Covered in Crayola Colour

'Chapped and chippy' aquamarine and

'orange peel' tangerine, are what I
named these bright, bold hues; bet the
Pantone people would not be amused. 

  Covered in crayola colours,
this public school built in 1900,
is more reminiscent of a charming cottage
  than a place that houses ABCs and numbers! 

Stucco, stone, wood, and iron, the

 stars of this scholastic structure,
  together teach a lively lesson in
classical Cretan architecture.

A few villages over, a farmhouse,
 pebbled in earthy, faded tones,
 shows signs of having weathered
storms; no doubt, due to the 
soldiers set in stone, still
 standing at attention.

Meandering through mountainous terrain,

I eventually reached the northern coast, 
where sailboats, bobbing on bouncy waves,
 didn't stray too far from sandy shores.

Back among fruit filled trees,
branches blowing in the breeze,
bare vines, (the black sheep
 of this gnarly brood), being in
 a gloomy mood, refused to budge.
Alas,the sweet and juicy fare
 they bear, not there to dress
their lonely limbs, left the
pruned and prickly trunks, feeling
 desperately miserable and grim.

Thanks for visiting!

 

xo 

Poppy

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Wall to Wall Wisdom

Its doors were swung wide open, and firmly
 stuck in place, as if stoppers prevented them
 from closing - thus deliberately exposing - a stony,
  stuccoed presence, for ages, derelict and defaced.

But it didn't care. In fact, it stoically stood there,
passive to the plethora of invading greenery; a
 snub to the supposed shambles of its neglected scenery.

 It had nothing to hide, 
unlike, its scarlet shuttered neighbour,
on the opposite side, of the cracking, cobbled road.
 Oh, the heavy load of secrets it must have hoarded,
 stored and boarded, inside its padlock protected door.

No, it definitely identified more
with the punctured structure 
perched proudly on a peak, nearby.
Weak, from wind blown wounds,
it stood windowless and roofless, yet,
was crowned the most hospitable of homes,
  the perfect, permanent address;
 1st prize for picky pigeons seeking nests.

In second place, 
for its geometric brilliance,
and traces of richly, brush stroked hues,
was the abode boasting views of the Aegean,
 whose signature sea blues, once cruised
the surface of its original facade - now an 
open-air exhibit, of peeling patches of patina,
a cryptic, colour flawed collage.

 And so, when passing by this beauty, on my daily 
morning walks, I can't help but to wonder, what it would
  say if it could talk. Are those who inhabit its interiors, 
well loved and card for, like its outer girth, that is hugged 
by pretty blooms and rays of warmth and nourishing self-worth?

I often ponder such questions, of the deeply personal kind,  
 while wandering the pastures of the Cretan countryside. 
 

Once,
 while pausing to admire the stillness of the sea, I got
  wind of an answer, blowing in the breeze, when a sudden
gale snatched the gist of wisdom from the gusty vicinity, and
  it disappeared forever, zigzagging through the rows of olive trees. 

Oh, if only walls could talk.

Thanks for visiting!
Wishing you a warm 
and cozy weekend!

Door Detour

How many times
 have I dashed by
 these old, dated doors,

scurrying to escape 

the sizzling woes of 

insufferable summer heat?

Other times, 
during siesta silence,
 I seize the moment
 for quiet guidance,

 to search for traces,
clues and close-ups, 
on faces fluted, chipped,
 worn out;

cosmetic character flaws, perhaps,
 but strong footsteps to solid souls.

 Further down the cobblestone,
gates, freshly painted
to look smooth and sleek,

provide a framed perspective,
and an exclusive peek into

 a courtyard of potted petals.

All quite charming, 
these updated, made-up metals,
 but where's that marked intrigue,
   that lost mystique, so present in
 their wrinkled, weathered elders: 

the wooden, but charred, 
the hollow, scarred, and marred,
 the mossy, crooked and ajar?

The last of these gems,
 en route to my own residence,
bordered by a grove stacked
with bitter, black fruit,

a stony structure stands
 sound and solitaire, despite

  its broken window and door.

And, although 
exposed to elements 
unforgiving and unfair,
it bears no evidence
in its stoic air, of a
 core, torn or dishonoured.

Thanks for visiting!

 xo
Poppy

All images: 
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