Posting this poem, just written in response to the prompt over at D’verse Poets: Stream of Consciousness Writing
I’ll need to come back and re-jig this one, but decided to post and see what comments I get…eg it’s not sufficiently tight, or to the prompt…..
Looking around the room
I find nostalgia in small objects.
A vase of mimosa
is a restaurant in Lucca
small, cosy, bustling with energy
and a great glass of red wine.
A small, intricate wood carving
sees me in Transylvania,
a small hamlet
lush green meadows,
thousands of wild flowers
nodding in the warm breeze,
and each evening
the cows returning home.
A lithograph, delicately coloured
is coffee in the artists garden,
views across a rocky valley
and halting conversation in my rusty French
Four green stemmed wine glasses –
I’m at the rock of Dabo
all twists and turns
and vertiginous glimpses
of the fields far below.
Then my eye rests on an engraved vase-
I’m hurtling along flooded roads,
windscreen wipers struggling,
tyres slithering, specs steaming.
And so the memories roll….