Carnevale

Chimera Poetry

“Audaces fortuna iuvat.” “Fortune favors the bold.” ~ Virgil

“Virtue has a veil, vice a mask”. ~ Victor Hugo


Costumed in red and yellow they scamper through the streets
and knuckle the doors
the hot sun pooling,
as if splashing,
pouring,
molten hot from a crucible,
around their feet
the Carnevale is coming….

Porcelain, peacock blue, emerald green and gold mask the windows,
the streets,
the faces,
and the air is an elixir,
and the very stones smell of chocolate,
of figs,
of sour spilled wine and orange peel.
Stained by magic old and new,
by sex and mystery and rainstorms.

Demons and Courtesans eye each other familiarly
while the golden tower is carried through the square
and a humming cry spirals up from the crowd,
its energy bending and glowing as if the moon were melting.
Beads my darling?
the vendors sing
Beads?
Jugglers and fortune tellers and disappearing…

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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