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EssEss 3d
Travel locations with architectural marvels are always a traveler's delight,
Each is unique in its own way & the list is long enough with no end in sight,
Rating comparisons become inevitable as we witness more during our travels,
But that would be sheer travesty of justice, as each marvel has few parallels

Europe, unsurprisingly, is at the top of the bucket list for most travel lovers,
It is toast to a multitude of exotic locations, if one were to go by numbers,
Italy is home to some of the world's famous UNESCO World Heritage sites,
Welcome to the Leaning Tower of Pisa, whose popularity has scaled great heights

Pisa, a city in Italy is a short drive from Florence - capital city of Tuscany region,
Initially an important Italian seaport, Pisa's growth thro' trade stands to reason,
Its involvement in periodic military conflicts enabled Pisa to become affluent,
Pisans conveyed their importance through construction of religious monuments

The Tower of Pisa is one of the four buildings that constitutes the cathedral complex,
It is a freestanding bell tower and considered the piazza's crowning glory in the annexe,
Located on the city's main "Miracles Square", it differs from most medieval architecture,
It is symbolic of Italian architectural expertise at its best, with just cause for conjecture

The complex was meant to display treasures brought back from Sicily by adventurers,
The bell tower was configured to be the tallest of its age - a landmark for all travelers,
The name Pisa reportedly originates from the Greek word for "marshy land",
Failure to factor subsoil condition, resulted in construction not going as planned

Provision of a shallow and heavy foundation was apparently a gross oversight,
That the construction would be inevitably doomed, was obvious in hindsight,
The tower began to sink to one side while the second storey was being built,
Adding taller columns and arches to the south side, did little to offset the tilt

By the fourth storey, disparity in the arches to restore balance was to no avail,
Attempts to restore centre of gravity from the third storey added to the travails,
Construction continued to the full eight storeys, with the tilt still in place,
That the tower took 200 years to build and is still standing, is the saving grace!

Visitors can climb to the top of the tower, involving a steep climb of 251 steps,
Climbing the tilted building is heady excitement that requires no mental preps,
The tower has seven bells for divine timekeeping - one for each musical note,
Prudently calling it a miracle of medieval engineering, is a worthy point to note

The tower being one of Italy's signature sights should be of little surprise to one and all,
Imagine the awe of looking at a tilted 58 metre-high tower, appearing to be in free fall,
Leaning a startling 3.9 degrees off the vertical, as if in defiance of all geometrical odds,
The Leaning Tower of Pisa truly lives up to it's name, as if ordained by the gods

The Leaning Tower of Pisa's extraordinary tilt makes it an authentic miracle of statics,
You tend to keep looking back at the tower as you saunter, to savor the imagery magic,
And grapple with a bunch of baffling explanations, wondering how the tower defies gravity,
Whilst shaking the head in disbelief & finally nodding, that the visual treat is indeed a rarity!
Nat Lipstadt May 1
the worldly swirling reverberating, whirlpool whirling, the To Do list,
issuing senior commands, and the poetry dieting and exercise regime
is muffled, though notes and promises atomizing, ideas and excitations, on the cardboard backs of yellow pads jotted, on menus for Chinese and Indian incantations,
assembled in their own corner reservoir,

nonetheless and all the more,

no births recorded, no spawn of the dawn, product of mid of night
illegal ramblings by the
East River

none
achieve a hallelujah *******,
and the pile of drafts messy are assorted and distorted in their own corner of the white writing desk,

stillborn lay, or more accurately they cry out pained:

"no, no, still to be born!"
"not yet dead!"
"permanent gestation is not a destination"
and other survivor slogans,
and mind and body bloated with
need to ex and to in
hale
them,
to let the healing compounding components of
new compositions see a
glorious Mayday morn of a steady streaming of
howling babies, and all agree,
look at you, look at me, look at this
5 minutes sassy essay on your lassoed status,
now force the door ajar and let the nightlight lead you to dawn,
deliver us, satisfy out our cravings,
make us wholesome and then,
with a sacred finishing
wand waving of blessed
Hallelujah
Amen!
Selah!

now get to work,
*** of coffee witches brew,
knock off the stalling,
Sondheim humming,
crying out a
****** recognition,

"send in the clown,
no more; maybe next year,
too late,
I'm here...
"

4:07 ~ 4:25am
May One
2025
and the lid is blown,
an  evening of Stephen Sondheim
EssEss Mar 16
Canyons always evoke a sense of picturesque excitement of nature,
Slot canyons elevate the thrill several notches by their sheer stature,
They are found in many parts of the world in areas with low rainfall,
Often described as long narrow drainageways, with sheer rock walls

Rock walls are typically eroded into sandstone or other sedimentary rock,
Depth-to-width ratios increasing even ten-fold should come as no shock,
Slot canyons can be subject to flash flooding - a typical characteristic,
Unique soil compositions, differing from the drier uplands, are realistic

Nature's wondrous creation can be seen in the Upper Antelope Canyon,
Water and time have eroded the rock, turning it into a slot canyon,
The transition to formation of smooth flowing rock is incredible,
As if nature willed the breathtaking interior to be truly impeccable

Arizona's Antelope Canyon was formed over time by erosion of red sandstone,
Centuries of flash flooding and intermittent wind resulted in this keystone,
The narrow passageway leads several hundred feet away from the opening,
The gorgeous photogenic sloping of the rocks is a sight worth mentioning

