RE: RE: The Poet
Lavender the scent of her, buds of purple flower graced her sylvan bower.
se-0-0
|
RE: RE: RE: The Poet
Sonnet Parts 1&2 She smelled faintly of royal purple hue bathed thoughtfully in moonlit shades of pale – I cannot pass a lavender bloom, frail and fine, and not recall what I mean to you.
You swore no love more perfect could be sown, the petals of your soul bloomed but for me. I understand fully how this can be. Are your feelings not lovely as my own?
w-0-1
|
past, present, future think
writ large in lavender ink the holocaust survivor surmised "pink triangulation measures the distance from passive silence to mass resistance"
sw-0-2
|
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: The Poet - MykuSestina Envoi
Words or jeweled paint depict imagined realms where poets write myku, their souls rising to scent lavender, loving mykuart.
sw-0-3
|
RE: RE: The Poet
Poetry - the story of life Poet - weaver of the tale ink flowing through - joys and sorrows of each today and tomorrow!
sw-0-4
|
RE: RE: RE: The Poet
Sonnet Parts 3&4 Love and nothing else ends in joyful tears and sacrificial love may be most true. Wild-flowering beauties are free & few, are hope & hurt to all a man endears.
Romance unlost is worth a thousand dreams. A love sublime can be just what it seems.
n-1-0
|
RE: The Poet
I have writ Such a poem, But of Lavender? Only home ...
se-1-1
|
RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: The Poet - MykuSestina Verse 6
Burgundy, bay, jade were the shades of paint, composed tinted colors of his myku, she wrote verses of him in lavender ink, saw him in her visions roaming realms captured him on parchment, he was crossing the room to touch her face- his muse, his art.
sw-1-2
|
This myku has been removed
|
RE: RE: The Poet
calliope, mnemosyne, urania choose your muse greek or exile in babylon, mesopotamia chochmah, shekinah, sephirot
sw-1-4
|
RE: RE: The Poet
... safe in Lavender's breath The Spirit may decline Life's dangerous dialogue
ne-2-0
|
RE: RE: RE: RE: The Poet - MykuSestina Verse 5
Peering through clouds, the lens of his myku opened his mind to voyage arcane realms, he saw her poring over graceful art, within the book of myku perusing; conveyed to her, he scented lavender, at an easel he traced her form in paint.
sw-2-1
|
The Poet
He practiced poetry as a fine art, sketching outlines on paper with word paint, the colors of words were of his choosing; he dabbled in sestinas and myku, transporting his readers to foreign realms, castles afloat on clouds of lavender.
2-2-981
|
RE: The Poet
The poet words ring true Inspired by Calliope's hand Full of emotions through Echoing through the land!
w-2-3
|
RE: RE: The Poet
Branches stripped to their naked truth, Down to basics for the Winter, The cold pinches the pulp of my tooth, As my eyes strain for the painful splinter.
sw-2-4
|
RE: RE: RE: The Poet - MykuSestina Verse 4
In jewel encrusted dreams of other realms, golden cat of silken fur caressing, brocaded chairs in rooms of gilded paint, breeze borne, the subtle scent of lavender, ancient tomes inked with traceries of art, on each page, transcendent web of myku.
s-3-0
|
RE: The Poet
The mood of her poem- sweet lavender aromas of flowers focused her art in her mind, she flew to imagined realms captured each scene with rivers of word paint she loved to share her visions, writing myku where verse joined in poetic fusing
ne-3-1
|
Lavender Art
With words I have to paint. Envisioning new realms. Words flow without choosing, Capturing the lavender. Images seen like art For a challenge myku.
n-3-2
|
RE: The Poet
he stripped the leaves in winter down to plain truth, nothing much to look at but alive within
nw-3-3
|
RE: RE: RE: The Poet
The idea of death Has ceased to exist Supplanted by reality Letting go someday...bliss
n-3-4
|
RE: RE: The Poet - Sestina Verse 3
She was tired of writer's block and fussing, restored balance- lit candles, lavender, looked on mykuworld for her friends' myku- impressions of heaven and earth in art, she dipped her brush into the mykupaint, to travel winding roads, imagined realms.
ne-4-0
|
from W H Auden's Paysage Moralise, a sestina
[envoi] It is our sorrow. Shall it melt? Then water Would gush, flush, green these mountains and these valleys, And we rebuild our cities, not dream of islands.
nw-4-1
|
slowly turning blue
got the blues from my head to my shoes nothing to hang on to nothing to lose
e-4-2
|
RE: RE: RE: RE: The Poet
I cannot let go, there's nothing to go to. just hanging by my fingertips and slowly turning blue.
ne-4-3
|
Death, thou shalt die!
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou thinkst thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
n-4-4
|