sharonlee-goodhand - Hello Poetry

He Told Me About Paris he told me about Paris after making love… how he once sat in the Café de Flore as a boy… awaiting his mother who danced for a living… he told me about Paris over morning coffee, and no mention of the night before he talked with love for a city I’ll never know…. strolling along the river Seine in sunsets of orange and tangerine… he told me about the The Musée du Louvre as he made Coriander omelettes … squeezing fresh lemon in glasses of ice water… la Ville Lumière… he murmured as he gazed deep into my eyes City of Light and Love… I’ll take you there… if you dare to come he promised as he lay a soft tender kiss on each toe… he told me about Paris… and the Notre-Dame Cathedral and Café de la Paix, where the streets were Prolific with revellers and the after-opera crowd… I’ll take you to The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel he whispered as he placed a Bracelet on my wrist and we can hold hands as we stroll around the monument… I’ll take you to Paris, in the Autumn, he promised our feet will crunch the golden leaves of the Jardin des Tuileries…. … so young I was… such a dreamer… floating on visions that he wove with love- - he told me about Paris, his voice husky with longing and I too young to realise… he was dreaming too…. Sharonlee©9-

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Jul 27, 2013

Jul 27, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC

sharonlee-goodhand

He Told Me About Paris

He Told Me About Paris he told me about Paris after making love… how he once sat in the Café de Flore as a boy… awaiting his mother who danced for a living… he told me about Paris over morning coffee, and no mention of the night before he talked with love for a city I’ll never know…. strolling along the river Seine in sunsets of orange and tangerine… he told me about the The Musée du Louvre as he made Coriander omelettes … squeezing fresh lemon in glasses of ice water… la Ville Lumière… he murmured as he gazed deep into my eyes City of Light and Love… I’ll take you there… if you dare to come he promised as he lay a soft tender kiss on each toe… he told me about Paris… and the Notre-Dame Cathedral and Café de la Paix, where the streets were Prolific with revellers and the after-opera crowd… I’ll take you to The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel he whispered as he placed a Bracelet on my wrist and we can hold hands as we stroll around the monument… I’ll take you to Paris, in the Autumn, he promised our feet will crunch the golden leaves of the Jardin des Tuileries…. … so young I was… such a dreamer… floating on visions that he wove with love- - he told me about Paris, his voice husky with longing and I too young to realise… he was dreaming too…. Sharonlee©9-

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Twilight Dreams in Retrospect (Along Oxford Street, 1980) Feet walked a scornful pavement no empathy there where scores of mindless feet blindly trod Monotonous sounds poisoned the evening air terrace houses wedged in behind aging fences TV’s, volume bellowing 7 channels and news at 5 spilled from windows open to capture the feverish breeze Voices in argument or play… sharp words slice through frying onions and fetid odors humanity’s debris over-flows bins … such is life when **** sapiens, trapped in the machinations of predetermined destiny live in congested clusters I turn a corner into Oxford Street… in aching silence my mind screams - - Do you not see that we are all shadows of who we were meant to be? For dreams can only live when freed of the dying dreamer… What Twist of fate brought me here aimlessly wandering streets not my own? Moth to candle flame ghosts beckon with crooked claws… … eerie calls shivered on twilight’s quivering breath… sunset, a mere flicker through dappled trees offers little light in its final moment Thoughts trail in tangled streamers inevitably following as feet trace an invisible path through inner city streets Somewhere a dove weeps to witness days demise, grey shades growing dimmer, dimmer still surely the dove knows There can be no light without the dark and In darkness, we have to light our own fire- - feed our own dreams and desire paint the night in cosmic lights and fear not the silent shadows… Three hours bled into street-glow and dark corners as I walked, with aimless intent time slipping into moments lost in remembrance of forgotten dreams… … once I thought heard… or dreamt I heard an angel sing and watched as halo’d stars Surrendered to her call. * Art & Poetry Sharonlee©5-Jul-13 * In this poem the Oxford St I refer to is in the inner-city of Sydney, New South Wales, Australia.

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Jul 26, 2013

Jul 26, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC

sharonlee-goodhand

Twilight Dreams in Retrospect (Along Oxford Street, 1980)

Twilight Dreams in Retrospect (Along Oxford Street, 1980) Feet walked a scornful pavement no empathy there where scores of mindless feet blindly trod Monotonous sounds poisoned the evening air terrace houses wedged in behind aging fences TV’s, volume bellowing 7 channels and news at 5 spilled from windows open to capture the feverish breeze Voices in argument or play… sharp words slice through frying onions and fetid odors humanity’s debris over-flows bins … such is life when **** sapiens, trapped in the machinations of predetermined destiny live in congested clusters I turn a corner into Oxford Street… in aching silence my mind screams - - Do you not see that we are all shadows of who we were meant to be? For dreams can only live when freed of the dying dreamer… What Twist of fate brought me here aimlessly wandering streets not my own? Moth to candle flame ghosts beckon with crooked claws… … eerie calls shivered on twilight’s quivering breath… sunset, a mere flicker through dappled trees offers little light in its final moment Thoughts trail in tangled streamers inevitably following as feet trace an invisible path through inner city streets Somewhere a dove weeps to witness days demise, grey shades growing dimmer, dimmer still surely the dove knows There can be no light without the dark and In darkness, we have to light our own fire- - feed our own dreams and desire paint the night in cosmic lights and fear not the silent shadows… Three hours bled into street-glow and dark corners as I walked, with aimless intent time slipping into moments lost in remembrance of forgotten dreams… … once I thought heard… or dreamt I heard an angel sing and watched as halo’d stars Surrendered to her call. * Art & Poetry Sharonlee©5-Jul-13 * In this poem the Oxford St I refer to is in the inner-city of Sydney, New South Wales, Australia.

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Whispers of Love and Poetry So-soft and surreal, silver liquid moon-drops tickled the darkened sky… clouds laughed a trilling melody that soothed my soul; Alone I sat amid the parsley and sage last of the marigolds hung their weary heads… … the hour was late and silent was my corner of the world… Thoughts danced on moonbeams and dreams- - slow-danced to the haunting music of my heart as I watched, stars wept for the purity of love… … why do you love… … … … me he once asked- - because to NoT love you simply cannot be… Silhouetted bat, night-messenger-of"the-sky whose secrets do you carry on by whose confidences were whispered on the breeze can you carry a message for me….? But the bat swept on in his night-long-flight paused not in the rose-scented-night and so I wove within the breeze whispers of love and poetry. Perhaps… those who need to hear it… will. * Poetry and Art Sharonlee©22-Jul-13

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Jul 26, 2013

Jul 26, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC

sharonlee-goodhand

Whispers of Love and Poetry

Whispers of Love and Poetry So-soft and surreal, silver liquid moon-drops tickled the darkened sky… clouds laughed a trilling melody that soothed my soul; Alone I sat amid the parsley and sage last of the marigolds hung their weary heads… … the hour was late and silent was my corner of the world… Thoughts danced on moonbeams and dreams- - slow-danced to the haunting music of my heart as I watched, stars wept for the purity of love… … why do you love… … … … me he once asked- - because to NoT love you simply cannot be… Silhouetted bat, night-messenger-of"the-sky whose secrets do you carry on by whose confidences were whispered on the breeze can you carry a message for me….? But the bat swept on in his night-long-flight paused not in the rose-scented-night and so I wove within the breeze whispers of love and poetry. Perhaps… those who need to hear it… will. * Poetry and Art Sharonlee©22-Jul-13

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