D.Greaves

Well Veresed. Never Rehearsed.

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    HUSH, HUSH MY SWEET

    Be damned this coat of paint!

    speckled in monochromatic grey,

    I, at last manning the speaker's podium,

    yet I have nothing terribly impressive to say

     

    The promenade moves in time

    to a melacholy waltz,

    burning and looting of hearts lost in translation, a hesitation,

    and yet, no one is at fault

     

    HUSH, HUSH MY SWEET

     

    Thorns on a Macbethian rose,

    "fair is foul and foul is fair",

    on a Misdummer's Night I rejoiced in love,

    unrequited I admit, beggars' beware

    Fandango and Django echoing,

    the Gypsies on parade,

    a funeral durge plays as tortured souls purge,

    love once forbade

    Standing amidst the luftballoons,

    wandering through the blood red streams

    of my desolate mind,

    forlornly I gaze upon the Widows of Windows forever closed,

    as they wait impatiently in Love Labour's line

     

    In the temperate breeze willows do weep

    upon the broad shoulders of dawn,

    they sway in a sanguine synchronicity,

    with the Hissing of late Summer Lawns

     

    As Joni sings a Rhapsody in Blue,

    ominuos grey skies do appear,

    two hearts once mated to the avant garde,

    no on guard, jealously guarding isolated emotions collectively feared

     

    HUSH, HUSH MY SWEET

    The frivolous dancing and prancing about,

    humming a melody to an orgasmic denial,

    a Black Knight in Kings Arthur's Court,

    quite aware the very thought of love is on trial

    Sharing a strained laughter with supporters

    and their lovely daughters, reporters in tow,

    as outside the grotto is kissed

    by first blush of Smilla's Sense of Snow

    Perhaps but for one moment in time,

    chance did indeed take a dare,

    yet, fate is now as indistinguishable as the scent of jasmine

    in the frosty winter air

     

    Thank you for that wonderful memory,

    the gaiety and laughter in small cafes, names now obscure,

    it seems time reduces passion to a trifle

    of its once lustful allure

     

    Ah, but tis life,

    love being a most dangerous sport,

    "Should olde aquaintance be forgot?",

    excuse me while I raise a cup of vintage port

     

    A toast then!

    To lovers and love  wherever they remain,

    to languid laughter and paralyzing pain,

    A toast to you and I,

    a river that once ran so impossibly deep,

    and to a river that eventually ran dry,

    please, please do not cry,

     

    HUSH, HUSH MY SWEET

    • 20 October 2011
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    Thanks for stopping by and visiting my site. I hope you enjoy the poetic works shared here.Please feel free to leave a comment and subscribe. You can also find me on Facebook under Darwin Greaves. While there, stop by and like my fan page. Listed under D.Greaves the Poet.

    Contributed by Darwin Greaves

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  • About D.Greaves

    Thanks for stopping by and visiting my site. I hope you enjoy the poetic works shared here.Please feel free to leave a comment and subscribe. You can also find me on Facebook under Darwin Greaves. While there, stop by and like my fan page. Listed under D.Greaves the Poet.

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