Renaissance Woman

In an age of specialists and technocrats, 
she, is a Renaissance Woman. 
Post-impressions of ambience, mastering weave, 
show hierarchy of chamfering breed. 
In classical arts, evolving aristocrat seed, 
she is merely an impressionists need. 
But by the generosity and insight of spirit, 
and the grace of philosophical thought, 
she, is a Renaissance Woman. 

With an intellect sculptured in heraldry, 
and values engraved with vignette. 
Her paragon treasure of poetic pastiche, 
show an interior of imaginitive muse. 
In pictorial landscapes, patterning cartouche, 
she imprints a silhouette of obtuse. 
But by the sensitive molding and marquetry, 
and by the inlay of decorative light, 
she, is a Renaissance Woman. 
  

The Whipping Girl's Cantor 

Many roads before me lie awaiting 
in the wake of another's footsteps, 
trodding gently in the night air, 
the crescent moon shelters merit. 
The road ahead seems piteous. 
An indiscreet divide draws attention, 
another crossroad that blinds the spirit, 
orders obedience in whispered quiet. 
The future flanks on insidious. 
A barbed tongue to wound a whipping  
girl's cantor, then torments the mind. 
A new crossroad waits in the wake of 
the girl, tethered by a harvest moon. 
The footsteps waiver on perfidious. 
The road was worn from wheels of 
carriages, phantom hoofs of horses 
gait, chapped and reticent, hovered 
ahead in the discursive forest. 
The future caracoled on fastidious. 

Masterful Epoch 

Epoch integrates and entangles, 
a web of mystery and evasion. 
An enterprise of misadventures, 
inoculate perusation. 
The rationality of reasoning, alters 
perception of discord. 
And in its stead sequesters wit, 
to expropriate reward. 
The epoch accolades and conspires, 
to instill discursive reason. 
But impervious and temperate marauders, 
are arrogant and heathen. 
Powers of thought in pictorial pastiche, 
arouses literary mind. 
Showing epoch that masterful conceptions, 
weave and intertwine. 
An age of enlightenment and ambience, 
assimilate sensitive sight. 
But the proprietor of intuitive epoch, 
deserves its dignified right. 
  

Beauty 

She stood before her door gazing out at beauty, 
the ocean in all its glory beckoned her, should she stay, 
she placed her hand on the door handle and opened it 
stepping out onto the sand, feeling the spray 
of the ocean on her face, she smiled... 

She walked gracefully in the sand to water's edge, 
dipping her toes in and shivered at the cold, 
she turned from the water and bending over 
picked up a shell lying alone, and feeling bold, 
she continued her walk on the beach, she smiled... 

She loved a day like this, so crisp and bright, 
the breeze ever so gently brushing her face, 
and a warmth spread out inside her body 
as the sun's glare shone down in her place, 
she glanced back to the calls of her children, she smiled... 

She turned around and looked gazingly at beauty, 
the world in all its glory beckoning her, should she stay, 
her hand tightly gripped the shell, but she opened it, 
dropped it back onto the sand and glanced down where it lay, 
she walked with a purpose now to her children, she smiled... 
  

The Master's Piece 

The Model nude, 
was gilded in 
heraldry and 
her expression  
of regret, 
only refined 
her silhouette. 
This illuminator 
in craft, 
posed with 
shaded contrast, 
in highlighted 
marquetry, and 
tempera carved, 
molded her, 
with paragon  
vision of pallette. 
The Old Master 
conflicted vignette.