Fantasy Tete-a-Tete

Forward I sit as to entice your taste buds
Anxious emotions between our hearts racing heart-thuds
Nuance arises when speaking of romance
Today, right now, will you indulge in our happenstance
Arise your eyes, succumb to my wiles
Saucy passion, my lips do beguile
Yummy tasting, brings a seductive smile

Tantalizing
Ever consuming
Tenderly
Eagerly resuming

Alas

Tonight but a moment in time
Enamoring affections ascribed in rhyme
Tantalizing fantasies shared between two
Ending sweet moments, I’ll bid you adieu

Describes my love affair with writing.  © 2 hours ago, Georgieanna J. Harp    love • writing • creativity • secret-moments

A Prima Donna’s Private Libretto

My four-poster of gossamer ever so subtly perfumed beckons me to come forth
A moment stolen to indulge, as feelings of contentment seep into the deep crevices of my soul
My excitement builds like an orchestral overture and consumes me

French doors gently ajar to invite the aroma of a hint of rain forthcoming
I take a moment to indulge in its fragile perfume as my senses are flooded
The wet metallic smell evokes yet a coziness to my room

Silken fabrics so slippery they envelop and caress my every curve
I take a moment just to feel and admire its moire pattern under my fingertips
I feel bathed in the richest of silken decadence by the finest chocolatier

Boudoir adornment of mauve, vintage ivories and fluted candles illuminate a sweet ambiance
Reminiscent of romantic era’s past and times of chivalric knights the atmosphere is nostalgic
My ideal moment heralded by the greatest of daydreams and inner hopes

Alluring smells of climbing jasmine, honeysuckle sweetness, and lemony-rose scented magnolias add a pieces de resistance to my envisage
My inner aria was gaining momentum to hit its crescendo as Fur Elise softly played in the background of my mind
The final curtain is drawn and my fantasy has reached its close
Il est fini.......It is finished
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I love romance and passion and all the feminine things of the Victorian Era. This was a way to bring those feelings to the surface.  © 7 minutes ago, Georgieanna J. Harp    passion • romance • elation • sweet-daydreams

Heirlooms from Her Heart

Granny, Granny teach me your ways,

let me glean from all your days.

My dear child pull up a chair,

I’ll give you the keys to my hoary hair.

Granny, Granny what about your pies?

How do your meringues reach atop the skies?

My dear child room temperature eggs,

whisk till stopping your arms they will beg.

Granny, Granny what about your crust?

Tell me how you must you must!

My dear child don't handle your dough,

treat it gently and in the pan it will go.

Granny, Granny how do you cream?

Mixing butter and sugar is a child's finger dream.

My dear child beat like the dickens and don't hold back,

the spoon and bowl should make a big smack.

Granny, Granny what about your fudge?

How do I make it and it not look like sludge?

My dear child it needs just the right boil,

soft ball stage avoids all your toil.

Granny, Granny how can I live

without your love and all you give?

My dear child please understand,

one day my soul will leave this land.

Granny, Granny I love you so much,

the sun is out and us it shall touch.

My dear child let's have some tea ,

sit and talk of my secret recipe.

Granny? Granny? How will I…

Granny, Granny why did you die?

I’ll kiss your cheek and say goodbye,

caress your hair and draw you nigh.

Seeds sown in love shall never wilt,

memories on my heart forever strongly built.

Forever heirlooms not replaced,

moments in time never to be erased.

In Memory of my Granny and her unselfish love to pour into me.

She was forthright, determined and in the face of change and dementia she persevered mightily. A tribute to the human will and a tenacious spirit. A survivor of the war and the Depression, a great mother, wife, grandmother and daughter…….a true woman of excellence.

         

Dance of the Emberess

She dances in her queerest delight
thunder resounds from her exothermic light

Blues, purples and her searing laces of orange
she is a crimson hot woman horridly scorned

Her stilettos of black are a dead man's delight
torturous weapons of a woman's evil plight 

Tango with her and you will get burned
her torso climbs and twists with a yearn

She hustles your breath as she writhes round about 
smoke ensues, her charred lips make you shout

Her lecherous soul, Eros in nature
an evil Aphrodite, infernal nomenclature

Although fire can be good and bad, this struck me today as I watched the flames in our wood-stove.  © 6 minutes ago, Georgieanna J. Harp    fire • passion • wood • flames

Gamboge Balladeer (Yellow Singer of Ballads)

Here I sit so tiny and frail

I look upon her frozen trail

Winter has come and I love to sit and ponder

I sit on my lovely branch and wander

All my friends some south they flew

my symphonic noises echo off her frozen dew

“out with the old, and in with the new”

I fluff each quill and regain my stance

tweet my songs and dance my dance

An elegant ballroom in her azure sky do I fly

orchestral reflections echo from nearby

“out with the old, and  in with the new”

My yellowy down has become so plush

I look so chic in her snow covered lush

I await my sweet friend Spring

I have many melodious songs to sing

“out with the old, and in with the new”

I am her ambassador as the earth, she awakens

out of her slumber so long she has taken

Now I shall take flight to her warm skies to soar

Shout “wake up world”! Winter is no more

“out with the old, and in with the new”

Soul Flight-Heart of the Avian

It was then I served you, dank and cold
homeless sojourner from days of ole

Why is it that you do not speak
your hands they tremble and your spirit is weak

Lost and forgotten, your eyes forfeited their glow
the concrete jungle has brought your heart low

Empty hands full of cracks
bloody wounds leaking like sticky tree sap

Pungent odors seeping profusely
a voice from within saying “please don't abuse me”

I stepped back and wondered the mileage on this man
the crevices on his face showing life's rough demands

His friend the Robin really cares not
of his filth or his foul or what he hasn’t got

His spirit can soar as he watches their flight
sickness has taken him on his life's last plight

“In Memory” his image is memorialized in paint
his story I penned to bring attention to the faint

The heavy bricks of life have built up walls
society hides and away from the homeless it crawls

Afraid their filth might contaminate their kind
in reality most think this in the windmills of their mind

May we all take notice of the these and those
those birds of a feather who are now lost in prose

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Prompt-Bird and man painted on the brick building

My family and I did some mission work and served the homeless. No words could describe the humble feelings in my heart to be able to serve those who deserved so much more than I could give. 
  © 10 minutes ago, Georgieanna J. Harp    love • sacrifice • homeless • heart

Sweet Felicity

Once a year, color explodes within reach

Red, yellow, pink,and  peach

Cymbidium, nature's chef-d’oeuvre

Heralded messenger, pink coiffure

Imbue eloquence does surround

Demure, dalliance rises to astound

In memory of my grandmother who loved orchids with a passion, I was blessed to grow up admiring their beauty.

felicity-pleasantness

chef-d’oeuvre-a masterpiece in literature or art

heralded-royal or official messenger

coiffure-hairstyle or one who does hair

imbue-infuse, instill

demure-shy, reserved

eloquence-beauty and persuasion in speech

dalliance-a brief love affair

astound- overwhelm with amazement, astonish; shock with wonder or surprise