In Europa, Where the Forest Whispers

Just reminiscing of a night in Paris with my then fiance - a night I wished would never end, but unfortunately did.

 

 

Saturday in the garden, I’m counting the hours,

Gazing out upon your city’s lights.

Hand in hand, our time grows sour,

For God couldn’t give us just one eternal night.

 

Ever conscious we fade to dreams,

Letting Venus blitzkrieg the Earth.

I ravish your lips in the midsummer breeze,

Bated breath pray, “sweet ambrosia pour forth.”

 

Sunday morning, you Judas Iscariot!

Shatter my dreams DENIED, CLOSED!

Swing lower oh sweet chariot,

For there’ll be no one here to carry you home.

 

Led barefoot, without clip or seed falling,

All I hear are Monday’s nails calling. 

Reviews

[Chantal-lise Mirman]

What a wonderful quasi-sonnet, Chris! From the evocative title to the relentlessly romantic imagery that sets up time and again, only to be smashed to smithereens, you capture the sweet burst of Love, all the more precious for its brevity!

My favorite line has to be:

"letting Venus blitzkrieg the Earth."

What an overwhelming notion! We are all powerless in the event of such an attack and rooting for "the enemy" despite our show of seeking shelter!

And despite the fact that this weekend has come to an end, and

"Monday's nails calling."

does not have the same promise of romance, there is no real sense of finality. Weekends come and go, and the opportunity to "ravish lips" may present itself again! For me, the down-to-earth feeling of the final couplet establishes that the romance was real, not imagined, and is therefore a possibilty in the future!

[1809 Black Plague Decem..]

Very dreamy Chris, every word so magically enticing. --mishel

[Nannette LaRee~]

I agree with Amanda...that like all your poetry, this is lovely...you just do not know how to write anything badly...you will be a hugely well-read author: men will envy you and women will adore you.

And...while most of us who are romantic, dream of exotic places, what we often seem to forget, is that it rains in Paris, just as much as it rains here. And like sweet Dorothy learned: "There is no place like home".

[Amanda Crandall]

As with all of your poetry, the angels are in the architecture. We feel you as a stranger in your environment, at home simply because love is there - and truly what more could be needed than that? The answer is given to us - an eternity. Because time will take from you what you hold dear, and taint the beauty of the moment. your symbolism and tribute to that of the ancient is masterful, as in all of your work. One could believe you not only to be a lover of history, but a part of it. Well done as always, Chris.

[Robert Luna]

This paint a scene of sadness in a way that I don't think you intended for it to. As i read this I could not help but to see the image of a person that's love has been tainted with a sense of fear of the unknown, or not have the familiarity of the normal life that they have come to surround themselves with. Knowing in your heart that this is not the right person for you but having a fear to let go and move on. The fear of being alone is a key underlying thought gained by this piece. Knowing in your heart that this is only a matter of time before you both self destruct and fall to pieces.

I loved the imagery of this and how vividly it paints this picture in my head and have a deep respect for opening your heart and soul and displaying a part of it for us to witness and partake of.

Great Job!!!!

[Diana Owen Busy with Li..]

very nicely written.. weekends coming...