my dreamworld is filled with artful escapes and fantasy, planning a trip to paris and florence next year.
scant punctuation and capitals - a la e e cummings
gallery of dreams
last night in dream
i danced in ballet
Degas' ballerinas
summoned me with plié
Mona Lisa smiled
amused by my pirouettes
Rodin's lovers locked
in their own enchantment
did not notice me
unable to keep up
I follow my guide
he woos me with charming stories
of the italian pastoral scenes
slips his arm around me
pulling me closer
public displays of affection conflict me
his warmth seducing
my restraints warn me
from the flickering images of REM sleep
the guard pronounces
do not touch the art work
I run off to another gallery
giggling
The stares of ancients
cast pompous eyes in condemnation
monet's garden brings me to my senses
the soft shades of light soothe
leaving their impression delicately
yet a stirring
an unresting sensuality
forces me to wander in search of the one
through the quiet sculpture hall
Michelangelo's David draws me near
in awe
all our scars vanish
magnificent is his appeal
his form perfection
Venus de Milo winks
I long to linger in this
Louvre-like state
so much to study
appreciate
an endless love I'll never tire of
yet
realities are ringing
the close of the door
so at dawn
my guide pulls me closer
not wanting to awaken me fully
he wraps me in Klimt embrace
and with the tenderest of kisses
delays the light
I number days and months
and wonder...
do dreams ever come to life
or do they die in abstract expression
Poetry by BlueyedSoul
Read 1123 times
Written on 2010-09-08 at 06:46
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scant punctuation and capitals - a la e e cummings
Gallery of Dreams
gallery of dreams
last night in dream
i danced in ballet
Degas' ballerinas
summoned me with plié
Mona Lisa smiled
amused by my pirouettes
Rodin's lovers locked
in their own enchantment
did not notice me
unable to keep up
I follow my guide
he woos me with charming stories
of the italian pastoral scenes
slips his arm around me
pulling me closer
public displays of affection conflict me
his warmth seducing
my restraints warn me
from the flickering images of REM sleep
the guard pronounces
do not touch the art work
I run off to another gallery
giggling
The stares of ancients
cast pompous eyes in condemnation
monet's garden brings me to my senses
the soft shades of light soothe
leaving their impression delicately
yet a stirring
an unresting sensuality
forces me to wander in search of the one
through the quiet sculpture hall
Michelangelo's David draws me near
in awe
all our scars vanish
magnificent is his appeal
his form perfection
Venus de Milo winks
I long to linger in this
Louvre-like state
so much to study
appreciate
an endless love I'll never tire of
yet
realities are ringing
the close of the door
so at dawn
my guide pulls me closer
not wanting to awaken me fully
he wraps me in Klimt embrace
and with the tenderest of kisses
delays the light
I number days and months
and wonder...
do dreams ever come to life
or do they die in abstract expression
Poetry by BlueyedSoul
Read 1123 times
Written on 2010-09-08 at 06:46
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
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