Pale shadows sweep the solitary moon.
It is Spring, dark fig leaves swoon among bright parakeets,
seated on loosening branches.
At midday, white- washed walls reflect the heat.
Sitting on a cool stone, smooth-worn seat,
drinking litres of rough-hewn wine.
After siesta, cross shadowy, echoing piazzas.
Contemplate ancient church that dominates the plaza,
smell drifting scent of oranges and limes.
Remember you are not entering the divine.
19 Sep 06
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I guess you mean "vacation" when you say "Holiday" here...
that's a regional difference in terminology.
in the US, when you say "holiday" you mean "christmas" and all of the fixings that go along with it.
isn't that funny how our geography shapes our verbiage???
I like this poem about "holiday" or vacay... call it what you will.
Differences and nuances of culture even within the districts of one town never cease to amaze me. Glad you liked it and nice to have a comment from you.
Once I got used to the hidden pronouns, I liked it.
I wrote this after reading a holiday brochure about a place i will never be able to afford to go to. Thanks for the comment
I do hate pronouns, especially with custard on
Larry fruity verbs Lark
well the mix of imagery brings to mind the brochure..
l1 is simply stunning
You have inspired me to look through further holiday brochures.
Larry have poem will travel Lark
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it is spring yes it is!! lovely poiece!1 thanks Ed