copra yields an oily consommé
a sous chef’s compliment de jour
in the delicate edges of my memory
in fractured light I see filaments
glistening in crimson elegance
my compliment for a lifetime
my spirit’s supplement; a life line
at the base of each your promise in grace
fractal elements bound with diligence
they surround me like angel’s breath
I have found their rhythm within you
walking among ledgers in graveyards
granite and boundary trees my escorts
your fingers I hold onto lightly clasped
strands of human emotions transitioning
from your persona to mine, a divine wine
WHEN YOU CAN COMPARE 'IT' TO GOURMET DELICACIES, WHEN YOU CAN WALK THROUGH A SOMBER BUT RICH PLACE AND FEEL THE STRANDS OF 'ITS' PRESENCE DOWN TO-YOUR-FINGERTIPS - LIKE FINE WINE, THEN YOU KNOW...'IT' HAS TO BE 'LOVE'!!!! ONLY SOMEONE IN LOVE COULD UNDERSTAND AND APPRECIATE THE DEPTH TO WHICH YOU'VE TAKEN THIS. A FINE WORK, JON, INDEED! THANKS FOR SHARING. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INPIRATIONS
Unlike you, I am a more simple man, much less a connoisseur of fine soup du jour or poetic nuance you display here. I am still trying to grasp the dread of graveyard images displayed as her fine wine. Is she dead or just figuratively gone?
But, as the others have commented, poetically, your poem is superb.
Blending Southern Gothic mystery romance, fantasy, theater, dance, music, and flashes of humor, tells the story of a pair of lovers in two separate time periods who find themselves battling an evil fifty years apart.
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Regis
But, as the others have commented, poetically, your poem is superb.
Ron