns my soul and ring…
We’re building the future together,
Only magic, and hammer, and chisel…
Little matter the winds and the weather –
Such a route is pleasant and easy.
A collocutor mighty and mellow –
She’s friends with the seas and the wind…
We’re lovers, and partners, and fellows,
And the motto is simply – to win…”
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
She’s bitter-sweet, or maybe sour or sugary;
She’s like a pickle, dipped in chocolate seas;
She’s like an ocean of calm, but often seething,
Like ice cream, mixed with mustard – tasty, surely.
She’s cute as panthers, tame as lions, kind as rhinos;
But whether savage, ornery or sweet –
Of all my lands and kingdoms she’s a Queen;
She is a girl – for “loud out crying…”
The humor is, perhaps, a bit abstract,
But simply put – she’s her, a Queen, a Lady;
And simply perfect – any era, any language,
And lovable, though luckily – not tractable…
To find another – quite impossible, to wit:
She’s more than all the verses on my palette.
For an adventurer’s insatiable palate,
She is a Goddess. We’re Gods – and meant to win!
Dec 26, 2018
Dec 26, 2018 at 9:12 AM UTC
Bella, Bella – it’s a felony:
Writing verses bland and trite;
Breathing rhymes – tumultuous, mellow –
In your honor: quite a rite.
Bella, Muse in any language,
Any age and any land…
Bella! – Art for you, I wager,
Carries spirit, beauty, flare.
Be they poems, songs or novels,
Be they novel, classic, both -
Far above the comets hover,
Doing justice to our voice,
To your eyes, their depth, your soul…
You’re my soul’s sole Muse -
To inspire, to console;
Magic, power, love infuse…
Bella, Bella, no halo -
But angelic, wicked, real.
Voice more musical than cello,
Hands that send your passions reeling.
Ears elvish, lips of cherry,
You’re a girl devoid of lies,
No prize more dearly cherished -
Than to look into your eyes.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 6:40 AM UTC
Whatever cloud dims our constellation –
It’s soon dispelled, by reason and by love.
Forgive my childish temper, lack of patience;
If truth be told, I lack the words – aloud
My feeling to confess in vivid colors…
Yes, even I – with all the frills of rhyme.
But know this: I’m yours to serve and follow
So long as stars and planets go round.
Please sometimes trust my wit and my endeavors
Remember this: without you life is bland.
Too deep a pit is blame to go delving,
Much better admiration, spoken, clad
In beauty of these eyes of yours – so bright.
And know the simple truth: you’re always right…
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
It would simply be treason –
I can truly confess –
To admire you less
Than the grace of the seasons,
Than this world and its beauty,
All the women who lived…
Not to worship this diva
Is impossibly futile.
It would simply be treason
Not to give you my life,
Not to cherish my wife.
She exists – that’s the reason…
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 4:02 AM UTC
What is beauty, but the sparkle in Her eyes?
But the infinite, eternal path to travel?
What is beauty, but the hues, the ice, the fire –
All the elements Her being can unravel?
What’s a Woman, but a Goddess to behold?
To support, to help, adore and love, admire?
And perhaps to fathom never – young or old…
But to save us from the triteness and the mire.
What’s a Woman, but the beauty of this world?
Slight correction: of this Universe, and others…
But a being above the compliments and words,
Even words that best of poets care to father.
Let us thank Her for the spark, the love, the fire –
Thank in deed, and then shut up, and just admire…
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 3:50 AM UTC
* * *
Bella, Bella, flute or cello
Play within your heart;
Leaves of autumn, red and yellow,
Seek you from afar…
Bella, Bella, kind and mellow –
Music in your eyes;
Lives of ours: a clever melody -
Simple, no disguise.
Bella – translator and poet,
Singer, lover, friend;
Bella…Quill of mine is honed
To your wave and trend.
Bell, Bella, should we venture,
Dare and create? –
Stories modern, future, ancient…
I’m a bit afraid.
Shall we live with wild abandon?
Sing about the stars?
Live as wizards, lovers, bandits?
Stunning be and stunned?
Bella, Bella, end the lyrics –
Tales lie ahead:
Tall and fairy, moral, fleeting….
Let me have your hand.
Bella – five such simple letters…
Infinite, to wit.
Bella, please be real, you’d better!
Leave not with the wind…
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 3:45 AM UTC