Up from the ground did its trunk shoot,
Anchored deep by its twisted roots,
Spreading out its branches went,
Bending down with their leaf and flowered blossom scent.

Its old rugged bark clothed its wood,
There for 250 years the old tree stood,
Near the path walking way,
Where the local people would walk each day.

Down upon the old tree seen,
Against its bark the sunlight would gleam,
Except in its notches and crevice marks,
That covered portions of its bark.

How its branches in the wind did sway,
As some of its blossoms upon the breeze did sail away,
When at that moment heard the tree,
The voice of the wind softly speak.

Have you ever seen such beauty as she?
Whistled the wind to the Cherry Tree,
See the beautiful maiden below…
Wrapped in thou blossoms that you have grown?

Tell me tree… is it not so…
That thou blossom beauty comes and goes?
Yet among you is a blossom I do see,
That loses not its enchanted beauty.

The tree looked upon Libby then said to the air…
Indeed - beautiful is the maiden standing there,
Oh yes… she has bloomed into a special piece,
A truly molded masterpiece.

And it is true… her beauty stays,
Not carried off by you the wind… or damaged by the hot sun rays,
Her beauty that she does maintain,
Is neither damaged by the insects nor washed away by the rain.

How I do wish… said the cherry tree,
That this one blossom would stay with me,
Yet sadly the tree said… “I Know
Like all the other blossoms… this one too must go.”

For a gentle breeze shall come along…
And sweep her off her feet… carrying her along,
For such a beautiful blossom… with a precious heart display,
Is bound to be picked… and carried away.

For beauty such as hers… is rarely seen,
It comes but once in a lifetime… as it always seems to be,
Then the tree asked the wind… “What’s the name of the blossom that grows?
The one that we speak of… that stands below?”

Then the wind gazing down,
At the blossom standing on the ground,
Then said softly to the cherry tree…
“They call this blossom… Liberata Marinilli.”

.


Oh how it is… that when I dream,
You’re captured there within,
For it is the same… of every dream,
Your looming shadow has always been.

The echo of the sweetest voice,
Rises up each time… in the dreams I knew,
Uttered out from an angelic voice… a song,
A song that comes from you.

I search each night within those dreams,
To find and capture you… and not to let you go,
Yet you slip through my fingers like lucent mist,
To be seen… but not to hold.

How dear Libby… you haunt my dreams,
And my heart you also stole,
That it would not in the slightest… be shocking to me,
If you also harboured my very soul.

How it is that you own me…. Libby my love,
That reality I wish weren’t even true,
For it is in my dreams that I am free to hold on to thee,
And have a dance with you.

And when I see you now my love,
Though as beautiful as you seem,
Reality pulls me back into life,
With only the memories of a dream.

Yet I know deep… deep down,
And right from the very start,
That reality is not so bad,
Because in reality… I own your heart.

I can say many things,
Be them false or true,
But I… would never lie,
When it is all about you.

I can say that you are beautiful,
And it would be true,
If you do not believe me…
Look into a mirror,
Its reflection is always true.

You have the sweetest brown eyes…
This you had been told,
Your parents had been so right…
When they described the windows to your soul.

I can say that you are so kind,
And this many will confess,
You love to help those who you see,
Are equal to all the rest.

You have by far the sweetest smile,
That I had ever seen,
Just you go ahead and smile in the mirror,
And you will surely know what I mean.

But out of all your beauty,
What I loved most… from the start,
Had been your souls pure image,
Found hidden within your heart.

And this may sound quirky,
Yet Libby… it is so true,
I fell in love with that image,
The image of that beautiful you.

And I will tell the world,
Many times over too,
That I had found perfection,
For I had found it hidden in you.

And if some say to me… dear Joey,
No one ls perfect… can’t you see?
I shall say they never met you my dear…
My dear Liberata Maria Marinilli.

Oh, I know there is another,
With greater beauty than thee,
But I refer to only those created,
And you’re the most beautiful… Liberata Marinilli.

.


I write the words - across in lines,
Describing... how I feel, what I hear and what I see,
All that to... my heart does bind,
Of the sights, the colours - then sounds... and especially of thee.

The words - I scribe... in my hand...
They are... sometimes many and sometimes few,
But there is not enough - perfect words - to be written...
That can ever - truly scribe - the uniqueness of you.

