I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination. ~John Keats~
The fields are filled with the delicate dandelions
whilst yellowpetals turn to white umbrellas of flight
the sun kisses every drop of dew
which art suspended under each petal
a reflection of your love is pictured within its sphere
The gentle wind blowing over my warm skin
reminding me of your whispers of love
as I walk barefoot now through the sand
each grain a memory of what once was
caressing my inner being with shifting reminders
I come upon the sand dune of early morn
where fowl encircle me in the silence
and I yearn for you in peaceful serenity
that which bathes my soul clothing it
in the tranquility of loves memories
I could sleep and dream in this "place and time" that you have shared through your verses, Carol. Lovely and serene. Thank you for sharing. Love and best wishes to you,
Love will always surround you especially mine. You are a beautiful lady inside and out
Stay well and keep writing
Eddy
Reviewed by D. Vegas (Reader)
Reviewed on April 18, 2013
Another romantic poem from the top poetrese of AD. Your words fall softly and gently on those who look for a romantic interlude wanting to be loved and sharing their life with someone who can give what the other needs. Knowing there are no guarantees and that love is a commitment between two hearts that beat as one...
Love,
Deborah
Reviewed by Gert van Weenen (Reader)
Reviewed on April 18, 2013
Tranquility of loves memories
So beautiful depictured in the verses of this poem
All that your eyes see and your senses feel
Reminds you of his wonderful love for you
breathtaking again
Reviewed by Diane Miller (Reader)
Reviewed on April 17, 2013
Your imagination and imagery are compelling for this very romantic piece. Love is the answer here.
Wonderful use of the ever changing nature of dandelion, Lily.
It doesn't exist at once. Only the Nature's elements
(air, sun, water, earth) can poor themselves into a dandelion,
following (knowing) the pattern imprinted in the seeds.
So is the music, the pattern's written in the score...becomes
sound of song, or/and instrumental play...by performance.
So is human living, action. We never have the whole thing
at once...can pick up only a little portion of...performance,
like love....the rest becoming, well... memory...that can be
poor together......when with nature.....
Everything is a performance.
"whilst yellow petals turn to white umbrellas..." very, very cool image language, Lily. This poem gives a temperature and balm of gentleness. Nice ~~ djl
New Poetry by Lily of Lough Neagh a.k.a C. Dennis-Woosley
I loved him. At age twelve he touched my heart with his music. At age twenty he captured my heart when our eyes met as he sat on a stage and sang Four months later, he fractured my heart with his refusal to allow us to stay together. At age seventy
Love is universal and not limited to the most perfect among us. In this collection of romantic short stories and poetry, love comes to those who are decidedly imperfect, who possess very real human flaws, scars, and challenges. Awaiting us as we are.
Zara’s Bois:
When the powers-that-be make the decision to return a selfish party-girl to Earth on three missions of redemption, can romance and mayhem be far behind? One hot and trendy gay nightclub, two bickering angels and three unlikely p
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Regis
Mark
Gail
Stay well and keep writing
Eddy
Love,
Deborah
So beautiful depictured in the verses of this poem
All that your eyes see and your senses feel
Reminds you of his wonderful love for you
breathtaking again
Di
*Carolee*
which I embraced as I read
so tenderly..
Lady Vivian
Ron
Art suspended under each petal..love's reflective whispers.
Beautifully penned in tender and charming verses.
Lady Mary Ann
budd
It doesn't exist at once. Only the Nature's elements
(air, sun, water, earth) can poor themselves into a dandelion,
following (knowing) the pattern imprinted in the seeds.
So is the music, the pattern's written in the score...becomes
sound of song, or/and instrumental play...by performance.
So is human living, action. We never have the whole thing
at once...can pick up only a little portion of...performance,
like love....the rest becoming, well... memory...that can be
poor together......when with nature.....
Everything is a performance.
Love ya!
Jane