So pleasing to read your poetry, Anna & Diana.

Here is`one I wrote which I'm sure my male counterparts can relate to!  I'm sure many have had a similar experience.

Love in Venice

I hear the tones of violin strings
Evoking music which I adored
Lingering, resonant to my ears;
Creating images that lost love brings,

Sweet tones bring forth, into my mind,
Fond memories of days gone by,
Hidden within my melancholy soul
And days of youth, when love was blind.

Of gondolas and balmy nights
Shimmering back-canals of Venice
The Bridge of Sighs; their mournful whispers
As evening incandescent lights

Illumined ancient walls of stone
The Santa Maria della Salute -
An evening meal with belli vini.
A goodnight kiss, then I, left alone

To wonder if again I shall ever see
The vision of beauty with eyes of green
That, one day, I chanced to meet,
And from wretched images set me free.

Harry, thank you for your kindness, commenting...  but don't you think that love is still blind at any age?  So, did you ever find her " eyes of green" again?

Your poem reminds me of a little book I found recently in my favourite second hand bookstore... "Ruskin's Rose"...contemporary observations of John Ruskin's heartbreak over Rose LaTouche...

 " The romance of Venice was becoming less of a torment for Ruskin as he lost himself within the canvases of Carpaccio."   and,

"Ruskin had brought his pain to Venice, and was unable to transfer the colours of his feelings ~ an intense palette of fear and sorrow ~ to paper..."

I've only just discovered this thread so here's a couple of my poems.

Spring Morning

I hear her calling and my heart sinks.

For a long moment I stand qiietly,

Swallowing my anguish.

Please Mum, not again, I can't bear it!

Your never ending childlike cries,

Your constant demands!

I sigh and heavy-footed climb the stairs

My resent burns at the unfairness

Of my servitude.

I hate myself-I shouldn't feel like this

I know she cannot help the way she is-

Dementia is so cruel.

I open up the door and there she waits

She sees me and her face lights up

With a radiant smile!

Then, she says quite clearly "hello dear,

Look, a lovely sunny morning

The birds are singing!"

Moments like these are rare for us now,

So when they come, I embrace them,

Holding them close.

Then, I take her hands between my own

I cannot speak, my throat is thick with tears

For her and for me.

The Temple-Thoughts on Leisure Shopping.

 Rising from a mist-enshrouded landscape

A gilded temple, built on Man's desire

A citadel for worship, for appeasment

Of a driving need to spend and thus acquire.

Streams of cars approach from all directions

Like jewelled serpents writing on the road

Which, at the Temple doors disgorge the victims

Who gladly flock to Mammon's bright abode.

With plastic cards they shuffle to the altar,

Where ringing till record what they have spent,

Bags of goods are packed and handed over

And smiling, they receive their Sacrament.

Belonging to the Cult of Leisure Shoppers

Gratifies their urge to gather 'things'

they do not seem to care or even question

The misery that overspending brings.

For even deep in debt they keep attending

Their addiction to the Sect is just too strong

Mindlessly, they give in to temptation-

And forever, to The Temple they'll belong.

Ok, just one more-I promise! LOL

Dream of Metamorphosis.

 I walk alone in moonlit fields

At the hour when owls take flight

My feet sink into dew-drenched grass

On ths sultry summer night

No breeze to cool my burning skin

the air is thick and still

And at a mossy meadow-pool

I pause to drink my fill.

As ripples fade, reflected back

Is an image-but not mine!

And in a mask of silver grey

Two eyes of amber shine!

I feel no fear, I recognise

The beast who shows her face

She's part of me long unexpressed-

She's feral, streamlined grace.

The magic of this moment

Holds me spellbound-but I know

That when I wake she won't exsist

Too soon she'll have to go.

She turns towards the wooded hills

On lupine pads she'll run

To melt away between the trees

At the rising of the sun.

Shrugging of the cloak of night

I'm sleepy for a while

Still partly her and partly me

And the memory makes me smile!

just a Thought (mike Gerrard)

Think not of what you did today,

but of what you'll do tomorrow.

Think of all the good in life to forget about your sorrow.

Harry, thank you for your kindness, commenting...  but don't you think that love is still blind at any age?  So, did you ever find her " eyes of green" again?

 

precisely so - ( I'm sure Andrew Marvell never actually spoke the words in his "Ode to his Coy Mistress ! ) just so long as the author can convince that it is so !!  That is, of course, if is poetical or in novel form.  This poem was indeed inspired by a similar circumstance which occurred many years ago, and I'm not sure I can recall the eye colour !!  I was fortunate ... I found another who, to this day and over fifty years later, is unsurpassed in beauty !

Harry

Harry! It so good to see you again, welcome back. As usual, your poetry is beautiful and thought provoking.

Marianne, you poem is heart wrenching, my grandmother had Alzheimer's and it was devastating to see. Knowing that it runs in my family is one of my biggest fears.

Hi Harry, I've been thinking of you lately.. wondering how you are feeling ~ joyous it seems!

best wishes

To all of you ,,,Wonderful poetry!! I am not a writer myself but i love to read it;-)))

   Hi Anna..is that you on that horse in the avatar??LOL I like the picture;-))

This is one of my favourites,

“Loveliest of trees, the cherry now…”

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

 Now, of my threescore years and ten,

Twenty will not come again,

And take from seventy springs a score,

It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs are little room,

About the woodlands I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

by A.E. Houseman

Debbie~  the trick rider photo is from an inspiring calendar of 1920's rodeo gals..