When I write - I have no doubt... the ink will surely fade,
For the words - I have wrote… are sure to never stay,
Yet as I said - of all the words... that I could ever write,
The most beautiful ones - of them all… are left blank in white.

For the best words - that I share... which you my love can’t see,
Are all the words - that are found... in the space between,
Though that space - between each word... is so white and small,
It is in that space - my dear love… the words speak most of all.


----------------------------------------------------------­-------------------------------------


I regret That I still think about you Libby Marinilli, your too beautiful and captivating to forget.

L* *ife
      I s
           B ut
                B eautifully
                      Y ou

Life is But Beautifully You... Libby  *Marinilli

Here the thunder as the storm clouds gather,
Then see the brightness as the light flashes,
From its inner womb,
That gives it the greatest visual detail,
Which soars up in its different shades,
As it columns upward to the Infinite Heavens.

Feel as the wind gusts and blows a damp cool air across your face,
And also through your fingertips,
As you stretch your arms out and twirl around,
And like a sponge… you soak it all in.

Smell the freshness of the air,
That the storm has brought as it had passed,
Feel the dampness of the tree bark,
As your hand slides down the rough and smooth sides of that tree,
Smell the moss and grass that fragrance the air,
With their water-bathed fresh scent.

Hear the water dripping off the leaves,
As the droplets merge together,
Then slide towards the tips and edges of each leaf,
Then fall onto the soil and vegetation filled ground.

Hear the birds sing,
The fogs croak,
The bees hum,
And so much more,
Following the passing of the storm,
And the dawning of a new day.

Remember the feelings you feel as you do so,
The emotions you express,
The experience you had as it all took place,
Then remember these words…

The gathering of the storm, was like the gathering of the feelings that stressed upon my heart, year after year, building a vast volume of dammed feelings and burst emotions… as it filled the reservoir of my heart. The day I told you how I felt, was similar to when the storm had passed, the pressure was off, regardless of what would come next, and all I could feel was the Awesomeness of the experience… the Relief of the moment, and the deep impact you made upon me. After it was all over, and I spilled out my heart to you, I sensed the change in me, like the change in nature after the storm… it was like a breath of fresh air, when you smell the scent of rebirth.

Touch the roughness of my natures bark,
Through the needle ****** of my out-stretched (branched) legacy,
How I once spired toward the heavens,
But now am filled with rot and moldy decay,


All ways had my arms stretched out,
Green with envy,
Of having you not by my side,
But seen in the company of theirs,


Yet now my ****** have softened,
As I have altered from a rugged envious green,
To a mellow yellowed,
And the last of me is drying up inside,


I still stand alone,
My rise upward has all but continued onward,
My branched out legacy as you now see,
Is now wasting away,


I am a near naked skeleton,
Soon to become no more,
Oh, how at my life’s end shall I do what I refused to do in my pride,
For life shall surely break my back… and I left to lean on others,


Their arms shall hold me up with all their strength,
But their help is now futile,
For the weight of my life’s gluttony,
Will break their resolve and push me down ward,


That is now the legacy of my life’s route,
But before I collapse,
With a rage of hot red… I shall become,
My needles will one last time harden,


As I frantically poke my anger into all who dare reach into me,
The rugged skin of my stature may have partly flaked off,
But I want not that my soul core be reached,
By any who wish to reach in and dissect it,


My strength or weakness need not their assistance,
Nor their explanation of matters concerning it,
I was once a great tree in an endless forest of trees,
But it was you alone… that had made me special.

(c) Joseph D R-H Palmateer

Eudora, Eudora…
The soft Words you speak…
The gentle rhythm of your tongue,
Put my mind and heart into sleep.

Eudora, Eudora…
Your words speak with flare…
Ravelling off your talented tongue,
Into the Mid-Air.

Each Stanza Poetic…
Ascending from your *******…
Slipping between your bright teeth,
Upon the breath like a musical note.

They billow from depth…
Unto the shallow – and then a retreat…
Out of a heart that is deeper still,
Then the deepest of seas.

Your words have been read…
By many – including me…
Entitled… Gifted,
On… Hello Poetry.


Though I absolutely know not Eudora… except the reading of her poem… It still inspired me to write a response to a humorous self-indulged thought… that yes, I am talented. And that she not implying… I took anyways… (While chuckling) the position to appoint myself as the narrative inspiration of her poem. P.S. (But only in my own mind.)

Please Note: Her Poem is absolutely Beautiful and Beautifully written... called... "Gifted"