Richard Blanch Poems

And an acrostic
Rumanian Thoughts

Out of such encounters bounds felicitous infinity:
...

It is indeed a fine breast
Domed, close to the bone,
A luxuriant simplicity-
Spirited, always upward,
...

What has happened? I have wondered and wandered. On the wall
A painting catches my eye of a place, of an entrance.
I was there. Now out of memory quietly it calls,
As archetypes will, I suppose, when they are needed,
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With apologies to S.T. Coleridge and Kubla Khan
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To Lord Hypnos
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Moving in measured fashion, a guest
Uninvited, it ranges painted distance,
Hovers, in a drifting, purposeful dance
Quite at leisure. But make no mistake: its quest
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To Aphrodite Anadyomene

Who can this be? How can night be bright? Why? Can I not tell?
All is ineffable. Shut my eyes, do not see, that is best,
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To whatever inspires anyone to write or share their verse.

……..So it shines bright and fair
As it must, well beyond reaching,
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It is difficult to find. Like an island bathed in mist,
Glinting distantly, biding its time, waiting for the chiming
In the mind to change to a new key. Listen-
Ice is melting. While purple fades, green lines
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Monte Cristo No.2

Whiteout. Snow. Glowing smokers swirl
Smouldering in their own whirlpool,
...