Dreaming imaginary Prague, reposted

Dreaming imaginary Prague

 I have never been to Prague, except in daydreams…
but my impressionable mind is easily led
into the magical world of zithers and Gypsies,
of violins singing and wailing in ageless melodies…
music of joy and abandon…or sadness and melancholy.

Put on your hat, my girl, and come along with me…
We will trip the light fantastic (or is it a Fandango?)
whirling, twirling and dancing …and laughing at nothing
as our echoing soles  click and ring among  the cobblestones…
back to the days of fancy and intrigue.

Halcyon days of exquisite youth and passion for it all–
sordid or glorious, respectable or ridiculous–
days when common sense stayed at home amid the quiet
and comfortable over-stuffed chairs…and crackling radio static
never quite able to drown out the strains of an orchestral tune.

Prickles of goose bumps remind of running with n’er-do-wells
and bad influences…those mysterious, exciting  ones that
never existed, masquerading as “ladies” and “gentlemen,”
life’s forbidden (or at least frowned upon) adventures
among the brilliantly dark recesses of shadowy corners.

The mere mention of Prague always brings unseen wonders–
half-vision, half-dream.      There are Ladies in satiny dresses
and impossible shoes…. dancing away the nights, until dawn.
They sway with the music of instruments with no names,
enticing dangerously handsome partners with unknown designs.

But I digress, as is my wont…
the thoughts of romance and mystery subside–
old Prague returns to an idea that lives on
for dreamers…and poets.

©Sometimes, 2016

Life in Recall…day dreaming

Once I was a dancer
spinning on tiptoe…reaching for fame and fortune
wearing pink tutus of fluffy tulle
snug bodice and satin slippers
a silver tiara atop chestnut curls.

Several lifetimes a Scribe clad in rough robes
tied with heavy ropes, my head in a cowl,
ever accompanied by heavy tomes
marked carefully in strong goose quills
transcribing words Holy and Secret.

A Sailor aloft a mast of treated timber
peering out across the vacant sea
gentle waves reflecting blue from the sky
a breeze from the North picking up
clouds darken with a hint of a chill.

High above the canyon basin
an Eagle makes her widening circle
supported and encouraged by the wind.
The sun sets low in lavender-rose sky
time to head back to her aerie home.

Numerous times a Wanderer, sack on a stick
walking alone on endless trails
ending only into the next adventure.
These journeys led to exotic locations or mundane sites
neither  intent nor itinerary ….only serendipity.

© Sometimes, 2016