Me As Esme


Meanders Esme
As cloud she says
More like to as planet
A stone(d) throw(n) away
A queenly throne bestowed
From whence at whim descend
As yet unthought, as unlikely
Words plucked betimely
Mischievous bedfellows
Beckoning pause for
Notions embowelled
Beneath the bric-à-brac
Littering the quotidian
Out-the-box conjectures
Jasmin sweet upon the air
Breathe deeply and sigh
Momentous moment
Immortalised, free

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~


You may well enjoy and find nourishment in Esme’s Cloud:

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on May 11, 2019, in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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