The Charm and The Grace of this Medieval Town

The Village On The Hill By Mary Stubberfield

The Village On The Hill By Mary Stubberfield
Prompt by Jeremy Farmer – Jeremy’s Daily Challenge
Picture This Monday 13 January

The charm and the grace of this medieval town,

This village on the hill from fairy tales I’ve found.

My imagination consumes me actively running wild,

I make-believe this is my world, dreaming like a child.

A coffee in the square at a quaint little cafe’,

Shopping and bartering, children at school and play.

The smell of bread baking from the house on the right,

The sound of babies crying as they go to sleep at night.

The hustle and bustle of commuters heading home,

Reuniting with loved ones who’ve spent all day alone.

A kiss on the cheek and a warm and loving embrace,

They sit down to dinner in their pleasant usual place.

Perhaps a night in or an evening on the town,

Spreading out a blanket over the cool and grassy ground.

Staring at the stars in the moonlit summer sky,

The young fall in love as shooting stars go by.

These things that I see in this village on the hill,

Are just my imagination, my mind with pleasure fill.

It sounds so charming, this town from time of old,

With beauty much more precious than diamonds or of gold.

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~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

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Prompt by Jeremy’s Daily Challenge – Picture This Monday 13 January

Every Face

I live life walking amongst the masses

Seeing stories in every face,

In every wrinkle, smile, frown,

In every scar and freckle,

Real or imagined they speak to me.

Their silence, writing volumes,

Horror, action, romance, fact, fiction,

Genre’–It is for me to decide,

Bending reality into a thing of make believe.

My entertainment is paramount,

Turning the commonplace to adventure,

Breathing life into the mundane.

This is the art, the medium unimportant,

Though mine is of the word.

Looking in the mirror

You could not possibly see what I see,

For it lives only in my mind

Until it boils over onto paper.

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~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Skin Deep

Perfection, clear to the beholders eye,

At times, going no further,

Stopping skin deep, superficial.

A smear of makeup, of blush, of rouge,

Lipstick strewn with clown-like abandon,

A caricature of what others see.

Every reflection,

Distorted by fun-house mirrors,

Diffusing into an abomination.

Painted by marketing’s ideal,

Airbrushed, made-up, impeccability,

Attempts to compete are fruitless.

Challenging imagination is no competition,

You my love have already won.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~