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Stu Harley  Jun 2016
Pavane Sky
Stu Harley Jun 2016
sunset
in
gay paree
pavane
sky
ask for
a glass of
sherry wine
cheese
and
french bread
Stu Harley Mar 2014
listen to
the stars
at night
hear the
fireflies
in flight
wings guided by
an ocean of
Pavane's light
Facades rise in memory.
Paint peels, marble columns lean,
Rain drowns piazzas.
The bridge of sighs moans in sorrow.
Windows stare sightless into the past.
Cats remember the rustling of silk,
jeweled hands tending morsels,
magenta robes, the cloaked,
the caped, flash of daggers in starlight,
the glory on sun drenched Sundays
when church bells summoned the faithful.

Morning sun bounces off golden domes,
water shimmers a crisp mother of pearl.
Gondolieri untie boats from painted poles,
swiftly ferry their fares in narrow vessels,
pass through the shadows of bridges.
Navigate the water webbing the city,
pass slow laboring barges with overflowing loads.
White seagulls crisscross an expanse of blue.
Shouted greetings echo.

In the white palace, laced with marble columns,
painted ceilings in wood paneled rooms tell stories.
Rich and poor bow to the Republic’s justice.
Doges in pointed hats, crimson robes,
cast fate from bejeweled hands.
Ornate basilicas, simple stone chapels, ensnare sinners.
Priests give absolution behind velvet curtains
in musty confessionals reeking of secrets.
Jews marked in red hats hurry to the ghetto.

On the dock fishermen spill their iridescent catch
from hulls of brightly painted boats.
Merchants shout of silk and salamanders in markets.
Women fill woven baskets with foreign colored bounty,
peaches beckon with pink cheeks,
grapes make sweet promises, purple plums tantalize.
Sun inhales musty smells, exhales sweet scents of basil
jasmine, mint, a woman’s sweet odor of lavender lingers.
Dogs lick cobblestones, savor every rancid morsel.
Window sills host lazy eyed cats.

Goats bloated with milk make their way,
pass baying sheep herded to slaughter
by burly men in soiled leather aprons.
Top sail schooners from far away shores,
carved bare breasted mermaids at their bow,
unload treasures. Silk and spices, chained trunks,
casks of sweet wine, gold will fill coffers.

Vines dig roots deep into walls, cling in crevasses,
perfume courtyards with intoxicating smells.
A flock of small yellow birds alight from rose bushes,
drink from a tiered fountain.
Cascades of faceted crystal spills
from the mouths of carved fishes,
stone maidens’ urns. They display their charms,
smile wistfully, wish away pigeons perched on their heads.
Lovers pass, exchange furtive glances, dream of night.

Dark sweaty men push a barge with a coffin
draped in gold threaded brocade, blood red roses.
A priest at the bow, a cross encased with jewels
catches the light in a blinding reflection.
Altar boys swing shiny vessels, incense permeates the air.
High voices intone monotonous chants.
Mourners follow in gondolas, sway in a rhythm of grief.
Black silk shines. Under veils tears streak
white chalked faces, red lips know of secrets.

Celebrants toast a newly wedded couple
with sweet scented deep ruby red wine.
Boar roasts, seasoned with sage, rosemary and thyme.
Round loaves of bread crust in a brick oven.
Pairs spill into the street, dance a joyful pavane,
pounding the cobblestones to the sound of tambourines.
They freeze in a moment in silence,
watch the funeral procession,
make the sign of the cross, return to their feast.

Now canals choke in mud.
fight ruin in oil slick stagnant waters.
Palazzos put on a false-face,
prostitutes heavily painted.
Greedy currents lick at foundations,
slowly swallow remains,
**** them into hostile marshes.

The Campanile rings the hour.


Cristina Umpfenbach-Smyth     July 2010
Stu Harley Aug 2018
what
burst
through
innocent
clouds
are
rays of
pavane light
is
what
the
lord
has given us
Cody Edwards Feb 2010
The sky shoots its myriad blue eye
into a pavane of reds and silvers.
A farrago of ****** tastes signal second dawn at noon.
An indescribable sound pierces the eardrum
from the inside as it rushes ******,
humanly,
inhumanely outward.
© Cody Edwards 2010
Andrew Fort Nov 2019
When we feel the night embrace,
We'll sing our lullabies.
When we go to sleep,
The moon will rise.
The stars will smile at our dreams
And the owls churr in the trees
And just when all is as it seems,
A song, like lace, floats in the breeze.
For it is nearly our time--
And this must be precious in our eyes--
For when daylight breaks,
The moonlight dies.

