There's no more room on this agenda
where the years are slipping away ,
tracing furrows on harvest seasons .
Times scatters the precious adornment
of a glance offered by chance.
Ink of a word ,the craftsman didn't
throw on such a weird canvas...
Regret concerto performed
on some unfinished score.
We've met again in a story
between Atlantis and Stonehenge
or an ibiza beach
when I was a hippie ,divine fisher
in the moonlight .
The day after had a taste of somewhere
when led Zeppelin called
for evening prayer ...
I longed and pluck for you
a bouquet of passing clouds ,
bird pecking at the offered fruit...
I loved your solar nudity
from a maya realm
and still have on our lips
the offering of that ice-cream
savored in piazza Spagna .
Space time macchiato ...
Bella Elvira ,
you know ,my hair has become
white horses that no longer
run in the wind .
I write my verses at the stable
on a little wobbly table ...
waving towards yesterday
where Lennon lies for eternity...
Bella Elvira ...
Old ladies dress for midnight
and dreaming to the rainy rhymn of past
confide vagrant memories to their umbrella...
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 10th, 2025 13:27
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, Cheeky Missy
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Comments3
Age requires decisions. I love the last two lines of this poem and a fave
These inspirers in a corner of memory...
There is a beautiful, weathered grace in these lines — a kind of music of memory. I like its unapologetic sentimentality and emotional landscapes. It wanders like an old man gathering flowers in a field of clouds, and that is its charm.
A field of clouds .A dazzling painting in my mind !
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