For the visually challenged writer, the photo is of a young couple sitting on a bed drinking coffee together and the young woman is whispering something young man’s ear.
On a spare bed, we made ourselves With more cups of coffee than we need I would freeze the moment forever Because of her whisper that now lives in my heart Each word a precious jewel I never thought I would hear She loves me. Is it the beautiful bed we made Or the sweet coffee that binds her to my side I do not need an answer The magic has been made…
( For the visually challenged reader, this image shows a view of the Eiffel Tower at night when it is illuminated in golden light. In the foreground you can see the Seine river reflecting the lights)
We had been looking forward to our visit to Paris, the City of Light, and our expectations were high. Especially the Eiffel Tower, always so magical in photographs!
In the daylight hours, however, it didn’t seem very magical. Interesting enough, I suppose, the way the size of it dominates the city. Painted a nondescript brown, reducing the magnificent structure to nothing more than a pile of boring metal work during the day.
We loved the Louvre and the beautiful gardens of the Bois de Boulogne. Notre Dame Cathedral was impressive, which almost made up for the earlier disappointment.
That first evening though, we discovered a completely transformed City of Light, so magical, and glamourous enough for anyone. Ruled over by a transformed and gleaming Tower, now gloriously impressive.
I had to know what made such a difference, and this is what I discovered…
“Constructed using puddle iron, the Tower is protected from oxidation by several coats of paint to ensure that it lives forever.
The Tower has been re-painted 18 times since its initial construction, an average of once every seven years. It has changed colour several times, passing from red-brown to yellow-ochre, then to chestnut brown and finally to the bronze of today, slightly shaded off towards the top to ensure that the colour is perceived as the same all the way up as it stands against the Paris sky.
The beams of light, directed from the bottom towards the top, illuminate the Eiffel Tower from the inside of its structure. Since 1958, by replacing the 1,290 working projectors that illuminated the Tower from the outside, they highlighted the fine metallic construction of the monument and illuminated the areas used by late-night visitors until the closing of the Tower to the public. In addition to the aesthetic aspect, it is equally necessary for the security of the late-night operation of the Tower.”
So long ago, loving hands touched these old ivory keys. The day you left me roses, your favourite piece of music. I placed my hands where yours had been, Knowing I would never see you again. Those beautiful roses faded, your memory still sharp, Keeping the pain of lost love alive Time can be so cruel when memory, I wish, had faded alongside the roses…
I brought this sketchy black and white print at a boot sale. Hung it on my bedroom wall. Hoping I would find a partner soon. Be careful what you wish for For I got more than I bargained for Each night he would come, turning my nights into a wild dance of love Try as I might, I could not hold on to him until morning. The space beside me remains empty…
It was late. the night dark. Starlit moonbeams Dance between the leaves They held each other tight. Whispering their words of love The changing light tore them apart. They ran for home, hot breath following. Their night of forbidden love marked their backs…
( For the visually challenged reader, this image shows an envelope hanging by a white tread. In the background there is a house entrance)
I pick up my skirt and run the half mile across the field To the other side of the village forbidden to me by my father Where I know Phillipe has hung out his letter to me His handmade seal, a golden heart with a kiss The red envelope is for my eyes only The small brown one for my father, begging for an audience He will again tell my father how much he loves me How one day, he will make me his wife He will be worthy to ask for my hand I hide my letters where father cannot find them In our church, the one place he will never set foot in I give him the small brown envelope to hear another refusal Over my dead body, he would say I cry myself to sleep, waiting for the day we can do more Than steal a few moments alone in our church Where he will tell me his fortune is almost made He will stand in from of his King, my father and ask for my hand, no longer a pauper…
For the visually challenged writer, the photo shows an old man in a lush park setting. He has long white hair and a long white beard and is dressed in back with a guitar hanging around his neck and a bouquet of flowers in one hand.
Time Slip
Merlin is back, the spell that held him for too long, broken His search through time begins to find the one he loves, Vivienne With each finding, he is too late She has vanished, taken another ride on time Her adventure never stops She has Merlin’s magic to guide her and uses it well She has had many loves since that long time ago When Merlin chased her, leaving her with one burning idea She must have his magic. She can feel him behind her See him now, he has found one of her favourite gardens By the look of him, he has come to serenade her Flowers too. How smart he looks. She feels sorry for him Her feelings have not changed towards him He will find the garden empty; his search will go on He can feel her, just ahead of him Soon he will trap the one thing his magic let slip away…