When we make it out,
Our angel sighs.
When we awaken,
The sun will rise.
Though our dreams were sweet,
Now we must at least try.
The morning we must greet--
For the days fly swiftly by.
So we must wake, my brother--
And in haste, we must rise
For before we can blink,
The sunlight dies.

When we make it out,
We'll hear morning's cries.
When we awaken,
The sky will open her eyes.
The clouds will pour forth their light
To us, and all their rain to the sea,
And the grass shivers with delight
As dew-drops glimmer like beads.
Hold on to these moments, love,
And keep them in your mind--
For when daylight breaks,
The dreams you had will die.
For my brother, Jonah, whom I love dearly.
Je veux te raconter, ô molle enchanteresse !
Les diverses beautés qui parent ta jeunesse ;
Je veux te peindre ta beauté,
Où l'enfance s'allie à la maturité.

Quand tu vas balayant l'air de ta jupe large,
Tu fais l'effet d'un beau vaisseau qui prend le large,
Chargé de toile, et va roulant
Suivant un rythme doux, et paresseux, et lent.

Sur ton cou large et rond, sur tes épaules grasses,
Ta tête se pavane avec d'étranges grâces ;
D'un air placide et triomphant
Tu passes ton chemin, majestueuse enfant.

Je veux te raconter, ô molle enchanteresse !
Les diverses beautés qui parent ta jeunesse ;
Je veux te peindre ta beauté,
Où l'enfance s'allie à la maturité.

Ta gorge qui s'avance et qui pousse la moire,
Ta gorge triomphante est une belle armoire
Dont les panneaux bombés et clairs
Comme les boucliers accrochent des éclairs,

Boucliers provoquants, armés de pointes roses !
Armoire à doux secrets, pleine de bonnes choses,
De vins, de parfums, de liqueurs
Qui feraient délirer les cerveaux et les coeurs !

Quand tu vas balayant l'air de ta jupe large,
Tu fais l'effet d'un beau vaisseau qui prend le large,
Chargé de toile, et va roulant
Suivant un rythme doux, et paresseux, et lent.

Tes nobles jambes, sous les volants qu'elles chassent,
Tourmentent les désirs obscurs et les agacent,
Comme deux sorcières qui font
Tourner un philtre noir dans un vase profond.

Tes bras, qui se joueraient des précoces hercules,
Sont des boas luisants les solides émules,
Faits pour serrer obstinément,
Comme pour l'imprimer dans ton coeur, ton amant.

Sur ton cou large et rond, sur tes épaules grasses,
Ta tête se pavane avec d'étranges grâces ;
D'un air placide et triomphant
Tu passes ton chemin, majestueuse enfant.
Sonnet.

Bizarre déité, brune comme les nuits,
Au parfum mélangé de musc et de havane,
Oeuvre de quelque obi, le Faust de la savane,
Sorcière au flanc d'ébène, enfant des noirs minuits,

Je préfère au constance, à l'*****, aux nuits,
L'élixir de ta bouche où l'amour se pavane ;
Quand vers toi mes désirs partent en caravane,
Tes yeux sont la citerne où boivent mes ennuis.

Par ces deux grands yeux noirs, soupiraux de ton âme,
Ô démon sans pitié ! verse-moi moins de flamme ;
Je ne suis pas le Styx pour t'embrasser neuf fois,

Hélas ! et je ne puis, Mégère libertine,
Pour briser ton courage et te mettre aux abois,
Dans l'enfer de ton lit devenir Proserpine !
Victoria Nov 2012
A face of gold greets the night,
unblinking, timeless eyes brimmed with down of galest wings.
Beneath her motherly gaze, a pavane fills the court,
Figures two by two by cloth of silken web.
Dispersing and immersing footsteps of the fae,
glimmering ingot gates spread their arms out wide
to rejoice the coming of the twilight.
Shadowed forms stirring in the brush
wish to coalesce the revelry.
And as the music dwindles into reticence,
the sighing ******* of lovers entangled and mother suckling babe,
that which goes unseen by fools
kisses the brows of those who look.
written to Maurice Ravel's Symphony "Pavane of a Dead Princess"
Stu Harley Mar 2015
pastel autumn leave
swell then
we scattered
upon the ground
pumpkin orange
a blend of autumn red
hear the leaves
whisper the name
of Pavane instead
that remind us of
a watercolor dawn

— The End —