You want her to be real
A half smile curve of lips
a glide of a hand through hair
You want to be her clothes
falling as she unfolds to the
sound of heels on a marble floor
her feet have formed the shape of her
shoes and when she arches her back
she soars as high as imagined
wings can fly.

Luigi Quarti

art by Luigi Quarti “fallen angel”

195 thoughts on “milieu

  1. I want to be her legs,
    leaping free.
    I want to be her wings,
    like fans across her private piece of sky.

    I always want this angel,
    every time you conjure her,
    in all her forms.
    I want to be this beacon,
    whose passion flies from every piece of art you see

    and always lands on waiting hearts.

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          1. Now then…. inching up here to the feet of the real talent for me. That is the words you write. I read a lot as a kid but poetry, the ability to conjure indelible shapes from hats was always my first word fest and feast in terms of words. Keep doing what you do. It’s breathtaking xxxxx

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          1. I can use some coffee, it’s just 8 AM here and I have to be getting ready for work. But we can listen to some if Oannes picks and dawdle over breakfast I would love that! 🥐🥩🍩☕️🥛🍯😘🥰🌺 have a wonderful day sweet friend. xxxxxxxx o gods, it’s 6 not 8, I would be so late for work 😷

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  2. Well, I certainly fly high on your imagined wings.
    This poem releases the bonds that bind, and sets me free.
    Understandable! It’s written by you.
    A gem, thank you, Holly!!!! xoxoxo

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  3. Oh my. A tour de force. AND then… there’s the chosen image just as I’m seeing this fabulous creature, the wings spread, she’s gone. But there’s the image. It’s beautiful, the words flying free as her.

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  4. Beautifully put Rene, a Heavenly ensemble of words fit together in an Angelic atmosphere poetically placed and yes, who wouldn’t want to be in the company of something so glorious. Just like the Angel that wrote this beautiful piece, your wording and invitational description is wonderful. It’s hard not get an image.🌹

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          1. Oh, if you tell me your stories, I’ll tell you mine. I bet we would be so similar it would be scary. I bet it would be a best seller if we wrote it all down. 🦹🏻‍♂️🦹🚀📚🤗

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          2. We should wait to see how the world turns out after November. If we’re good, we’ll be alright. We might have to market the book as an action adventure historical fiction cause nobody would believe us if we said it was all true. 😁😁

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          3. I marked my calendar. It’s going to be an epic story. 😎😎🌞 just think about it. Two Floridians with total beach mastery at a young age let lose upon the world. Europe has never been the same since we left.

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          4. Oh yes indeed! Europe was kind to young travelers then. We got discounts for travel and easily affordable accommodations full of lively spirited people our age from across the globe finding their own adventure amongst many adventurers. Kindness was abundant and romance tinged everything a light lavender color. Oh, and the high plains in France where that lavender covered the ground and picnics were rituals of gentle pleasure against stunning beauty in the background. Cafe’s were never far, clothed in ancient ambient spirits. But the sad café, there is where I recovered myself in velvet melancholy until the rich coffee lifted the fog and a new adventure was hatched. Was that your flask? You had good taste from the start, it seems.

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          5. I recall the lavender fields invaded by dandelions and wildflowers, you placing a sweet lily behind my ear. Nights at the Sad Café ended at midnight. I purposefully left my flask of gold and abalone at our dimly lit booth returning over and over to find you waiting for me but it was not to be.
            Indeed, I always had good taste.

            best seller to be continued in November 🙂

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          6. My muse is lit up like the 4th of July. This is exceptional. I’ll daydream while you write 😉. It is so clear to envision as I read because I have so many memories squirreled away of those grand days. I can even see the countryside and the villages nestled in every nook and cranny of the landscape, all those red tiled roofs bobbing up and down along narrow cobblestone streets. I still have your flask. I should send it back to you. It has kept the Dijinn of memories fresh.

