"ricci" poems
On my usual flight
from Dallas to Boston,
I saw her,
a perfect belle
a white summer dress
red roses in print
Alfred Dunner perhaps?
Lips pouting,vermillion red
delicate nose, dark sun glass
a Gucci, I could see,
scent of Nina Ricci perfume
reached my nose
"Lucky lady", I told myself.
Me in modest clothes
wondered how happy she was,
sure as looks do tell;
diamond ring
perfectly poised,
commuting to work place
has a good job for sure!
On a sudden impulse
glanced at her face,
and was just in time to see
large drops of tears
slide lazily
from behind the dark glasses
roll over the cheeks
and fall on the lap,
and then another
and another.
Yet she sat still
faintest tremor on the lips
I imagined a volcano
erupting in her heart.
I looked at my faded skirt
and closed my eyes,
wondering, wondering;
joy and sorrow
elusive indeed,
where do they strike
how do they ****
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
Sunlight seeps in
glass windows all
and yet with blinds drawn,
"click'..put on
the electric light,
gives a worthy feeling,
of course
sort of false pride!
The mirror reflects
a haunted look
insomnia
on the face,
mirror, mirror tell me true
so saying
put on more lipstick
more rouge and mascara
Nina Ricci perfume!
Toothpaste
Colgate advanced formula,
or else brushing futile
breakfast cereals
latest blends
tea labelled "Twining"
I-phone pocketed,
boutique shop clothes
stilettos clicking
you get started
feeling good
racing the sports car,
race as if
borrowed happiness
will escape,
its after all
everyday happiness
on a lucky credit card
older bills
still pending,
still pending!!
and yet
these everyday happiness
keeps you going!
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
Un vischio, fin dall'infanzia sospeso grappolo
di fede e di pruina sul tuo lavandino
e sullo specchio ovale ch'ora adombrano
i tuoi ricci bergére fra santini e ritratti
di ragazzi infilati un po' alla svelta
nella cornice, una caraffa vuota,
bicchierini di cenere e di bucce,
le luci di Mayfair, poi a un crocicchio
le anime, le bottiglie che non seppero aprirsi,
non più guerra né pace, il tardo frullo
di un piccione incapace di seguirti
sui gradini automatici che ti slittano in giù….
1.6k
By Arcassin Burnham
Like manually overriding the outskirts into your mind,
The beauty of you will live on forever and through all time,
Teenage crush why don't ya,
That smile gives me..amnesia,
I could feel my jealousies emerging-like-bacteria,
Beautiful like capitula,
No-place-of dystopia,
I'll make a wonderland for ya-through utopia,
miss ricci,
what's your name
wait!I just said it,
maybe I'm just nervous,
the beauty of you
makes me regret it all,
don't wanna deceive ya,
smile so enticing,
your voice is heaven,
no second guessing,
the beauty of you,
makes me regret it all,
I could put a million flowers in your hair and
kiss you like Casper when he changed into
human form to flaunt his charm into impressing
your Sight with his presence,
that's a lesson to learn,
miss ricci,
what's your name
wait!I just said it,
maybe I'm just nervous,
the beauty of you
makes me regret it all,
don't wanna deceive ya,
smile so enticing,
your voice is heaven,
no second guessing,
the beauty of you,
makes me regret it all.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 3:11 PM UTC
These stories contain a character so accurate,
so flawed,
so
beautiful that if any author tried to recreate him
or her, that person would be laughed off the stage.
Which,
excuse the sidenote,
probably means they are the only
genious in the room. The character is of course
you, and the answer is, of course…LOVE!
Now at this point I can see you are already fed up with me
and for that I understand.
I understand because of course
love is not the answer!
That lovey dovey ********
No, the real answer is even simpler.
Stories.
We live.
We Die.
We live and die for stories.
Love is how we should treat people.
To live one’s life
with as much love as possible
Your humble author included.
Love is Pandora’s hope.
Love is the elephant in the room of life.
Love is good.
Love is evil.
Love is death.
Love is life.
Love is not the reason for life.
We do not wake.
every morning searching for love.
We do.
wake every morning searching for.
stories.
Jul 29, 2010
Jul 29, 2010 at 12:10 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Your complicated like the back to the future trilogy,
I'm diggin this if you are , sometimes I think selfishly,
Teenage stuff , nothing to get caught up arguably,
I'm diggin this if you are,
Use to compare you to that stunning actress , noted Miss Ricci,
I got your name on my arm to express my love now baby,
I'll jump off a cliff for you and write you a discography,
I'm diggin this if you are.
