PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sea-green are her eyes, like the summer-toned sea behind her;
and sea-green her long skirt, touching the emerald grass,
and over it, cinched at the waist, the black top of opaque silk;
in sea green and black, her fulsome curves; her wild hair red like flame;
her eyes, piercing, alert, and her smile assured, with no guile,
and no compromise to worldliness.

Gray and tan are the worn, weathered stones of the arch
beneath which she sits, and its bench pale, and its maker unknown;
and it was ancient long before the Romans' coming,
and still undisturbed long after their leaving.

Beneath that modest, ground length hem, her bare feet are playful,
soles grass-stained, earth-grimed; her toe-nails painted
blue of a metal the Romans deemed precious;
bare, playful her feet, alive to a tease, drawn to warmth and softness
while the sun, unclouded, draws on toward west.
In the evening she puts on stockings of lace like fish-net,
with silk woven solid at the heels and toes only.
Contemptuous almost always, toward shoes

she is, and devout to the litanies of Christ upon this island;
born in sight of the Tor and the wattled church at its top,
and her descent traces from Joseph, Arimathean,
in whose house Sainted Mark composed the book of Good News.

But all this I have sung is only some of the sum of her, my Muse.