Villanelle
On Christmas day
You can find serenity
At Gossamer bay.
The natives there say
"Listen! You'll hear a rhapsody
On Christmas day."
When the winter winds play
And caress nature's tapestry
At Gossamer bay.
The seas begin to sway
As trees dance to a melody
On Christmas day.
Come, listen, and you'll stay
In nature's loving company
At Gossamer bay.
Accept nature's gift this holiday
And you may receive peace and clarity
On Christmas day
At Gossamer bay.
© 2001 Crystal Rose
Edward Burne-Jones. "Love Among the Ruins" 1894
Buckminster Fuller, domes and the world
as a spaceship --- triangles and hello
what's your sign? The whole earth is uncurled
in a galaxy of sparks --- our fellow
brothers and sisters fall in slow motion
colored mysterious at the surface
everything spins and whispers emotion.
Love is the answer. Money is the worst
substitute for times...times spent unable
to watch the roads and sing and smile and eat.
Souls feed high on the real and tangible
difference between the straight and the soft sheet
of signs. A different hopeful vanity;
humanité mythologiquement douce.
© by Stephen Morse, 2003
Les fantômes d'après-Noël
Edward Burne-Jones. "Cupid's Hunting Fields" 1885
n Christmas Day at Gossamer Bay
ing I, for musing of the Rhodeia,
for Chloris, Aphrodite, Zephryus
of whom consummated satureia,
sanguine flora of redolent surplus.
Legend tells verily of woe, and wane
in those lives denied the mortal coiling
despite youth, vigor vitale to sustain
now granted only death, within soiling
A fragile nymph robbed of her jest and whim,
a lover lost to the wooded reaches
whose veil upon a lioness did dim
with blood as this maiden sought far beaches.
So it came to pass, her fairness would fast
when the Gods Rose, set in stone to last.
© by Tyler Joseph Wiseman, 2003
This love is like any other, but quite less.
No beautiful clouds, no particular rose
but different, much different, from the rest.
Maybe it is just the way the sunlight glows?
I stretch my fingers across the painted sill.
Lightly tap my nails upon the coloured pane,
knowing every move takes great strength and will.
It's not easy feeling we've loved in vain.
Oh, the sky! How blue, how very blue it is.
And this grass, it's perfect green will never last.
Still, we dream of meeting on a sacred night
where love's passion returns us, simply white.
© by Deborah Russell, 2000
