british pubA Poem by RuseInex
the black,
painted thickly of shinest of gloss on great beams of wood for ceiling, set by margins of planks of painted gold, like gold leaf, flaky and soft to meet, to frame, at each edge, of each beam, the contrast of gold and what is noble of the color black, like the edge of space as it boldly meets with the sharpest, the finest rim of golden light, enraptures me to whimsical jaunts of fancy that drift me far away to the exotic, while yet, i sit, and smile, and speak, and look into her green eyes and wonder at the color gold merging with the beauty of black, contrast like no other on the ceiling i ponder its solidness and heaviness it is of finest density impenetrable, supremely cozy and nurturing, rustic, yet clean and solid, in all its charming strength, an enclave nestled in the dark, magical, everlasting, like a fantasy keeps me safe in this moment no threat in this, no demands, no expectations to revel in this moment, an everlasting moment no effort required on a dinner linen, but to enjoy, thick and clean as whitest snow we sit, our faces softly lit, by the yellow lights hidden below, from the street above a nook of mingled earthy scents with salted air and seaweed, residue from wafting air that hangs outside, not far from the roaring waves gleaming bottles of varied liquors, of varied colored bottles sit in ranks above the bar, like that of colored glassware with its coin toss at a night-lit carnival of delights escape into the scent of tobacco drifting silently and soft to the ceiling and into your tranquil lungs breathing it all in, mix it with muffled sounds of quiet laughter and warmth, exuded to smiles harboured in each quarter of this haven sheltered by the black and the gold and share it, carry it from bar to room, to room, to each quarter and back, without disturbance this secret place near the sea the smells of cod and fries the best of best of stews, and squid and yeasted breads and butter and pudding a most delectable evening drink i feel and hear the galley creak the whisky goblet speaks of yet another spirit sip © 2017 RuseInexReviews
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1 Review Added on November 5, 2017 Last Updated on November 5, 2017 AuthorRuseInexFresno, CAAboutI was born in obscurity Outside a small country town’s limits In a plank shack I kept a few memories That come into my head That i still carry around That i visit now and then The dust .. more..Writing
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