Showers

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Showers

A Collection of Poems

by


Laura Richardson



Burke_Lake_Reflections_Oil_on_Canvas_16_x_22_October_1997-082911------------------------------- “Reflections” an original oil by Sir Roland Richardson


----------------------------------------------- Stepping Stones 

    

I’ll tell you a secret
that’s real as the day
though I doubt you’ll believe
what I’ve come here to say.

Is this a story,
or are these things real?
You be the judge of
the mysteries revealed…

I’ve peace and great pleasure
that steady my bones
when I think of the
magical stepping stones.

I was tired and worried
and lost one grey day,
when I felt the ground move
in a very strange way.

Confused in my heart,
wondering which way to go,
I could sense a solution
beginning to show.

Ahead rose a path,
without a sound,
of round stepping stones
rising up from the ground.

One step at a time
is their only true pace.
You can choose where to turn
and it isn’t a race. 

Sometimes the step’s long
with pauses between,
but the footing is strong
and their teaching is keen. 

Now this was the first of
their many return,
whenever I need
something special to learn. 

Faith and good patience
have new meaning today,
for those magical stones
always help lead the way. 

Poem by Laura Richardson
 


Radiance
"Radiance In The Garden" by Sir Roland Richardson

Little Girls & Little Boys  


The world belongs
to little girls
whose hair cascade
in curls and lashes flutter
like butterflies
around their radiant eyes. 

The world’s a toy
to little boys
who nimbly run
and jump and roll
chased by the sun
in brilliant fun. 

The world is a flower
in a young girl’s hand
with magical powers
like a soft-petaled wand
that flows on her command. 

The world is a treasure
to dragon-flying boys
whose fearless feats are
measured in quantum
leaps of endless joy. 

It’s not without a trip,
a tear, a fall,
or rip, by chance,
but little girls and little boys
know how to dance
the dance.  

*  *  * 

With many years,
I still defy the drying skin
that tries to hide
the youth within. 

I realize that it is a stream
that passes through
the cocoon’s dream
to bathe
and be reborn again,
and infinitely again. 

 Poem by Laura Richardson
www.rolandrichardson.com



------------_MG_5255
----------- “Flamboyant Fireworks” by Sir Roland Richardson, 2010 painted rooftop from life

--Very Happy Holidays! 

Red and Green, though opposites,
unite in one fine goal,
uplifting many joyful hearts,
while joining many souls.

We treasure Noel's yuletides,
green trees with big red bows,
and share with love true nature's best,
Flamboyants all aglow!

<><><>
Best wishes always,
Roland, Laura and Radiance Richardson
St. Martin, French West Indies

_MG_5229
"Flamboyant View to the Sea" by Sir Roland Richardson, painted "en Plein Air"


Poem by Laura Richardson
www.rolandrichardson.com

 
 

 younggirlinredblouse-r300x400"Young Girl in Red Blouse" painted from life by Sir Roland Richardson


Young Bliss


I was a pilot
who twirled in
twilight copter spins
and whirled with levitating glee
when I was three.

In snow knee deep
we lay in drifts,
like down on angel's wings,
we flapped to carve
our silhouettes amidst
that bright white sea.

In Springtime
bike spokes spun in sync
through back yards
leaf-lined riding rinks.
Around the bend
our snake would wind,
the youngest always
last in line -
that was me.

In Fall, the mounds
of leaves concealed
a deep, dank universe
revealed with fingers
dug through molding beds
where squiggly earthworms
poked their heads.

When freezing winds
transformed the lake,
we briskly laced
our white boot skates,
to slip and slide
and sail and ride
the rippled ice
in search of 
frozen fish.

Spring balmy afternoons
we met with balls and sticks
to take turns up at bat.
When street lamps glowed
through navy skies
we sat curbside to chat.

We knew that
Summertime arrived
when ice cream trucks
sang merry cries
and fleeting home,
my heart would pound,
that Mom could spare a dime.

A blizzard dumped
four feet of snow.
They closed our school three days.
We children teamed on
what to do, then
building, building
til we were blue,
we built ourselves a real igloo.
We tunneled a week
through that hard-packed snow
living the life of an Eskimo.

Throughout the seasons,
porch to porch,
triangles tinkled to return,
to eat and bathe
for early bed
with daily prayers
and wishes said.

Hours were days,
months seemed like years, 
yet all flashed like a glint,
in a glance.
From chasing each other
in tag till the dark,
we dared holding hands,
and together,
we learned how to dance. 

When the time came
for my belly to swell
with babies dreaming
to be born,
I prayed for them
to share such joy
awakening each morn.

Light years have passed
while I still reminisce
on this far away world
filled with young bliss.

My children are grown,
those homes have passed hands,
the neighbors grew old,
some are gone.

Yet still it's as if
on a fine sunny day,
I wake with the sense
that it's time to go play.

Time to roam,
time to explore,
the season to open
every new door,
and always remember,
remember with splendor,
all that has come before.


Poem by Laura Richardson, July 2011
www.rolandrichardson.com



Mezzotint-3
Original Mezzotint by Sir Roland Richardson


 Beans and Dreams

Jack's bean sprouted
with a POP
and grew and grew

until it topped
the highest cloud,
then went
beyond,
as if the plant
was Heaven bound.

His mother vexed
her last coins spent
on such a worthless
dream,
but when she saw
the giant stalk
that streamed,
beyond
her vision's reach,
she wondered
what her son
had done.

He disappeared that
night in hope to
reach new worlds
beyond.
His simple days,
impoverished ways,
all vanished as he climbed.

Higher, higher, and then
still higher,
he stepped into Unknown.
he climbed so high,
when looking down,
he feared that
he might die.

The stalk threw stems
like giant beds
that fed his every step
as higher, higher,
fed by desire,
he finally poked his head
into a world of gigantic gain,
a world so contrast
to his plane,
he shook his head,
he rubbed his eyes,
Was this a dream?
Was this a prize?

A hen broke
with a cluck
his brief, sweet, reverie.
He toppled off his
broad-stemmed leaf
and fell beyond the tree.

Poem by Laura Richardson, March 2012
www.rolandrichardson.com


Sir Roland and Laura Richardson happily invite you to discover their beautiful
gallery in Marigot at a charming Creole landmark building with private garden. 
They would be delighted to hear from you.


 
Please email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
Magic Jack, Tel: 1-443-982-0683
Website: www.rolandrichardson.com

Visit their beautiful gallery at:
Roland Richardson Gallery Museum
#6 rue de la Republique, Marigot, St. Martin
Where Fine Art, History and Nature abound!

(c) Copyright Laura and Roland Richardson 2013