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          7. I do believe we will, Rene. There was comfort there at the sad café. It had a certain ambiance; a soothing melancholy, not of a cutting sorrow for things gone awry, passions lost, or love wounded like cuts from broken glass and wasted. It was the orange glow of light through ancient, smoky lamps on wood paneled wainscot with blackened shellac and rich French wallpaper; long past its brilliant stage to a faded scene of pastoral fields. Those high ceilings with swirled plaster always fascinated me. The patterns, with smoke enhanced shadows and streaks of light, seemed to speak of chaos and the universe before science declared all was in order. I remember the hushed hurry of the waiter, impeccably dressed, as he took orders and directed a young girl with pink cheeks, probably fresh from some small village, to our table where she brought the scent of her kitchen labor, a delicate perfume, and savory meal. Your posture was always elegant, your eyes dreamy with thoughts I wished I could know but a polite decorum warned not to ask. Not then, at least. I had the table wine. You sipped from your flask once with a blush of sunlight on your face. I remember feeling abashed for my stare at you then, seeing in my mind’s eye the warmth of sun, and our beloved Florida beach at low tide. It all comes back to me now. So many of life’s distractions have intervened since then. I wonder if the sad café will be the same? I don’t think it will matter as long as it is still there. New memories made are future reflections to a time well spent. I’ll bring your flask if you’ll bring that demure smile of yours. (I do like this story of the sad café 😊)

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          8. The sad café (continued)

            On a summer evening before the moon is out I will sit alone in our dimly lit booth beneath the whir of a teak wood fan. Lifting my eyes I will find you as though in a dream. Taking my hand we will sway once more to the strands of a Strauss waltz. Old memories flicker among the smoky shadows of lovers. When you go I will smile my sadness out and into the world knowing that we have lost one another.

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          9. The Sad Café (the gentleman replies)

            It has been difficult to pay attention to anything other than the feeling of romance cut short in it’s bud before full bloom. All my joy lived in that bud and in it was born an eternal poetry of struggle, tenderness, and all life’s colors muted to soft pastels in the remembrance of you. Strange what I think of on summer twilights. A delicate hand in mine with fingers long and slender; perfect for the piano or mastery of quill and ink. Long, silken hair with hints of fire, like sunsets beyond the North Sea, leave a scent of lily of the valley, wild in scattered bunches by the the rivers edge. There was the hint of vanilla from the bakery next door and fresh squeezed oranges from the table. Most of all, I could not forget the aroma of wood, smoke, and worn leather in that sad café. Those thoughts seem silly when the music plays again and you move with a gentle grace like the wisp of smoke from a cigarette dancing to the unseen currents of words whispered from lips to ear. Promises broken by fate don’t seem as cruel as lies but if those broken promises were not attached to hopes and dreams that migrate to an ache of melancholy, surely the sad café would never have existed and that chance to meet at the door in that brief hurry for shelter from the rain would not have left me with such memories and an heirloom flask still offering hints of the ambrosia it once contained.

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          10. The Sad Cafe (continued)

            Autumn leaves have begun to fall. Late October Paris is ablaze in hues of orange and purple.
            On my bench by the river I daydream that I am an adolescent reptile escaped from Kafka’s Die Verwanlung, laid back basking in the sun. The air is layered in heavy cologne and against my wishes I think of you and the lost dreams never realized, I imagine my earthly body padded sat next to yours on a grassy knoll breathing the scent of the lilac and the mossy green Seine. In the darkness of my room but for a shadow across my torso I let my thoughts linger among the lines of “In A Dark Time”.
            Still my thoughts wander to our dimly lit corner in the Sad Cafe where in your arms I swayed like a fragile birch in an Autumn tempest. The halo of my eyes glisten recalling how we gave away what we never really had as we held each other knowing love had died and we with it.

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          11. Dan, I compare your writing to that of Keats. So filled With sensuous imagery and breathtaking details, a sensuous feast of natural richness. You are indeed a master of the sensual and your writing is spellbinding. I’m still under the spell of the sad cafe.

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          12. You know my Kryptonite Rene. Keats is my favorite poet as much for his poetry as the struggle he endured to match the masters of the day like Lord Byron and to earn the love of his Miss Brawne. Taken too young from TB he caught caring for his brother, he left a hole in the heart of the poetry of his time and filled Miss Fanny Brawne’s lock box with the most beautiful outpourings of love and longing. He influenced my decision to take the Nom de guerre, Hyperion. To be compared to Keats is a holy blessing.

