countryfog
As one who was always alone in the "city of romance" and a dozen other places I often sat in the evening and watched as others brought their stories for me to be a part of, not really their stories of course but the ones I would make for them. Still, one need not know the language to see the scene you so well describe and not understand it perfectly, and how there are no roses without the thorns.
2013-05-28

. . . or, Bogey, I don't know. You tell me, you know him.
2013-05-28

After reading this (and all your other poems), I am convinced you are not Elle, but Ingrid Bergman, living a life of intrigue in places I can only imagine, or have seen in the movies.

Is that Boggie I see over there . . . ?
2013-05-27

I love the sound of the accordion and this work gives it a deeper sound and I can hear all of it, so it is perfection:)
2013-05-27

Chaucer Whethers
Ah the wryly tinged melancholy of fleeting romance
Where what were once pledged promise eternal
Do fade like last night's wine stained encounters
As all ghosts wail in vain at the reapers passing
breaths...
But yet, a toast to my old friend Melancholy
who may never desert those in dire need.
2013-05-26

Lawrence Beck
Fantastic! I really enjoyed this poem, Elle.
2013-05-26