Hail enchantress, thy luminous posturing beckons
The launch of a thousand ships;
Hail Laura, Hath thou of Troy or Ilor’
I would play Theseus, though I be Odysseus.
My voice resonates from far away clime,
But I bring a trumpet in the behest,
Blowing beauty, showy and sprightly,
Nested and secluded by distance and isle
To counter the hold of Menelaus
And blur the trappings of Paris,
All of who saunter around in proximal touches;
I send these lines, with their didactic bits
Glittering; and resting in thy roost,
Thou may look far but,
Behold the rumblings of troubling voice
Sunbathing out in solitude for thee.
A reminder: the ripe words of Bacon.
Beauty is summer fruits, deciduous in time,
Though it satisfies the longings of virtues
When its inner reins hold sway its tide.
Would that I could hear or see thee,
Out here in the sun, at this beach
Calming the waves of rampaging voices
By thy visage cast upon my heart
Not: Written long ago, when the hand wouldn’t stop scribbling.