            Sad Café is a place we both connect with and certainly your writing of it has the soft and haunting lilt of a love song with the style and grace of Paris in a different, more historical time. It’s a story starting out beautifully from the beginning. I have a picture of the Café. I’ll dig it out and see if it can be revived in digital format. Please continue as your muse allows. It’s an ageless story. I’ll capture it for the unveiling when it’s done. 🤗🦋

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  5. Bonjour ou bonsoir mon amie HEART

    Bonjour mon amie ami
    Je pense que cette journée sera illuminée de soleil
    Je viens te souhaiter une belle journée
    Sous une mélodie chanter par les oiseaux

    Journée de bonheur ou rien ne viendra te perturber
    Cette journée sera de beauté
    Bonsoir Amie AMI

    Pour cette nuit
    Je te souhaite une nuit de repos bien méritée
    Remplit de rèves flatteurs
    Des rèves que toi seule à le secret de bien gardé
    Sache que certains reves peuvent devenir réalité
    Que cette journée et soirée te soit des plus agréables
    Bisous amicales Bernard

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  6. Ooo, Love this, My Dear!! Reading your words set my imagination in motion!! Your descriptions are so exquisite!! The only thing that would make this perfect is to have you reading it on an audio!!! I took a vote of your followers and it was unanimous that we would like you to record an audio of this, please??
    xoxo
    😘💕💕🌹😍

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    1. I would enjoy doing that if I can manage to use the audio on here. I have some recitals of Maxima’s poetry at his blog “ Maxima , Electronic Thoughts follow me “ if you care to hear some readings by me. Thanks for asking me to read. That’s really sweet.

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      1. Great! So, how do we get you up to snuff on using audio on WP??? I will check out your recitals on Maxima’s blog!! Yes, I care to hear your reading!! I think your followers would love it too!!
        So, if I keep asking you to read would that be fan encouragement or Nagging? LOL!!
        Hope you are having a great day!!
        xoxo
        😘💕😍🌹

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  7. I just checked Maxima’s blog and I’m going to need you to give me some links of the ones you read or some titles, please? Also, FYI He has you listed as a follower on the right sidebar but it is tied to your old blog. You might want to mention it to him and give him your new blog address?? Just a thought!
    😍💕😘🌹

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      1. Ok, great that should do it, I’m hoping!!! Collaborators??? I didn’t know you were that “kind” of writer??? LOL! So, am I hearing this right, for all this time if I had just “tempted you” with some alluring lines we could have been writing great stuff like – When I Miss You together as co-writers???? Well, can I start tempting you now???
        xoxo
        😍😁😘💕🌹🌹

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          1. Yeah, I will see if I can put some tempting things together. Or you could send me about 10 lines with room for me to interlace between them in what I like to call a “Duet”. I will send you a couple of examples.
            You made my month, Dear!
            xoxoxo
            😍💖💕😘🌹🌹

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          2. Yeah, I would love to collab, My Dear! I thought I answered this but it hasn’t showed up so I will resend.
            You have made my month!!! I will see if I can get some lines together that might tempt you! I will also send you a couple of examples of a duet – where one writer writes 10 or so lines and the other writer intertwines new lines to create a new work. This works on previous poems too.
            Will send examples offline.
            Wow!! You are such and Angel to be willing to write with little ol’ me!!
            xoxoxo
            😍💖💕😘🌹🌹

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          3. You are such a amazing friend dear Chuck. I have looked over your mail and the samples, such a lovely poem you wrote with Rachel of In Mind and Out. I will get back to you as soon as possible on this. You honor me my dear friend.
            xoxo

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      2. Don’t mean to be a pest but I want to hear you reading, I went to his blog and under Videos he only has six videos posted and all six have him reading. Your name on the right sidebar brings up your old blog “Ahearafire” and that the authors took the site down instead of showing your new blog?
        Help??

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      1. And more. You have many sources of inspiration. Which makes your work more… appealing.
        Hope all is well with you Coeur de Feu? Getting better on the virus front? And what about your son? Will College re-open?

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          1. Shame on the Republicans. This has got no name. half a dozen members of his family delivering speeches at the “Convention”? What is this? North Korea?
            Internship? Like a summer job that’s part of the requisites, right?

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