Wednesday, May 6, 2020

The Greatest Gift #MFRWhooks

Electrifying Poetry Collection


#Poetry #Odes #LoveSongs


A #MustRead for anyone who has ever experienced love, pain, defeat, or joy...


An International Book Awards Finalist -



Blurb:

Flashes of Emotion is a book of romantic poetry, considered both timely and timeless. The selection allows us to tap into the poet’s insights on a wide variety of topics from life and love to death and drudgery. It is contemporary poetry with a classical, electrifying edge, highlighting a lively, refreshing, and innovative style.

Amazon Hall of Fame says the poems glow with musical invention and the manner in which the poet elects to place his words on the page enhances the meaning and the beauty of these works... Liquid flowing music from a poet who understands passion. His eloquent poems speak to each of us as private as a whispered conversation. Brilliant.

And the Kindle Book Review says the poet’s style may take a bit of getting used to, but that voice produced several favorites in my notes. 5-stars it is, and extremely recommended.

The Hook - {Poem Excerpt}


Autumn in Florence
is a mélange of the elements of charm,
a yawn away from the steady shivers lying beyond
At dusk, a wistful stroll along eclectic memoried boulevards,   
with echoes of church bells in tow
unveils a canny sense of things
A nostalgic glimpse of old things,
old people, old places,
bequeathing their secrets unreservedly,
at the end of a tacky, melancholic day

It is autumn in Florence…   
even the blind can tell,
for a whiff of that dry Tuscan air,
disguised as a romantic breath on the cheek
now wafts soothingly, alluringly,
like the caressing whisper of a lover at dawn
The gaiety, the gossip, 
the veritable quality of the decline of the year,
all of it a mishmash of this season of gloom,
and caught in the midst of it, you and me,
‘cause in our souls, a conscious dread had sprung      
                       
It is autumn in Florence…
even a tot can tell
from the inexorable surge of parched foliage and withering flora
now palpable like a beauty queen wilting with the passage of time
as an impotent sun looms
with a staggering degree of poetic frenzy, like a bad omen
over that little piazza that I call lair and you call refuge  
Jaded, like the dream that steered us here
nadir, like our possibilities, and poised to snap,
like the fragile thread holding our sanity together

It is autumn in Florence…
even the inebriated can tell,
for the Tuscan sky is daubed with gray-hued awnings
a kaleidoscope of waning streaks, epitomizing
the artistic finesse of the heavens,
a subtle connotation, a riveting verity that
four times a year the seasons change without fail,
that now leaves must turn sallow and plummet, and flowers must wither
And with them, everything except us,
must leap beyond their prime

It is autumn in Florence…  
Spanish edition
even a troll can tell,
from that lingering mystery of vitality and lethargy,
so exquisite, so sophisticated
which no longer obscures the daunting haze that strains the air
In the flush and bloom of early womanhood, you …
radiant like a new moon on a starlit night
cunningly oblivious of the secrets of my tears
paying no heed to the disheartening dread that swathes me,                  
for in this season, with every leaf that falls,
and every flower that withers, your days are numbered

It is autumn in Florence…
even an obtuse can tell,
from the stunning sight of Fiesole transformed into violet by the magic of twilight
And now, here we are—you and me—ensnared by a dream
unraveled by a foe, invincible and vile
like injured rebels ferried home to roost
Desolate hands too volatile to reach
ardent eyes too doleful to watch
as your frailty eats you up with delicious cruelty 
the way a vulture does a prey
causing every fantasy within the limits of our amorous deeds  
to evaporate, along with the last breath in your lungs

It is autumn in Florence… 
even dreamers can tell, for
the vestiges these bleak nights amass were once stacks of hope
on which now abide memories undimmed 
A better friend than you life never gave  
you were the bloom that autumn failed to erode 
the warmth that winter couldn’t pinch from me
the wind that summer could not smother
the flare that’ll forever be my spring
But more than all this, my love, 
You were life’s
Greatest gift
To
Me.

Buy Links


 
   

12 comments:

  1. " as an impotent sun looms
    with a staggering degree of poetic frenzy, like a bad omen
    over that little piazza that I call lair and you call refuge
    Jaded, like the dream that steered us here
    nadir, like our possibilities, and poised to snap,
    like the fragile thread holding our sanity together"

    Very atmospheric and emotional!

    ReplyDelete
  2. You had me at - it is autumn in Florence.
    Tweeted

    ReplyDelete
  3. The bloom autumn failed to erode fives a vivid image

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It's a great pleasure to hear you say that, thanks.

      Delete
  4. Reminds me of 19th century poems by Tennyson or Byron.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Very evocative and atmospheric.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Even your title, Autumn in Florence, is evocative.

    ReplyDelete