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Elizabeth Santos
Member Rara Avis

since 1999-11-08

Posts 9269
Pennsylvania

0 posted 2005-10-06 01:45 PM

I know not where my words will flow
but know full well from where they come
from which seeds they geminate
from which well they spring forth

We met by chance in obscure surroundings
drank of a common aging wine
danced to the same rhythms of African descent
and of primeval passion
assimilated the same lyrics of prophets and poets

But I was born of simple innocence
and he as a refugee from the fears
and the grips of injustice
that breeds hunger, distortion, and courage

His life goes forth at a fearless pace
and is immersed in vivid memories
rhythmic sounds of cities and country sides
birthed from the a silent womb of a foreign capital

He lives for life,
assigning human value to lofty heights of dignity,
eloquence to deeper wells of thought
and aesthetics to a grander exhibition
in the wondrous gallery of the eye

He weaves a web of gossamer threads
of Magyar sounds and Iberian passions
trying to connect them in a meaningful pattern
to the heartbeats of defeat and  victory
that echoed off the walls at Appomattox,
and to the visions spawned by windows of reality,
a train’s view of Indonesian coastlines,
a history’s view of European kings
a young man’s view of mid east war
a pigeon’s view of ancient azulejos,
a fathers view of life in gold sienna and burnt umber
a heart’s view of beautiful children
the east and west views of sunset and sunrise
from the shores of Panama
the beaches of Galveston
the fortified walls of San Juan
the cold tip of Punta de Arena
and the deck of the USS Norfolk,
a table top’s view of officers quarters
of a dated Allentown diner
of the bustling Churrascarria Gaucho
of hand thatched beach huts
of the Hotel Gloria,  and of the favorite haunches
of Budapest, Lima, Beirut and Madrid

The Danube, the Mississippi, the Rimac
the headwaters of the Amazon and of the Nile.
In Pisac and Abyssinia
all these waters must somehow be connected,
not by oceans, but threads of life,
by sentiments,
by kinship and friendship
by strains of Bartok,
by deep abiding love
and by pain and pleasure -

A web of life to forever rest
in the tranquil shadows
of the Christ of Corcovado

He lives for life
and I am
a mere observer,
a fragile flower
risen from the wooded hills
of Chester County

Elziabeth Santos

Nightshade

Member Patricius

since 2001-08-31

Posts 13962
just out of reach

1 posted 2005-10-06 01:54 PM

Your words spring forth from a well of love. Wonderful Elizabeth..just wonderful.
hugs, Chris

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
~Carl Sandburg

Martie

Moderator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-09-21

Posts 28049
California

2 posted 2005-10-06 02:32 PM

Liz

The mulch from which you grew, produced one of the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen!

Sharksbean
Member

since 2005-09-25

Posts 368
jax

3 posted 2005-10-06 02:32 PM

i agree withNightshade 100% this is absolutely beautiful thank you for sharing this

-may the force be with you in poetry

LeeJ
Member Patricius

since 2003-06-19

Posts 13296

4 posted 2005-10-07 08:38 AM

Liz, this entire write was like watching a movie, descriptions that touch, visuals which embrace...and written with great passion, knowledge, this...

In Pisac and Abyssinia
all these waters must somehow be connected,
not by oceans, but threads of life,
by sentiments,
by kinship and friendship
by strains of Bartok,
by deep abiding love
and by pain and pleasure -

A web of life to forever rest
in the tranquil shadows
of the Christ of Corcovado

in your greatness, you see the big picture of life...with such clear eyes and allowing heart.

Marvelous this....and you!

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