/
I notice every time I change for the better ignoring
My past and settling for better things and job offerings,
I put my passion aside for the angels to protect it in its
Day of needing comfort just so I could start Requieming,
I use to wanna write comic books and novels thinking
That I was a young stan Lee or Stephanie Myers despite
My effort to take advantage In making a masterpiece,
Let it rest in peace,
I seen better artwork from the loose leaves,
Falling desperately,
Entering the mind of a maniac , just say please.
/
Gotta dance in the light,
Why not just let it be,
Soul flies like a kite,
First step to being free,
Gotta find the red door,
If you stumble cross the keys,
Have to right all your wrongs,
That's good enough for me,
Walk upon the other side,
Knows the whole biography,
Of your recent whereabouts,
Getting burned damagely,
Have to right all your wrongs...
Have to write all your wrongs...
You're not doomed eternally if you do the right things
That says alot about you as a person and your peers,
All the wishes and the fears,
You could make sure they get sheered , there's a lesson here.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 2:22 PM UTC
Something special seems to be in short supply these days.
It seems finding my own is the hardest thing i have ever done.
The scary thing,,, What if my people come out of the wood work,
will it be too late for me?
Will i be so far gone that i refuse them out of fear?
Fear that i am no longer able to except what is truly a part of me?
May 1995. Ricci Moon Scott
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC
Loving lackadaisical light,
warm fuzz on finger tips,
shady shaggy sounds,
giving birth to slow afternoons.
Wondering softly smooth through pools of blue-green, drifting among daisies and daffodils.
Feasting minds eye on deep blues and auburn reds dusted with rust orange yellows.
Holding clover blooms between my toes,
sensing time's low tones.
As i reminisce " Franks Favorite Chair".
Drifting through universal skies,
wondering of dreams glowing bright in flight.
Slowly feeling the lifting sounds of gents in suits serenading fair maidens in the unseen deep of swaying long waves.
Pondering movements sensed only loosely in these lands revolving with our great circle.
Kissing our hands in time forgot,
when spirit roamed full textured in voids of touch.
Dizzying in full pride now,
for mine is our water,
as deep as the oceans heart and vast as our mysterious Great Star Nations.
Aug 20th 1995
Ricci Moon Scott
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 8:01 PM UTC
With this gentle wind flowing slow,
thoughtfully,
even more so mysteriously.
The mind can only spin in it's imagination.
Soulfully soaring through its thoughts, gliding, drifting, as if in a daze.
Reminiscing times not yet remembered.
As if this mind holds in its tender, delicate hands, secret things of wondrous, soft, sweet, yet thick, secure times of playfully enormous spirit.
As i ponder my own times.
I find that i have experienced such feelings in everyday movements.
Yet they are so thin in comparison.
As a child these feelings seemed so much closer.
And as i reflect i find that even in this wondrous time of sweet softness and livid day dreams,
the soft memories of my youth are the fading memories of my mind, carefully enacting all of my mysterious surroundings.
Enwrapping me, surrounding all that i could see, as if to hold all that existed.
As if all things were sopping with this thick universal ooze that made all things come alive.
And yet i am left here with only the truth that this beauty of movement is the one thing that escapes all of us, yet we see it when it seems to happen, we think we sometimes seem to feel what is majestic in intensity.
But we are never really sure.
So as i sit here on this hill, i only know what thousands must know.
In loves fleeting moments of rushing life, free in its time and thoughts.
One must ride theseflows as a river moves when flooding a ****** creek, widening our limits, lengthening our lives, digging us deeper into our mothers womb.
For when the flood fades we are all left open, our naked bodies showing the world how empty we feel when our hearts no longer are full of the one thing that made us.
And we are all left only hoping for the promise of another spring.
late 80's early 90's
Ricci Moon Scott
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
TIME(AS THEY SAY)PASSES
The world is busy
becoming
the 17th Century.
Time holds its breath.
Mountains gaze into the distance.
It is snowing
in China.
Ricci's European maps
delight the Chinese scholar
who notes" ...you don't
have to leave your house
...yet you can have complete
knowledge of the world."
Here and now the world
shrinks to an Internet click.
A palace built
of memory.
I yawn and fall
asleep in the 20th Century
...waking up in
the 21st.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC