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Arianna Jan 20
"... I have exchanged robes of purple velvet
for a cloak of gossamer stars,
though even that
is now torn from my shoulders
as the whirling of planets
halts the twirling
of my limbs,
flying out from under them,
into the Vastness..."
Arianna Jan 17
Through the iridescent hum of conversation,
We have stepped into an Impressionist painting:
          The French doors flung wide,
          And the casks of wine lining the walls inside;
          The lanterns illuminating the tables,
          Huddled together along the sidewalk
          Dans l'esprit de convivialité,
          And the bowtied waiters
          Strutting to and fro,
          Balancing trays of wine and paella on their fingertips.

Flamenco every Thursday;
Your friend always plays guitar.

Et je t'accompagne parce que j'aime bien ta compagnie,
Listening silently together,
Reading and drinking wine.

For silence
Is the true mark of our friendship,
Ma chère sœur.
Café Madrid, one of this city's finest spots: tapas, wine, live music, great atmosphere, tables and chairs spilling into the street like ivy. :-)
Arianna Jan 16
"... chords reverberating...

tendons and nerves
rippling waves...

la canción y el baile,

as the first light of grey
ventures in frosty puffs
along the horizon

to quell the starry embers
from the ashen shades..."
Oleg Pogudin - "Jamschik, ne goni loshadej":

Loyko - "Vagabond"
Kostas Pavlidis - "Leuko Skotadi"
Gritos de Guerra - "Arrinconamela"
DracoTalpus Dec 2017
Tiny tawny girl next door,
Watch you scrub your kitchen floor.
Doggie down there, on all four:
I can’t wait ‘til you spill some more.

Laundry day, your fragrance drifts
Through my screen: My spirit lifts.
Subtle scents, your careless gifts,
And through each one, my keen nose sifts.

Singing, humming, filled with glee:
You wash your dishes, dutifully.
I hear you, though I cannot see,
How drippy-wet and wonderfully?

Accomp’nied by Spanish guitar,
This summer day, you wash your car.
Flamenco skirt, my jaw ajar,
On tippy-toes, you’ve stretched too far!

Then one day, from the box you came,
Bearing junk mail with my name.
I quickly turned to hide my shame.
You’d caught me staring, just the same.

My name, without lifting her head,
From that misguided missive, read.
Upset?  Not yet.  She smiled, instead,
Then took me by my arm, and said,

“I must confide, my next-door boy,
I play with you: my sweetest toy.
All parts and parcels of my ploy,
I mean to share what you enjoy.

“I scrub the floor where you can see.
I perfume all of my laundry.
I softly sing each melody,
And even dress indecently.

“…But spiders cause me grievous fright!
I have a burned-out ceiling light.
So, if you can and think you might,
Come help me with my chores, tonight.”

©2Dec2017 @DracoTalpus
Inspired by my cutest neighbor.  ;)
Here's a nice acoustic accompaniment -
S R Mats Mar 2015
I remember when you donned
-your polka-dot dress
And danced the flamenco

Such pretty and delicate hands
-the men who play guitar
Who played flamenco

You are suddenly young again
-the older boys gather
And you dance flamenco
This poem can be read 3 different ways.

— The End —