warm winter overtones
of a sunset's glow
poet paints deep emotions
of an epoch's passing
...
Vanity is an integrated part
Of every artist:
Even their modesties are suspect,
To be understood
...
For you small child of delight
with your wild wayward cries
this world I would remake
...
Time has stood still in this village
where young voices no longer giggle.
Dogs bark, birds chirp, streams still trickle
...
this is not that hour that was,
nor ever shall be, what once
ran wildly -
with the wind's frenzy
...
How to exult a poem on this day
when you awake to see a little boy
washed upon the shores of your counry, drowned:
no words can remove these tears which have jogged,
...
Out of chaos comes Light: no words... a friend
wrote: it's true, for nothing can express pain
and agony felt by shock of fiends
who have ruined so many splintered lives:
...
Born into an age long flown into winds
of which no rerurn will ever revive -
glory
...
Great art will always be great love,
of finding paths to show beloved
its aching heart, keeping tryst
with something missed.
...
Strict metric melodies mold - and mingle
with jingle sounds so old
hard to behold and uphold -
Celtic tidal tides, long rolled.
...
Now, in this January cold
I let my old bones think of thee
A son of New Year's birthday born
Where our first morn did eyes so see
...
Has the Winter kept you warm
Covered you in forgetful snow
And will you not now
Allow my Spring Rain to ripen
...
We were lovers
in a hurried world.
We were worried
so we gave to others
What our hearts desired
for ourselves.
...
Another dream, another illusion
Where waking finds an empty pillow
Another hope, another deception
Where aching heart sees no tomorrow
...
Ir's love as light as snow
whose soft embrace
as gentle as those flakes
that fell somewhere
...
There's a fever upon me to produce
to be more productive
even prodigiously so
knowing no limit, reason, excuse;
...
Once upon a lLifeifetime
The best of all possible worlds
Flew into my window
And left a secret bag
...
Now, in this hour of life's labored blast,
where age has honored its dour damage,
on what was once young, mindless,
to what would become, lipless,
...
Born poor. Had wonderful teachers who helped me climb out of the hole. Lived in East End London 5 yrs, then Wales (motherland of Mother) where we were even poorer. Obtained a SRN certificate; escaped to N.A. joined MRT dramatic art school in Montreal, obtained certificate after 2 year training in order to read my poems and those of others in a professional way. Lived in Quebec, married with 3 children- moved to New York then to Paris and have lived there ever since. A nobody who believes she's a somebody meant to pass on her messages. Boasting was once a Greek attribute, so maybe I've got some Greek blood, along with others, as I believe the genes hve their proper memory. Panmelys 2015 This name only to be used on all artistic work: please, thank you. PANMELYS)
Winter Sunset
warm winter overtones
of a sunset's glow
poet paints deep emotions
of an epoch's passing
knows that worlds grow
each, their own hopes
welcoming new coming.
flow of humanity, watching
many sunsets: many rising dawns
dipped in vibrant tones
creation's pulsing life force:
all art, power, ambition, dim low
besides nature's selections:
life's obscure source.
Panmelys 2000
Love is never wasted even when it does't last.
Love is never wasted Even when it doesn't last.
The more you learn the less you know.
Live every moment as if it were your last.