(If you’re leaning in close, about to try,
To soothe my thoughts with a kiss, oh my,
Feeding the dweller in my mind,
With a kiss that’s tender and one of a kind,
Take your time, don’t rush this sweet affair,
Bliss of being together, or not quite there,
I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you,
My heart echoing with each step you’d do.)
:: 08.07.2023 ::
In the realm of tales, your heart does roam, as if it has transcended the confines of reality and embraced a world woven with threads of imagination. Beneath the soft glow of a dim lamplight, it finds a home, a sanctuary where emotions intertwine with the flickering shadows. The lamplight becomes a silent witness to the stories your heart silently narrates.
A maiden walks by, her presence like a delicate brushstroke on the canvas of your musings. Charming in her ways, she navigates the world with a grace that captures your attention. Yet, beneath her father’s stern collar’s gaze, there’s a sense of constraint, a reminder of the boundaries that surround her life.
To her discerning eyes, you might appear naive, your actions tinted with a hint of the absurd. Clad in ankle boots, she walks with an air of determination, a quiet confidence that sets her apart. She glances back at you, a fleeting connection that seems to acknowledge the notes of your melodies that hang in the air, wavering and uncertain.
Love takes hold of you, its grip tightening as the days stretch towards August’s warm embrace. The sonnets you pour onto paper become messengers of your affection, each line carrying the weight of your emotions and dreams. With every word, you manage to bring genuine smiles to her face, an accomplishment that fuels your poetic fervor.
As love blossoms, the world around you changes. Friends who once filled your days begin to fade into the periphery. You find yourself drifting away from the familiar scenes, no longer an active participant in the activities that once defined your days. Yet, amidst this transformation, a new chapter unfolds. She writes to you, bridging the distance that sometimes separates two souls.
On the eve of connection, cafes become your gathering places once again. Whether it’s the bitterness of beer or the refreshing tang of lemonade, you indulge in the simple pleasures that life offers. Seventeen is an age of transition, where seriousness and carefree spirits dance together, creating a unique blend of experiences. Lime trees form a verdant cascade along the promenade, a reminder of the vibrant hues that life paints against the canvas of youth. The symphony of green leaves rustling in the wind echoes the symphony of your heart, filled with the beats of anticipation and the promises of the unknown.
:: 08.07.2023 ::
Many many years ago, as shadows upon hills
yellow butter cups swaying within winds
sketch the trees and upon edged lands
and kissed and laughed and wrapped up upon
winter’s chill ~~ what I said you giggled
: i said, “this day lives forever.
A fragment small, in hues of dusk,
Blue ‘gainst branch, a tiny tusk,
Pierced by star, ill-luck’s own plight,
Melting with shivers through the night.
June’s eve, sweet seventeen’s delight,
Sap akin to champagne, intoxicating flight.
Wandering steps, a kiss’s grace,
A tremor alive on lips’ embrace.”
In colors upon a unforgiven land and how now
I understand what you said to me; how you
suffered.
How my letters are colors of violent haze
of morning fields of amber gray
And how i suffer for my brilliant heart
who loves all.
:: 08.07.2023 ::
Amid the corridors of artistic halls, where echoes of creation resonate, emerges a poetic tapestry woven with the threads of emotion and time. “Canvas and Verse Upon Echoes of Artistic Halls” transcends mere words to become a symphony of imagery and sentiment, bearing witness to the beauty of existence and the profound essence of shared human experience.
In the opening stanza, the poet transports us to a realm where the passage of time is as gentle as the sway of “yellow butter cups.” These delicate blooms become symbols of fleeting moments, their dance harmonizing with the winds that whisper secrets to the trees. The canvas of nature becomes a tableau of memories, kissed by laughter and wrapped in the embrace of winter’s chill. A touch of nostalgia is unveiled, where past and present intermingle like kindred spirits.
Amidst this lyrical reverie, the poet’s voice evokes an ethereal quality, as if utterances possess the power to tether moments to eternity. “This day lives forever,” declares the poet, embodying the eternal within a fragment of time. The hues of dusk blend into the blue embrace of branches, where a “tiny tusk” is pierced by a star’s radiance. This juxtaposition of light and shadow conjures ill-luck’s own plight, which gracefully melts into the shivers of the night.
June’s eve, the pinnacle of youthful exuberance, embodies the sweet delight of seventeen summers. The sap of life is akin to champagne, effervescent and intoxicating, as wandering steps and kisses exchanged unfold like verses of an intimate poem. The tremor alive on lips’ embrace mirrors the palpitations of the heart, a rhythm entwined with the pulse of shared emotion.
In the second stanza, the poet reflects upon the poignant understanding of another’s suffering. The unforgiving land becomes a mirror, reflecting empathy and connection, where the poet’s own colors are woven with compassion. The letters, infused with a “violent haze” of morning fields, conjure an aura of introspection, capturing the enigmatic nature of human existence.
The crescendo of emotion reaches its zenith with a declaration of a “brilliant heart” that loves unabashedly, extending affection to all corners of existence. As the closing date stamps this poetic musing, it etches a moment of profound introspection into the annals of time.
“Canvas and Verse Upon Echoes of Artistic Halls” is not just a poem; it is a testament to the poetic soul’s yearning to encapsulate the ineffable beauty of life. Each verse is a brushstroke, and together, they paint a masterpiece that invites readers to traverse the corridors of their own emotions and connect with the timeless echoes of artistry.
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 