In local lingo, the Navajos call this "the place where water runs through rocks",
Come monsoon, rainwater gushes into the narrow passageways, round the clock,
The passageways are eroded over time making the corridors get more deeper,
Hard rock edges smoothen with characteristic flowing shapes, that look sleeker

A stark feature is the shafts of sunlight radiating down from the canyon top,
The effect is most pronounced during summer, with action almost nonstop,
The light shafts illuminate pink, orange and gold patterns on the canyon walls,
Winter colors are a tad more muted, but still a sight for visitors to enthrall

It's a common sight to see visitors jostling for vantage points for photoshoots,
Tourist guides revel in clicking group photos with free advertising to boot,
Every turn and steps ahead provide an unique exhilarating experience,
Exclamations of awe and wonder that fill the air, befit the ambience

As the 4x4 AWD vehicle drives you back at the end of the slot canyon visit,
Rapturous memorable visuals of the stunning canyon interior are hard to desist,
Witnessing one of nature's marvels leaves an euphoric feeling of being perennial,
Poetic encomium would do little justice to the canyon's beauty, that feels surreal
Anais Vionet Mar 12
Our burdens are lifted—it’s spring break, after all.

Though ocean breezes, surf sounds, the smell of sunblock,
fresh tans and bottomless margaritas at the beach can be healing,
we decided to vacation on campus and find joy in small, everyday things.

Yesterday, we went to the farmer’s market, where one coffee vendor was making real cappuccinos and another was baking fresh breakfast pizzas. The combination reminded me of the 'Antico Forno Roscioli' caffe, near Campo de' Fiori, in Rome.

Then we hit the gym pool, climbed a rock wall (slowly) and played racquetball (rather poorly). We tried a dance & fitness class too—I thought I was in shape but ugg, it was hard to keep up. Peter (my 27-year-old bf) practically collapsed, but maybe he was angling for mouth-2-mouth.

Straight brag: Peter and I are getting new laptops today—MacBook Air M4s—mine’s baby blue, his is silver. So today seems like Christmas.
I don’t know if you people have computers, or use the Internet, but if you do, you’ll get it. I don’t know exactly when it’ll arrive, of course, so I’m pacing our suite.

I’ve always loved tech. My brother started teaching me about computers when I was 10—you know—hard drives, logic boards, power supplies, all of it. I remember it taking about two days to set one up and move all of the data. Today all I’ll have to do is set the new computer next to the old one and click migrate.

You gotta doff your hat to the tech wizards that came up with that, but the hours spent doing it the old way were fun.
Something’s lost yet something's gained” - I think Joni Mitchell sang that.
.
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Songs for this:
Am I the Same Girl? by Swing Out Sister
Mountain or a Molehill by Kris Berry
.
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our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) So now I do a cast list:

Peter, (My bf), is a bearded, 27-year-old from the sage hills of Malibu, California. He’s 6’1, too thin, his jet-black hair is perpetually uncombed and his skin is pale from over exposure to fluorescent lighting. He earned his PhD in Applied Physics last year and now he works for CERN in Geneva. He’s smart, quiet, awkward and he can be too serious. I’m unreasonably cRaZy about this guy.

Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 02/27/25:
Doff = to tip your hat in salute or to take it off.
ZACK GRAM Feb 25
All Ships Sunk
God's Army
Let That Sink In
Ground All Flights
2 Billion March
Last Chance
Martial Law
World Peace
Quicker Then Desert Storm
No Fly Zone
All
Every
Munitions
King Earth
Speaking Gospel
4 Decades
I Die A Sinner
You Die A Winner
No Thanks
No Giving
****** Inc.
No Label
Cure Skitso
Bleach
Jesus The Father The Ghost
God's God
Lord Save Our Souls
Got Many
Many Want Me Dead
Past on Repeat
No Safety
No Retriet
***** To Death
Defeat
Pass The Blunt
Don't Give A ****
Pass The Dro
Drive 10 Hours For You
1k Miles
Francie Lynch Jan 11
Will be leaving soon for Orlando,
Away from the cold in Ontario.
Will I return?
I really don't know.

A wacko may secretly board my plane;
A radicalized lunatic far from sane.

Or Canada geese, heading south,
Might take our fuelled jet engines out.

Some random lightning shot from the sky
Lights up our cockpit,
And the pilots die.

The landing gear is up and stuck...
“I don't think I drank enough!”

There's mad rage on the road
Between
Orlando and St. Augustine.

There’s snub-nosed guns in too many bags,
And the pubs are teeming with cougars and *****.

The Matanzas flows with gators and sharks,
I'll make note of this as my kyak embarks.

A drunken driver could do the job;
Or I get hospitalized
From being robbed.

An Early Bird bone might make me choke,
Or an errant golf ball holes out in my throat.

Perhaps nothing happens, I’m too suspect
Of the possible perils from my Florida trek.

Is it worth the risks. I’ll let you know,
When I get back to the warmth  of Ontario.
St. Augustine is where we'll stay this year.
Mounir Laroussi Dec 2024
A sea like no other sea.

Theater of the Odyssey,

and of Cleopatra and Anthony.

The sea  

of war and of peace.

Cradle of known civilizations,

and jealous keeper of secrets

of civilizations yet unknown.



To me, it is simply

the sea

where I took my first swim,

panicked and sunk like a stone,

pulled down by the wrath of Poseidon,  

that eternally angry god of the Greeks,

who, it was said, lived a thousand fathoms below.

But a strong hand quickly snatched me, lifted me up,

and at the surface I saw a reassuring face smiling at me.

My father was standing in chest deep water,  

and I heard him saying,

“son, you got to keep your legs and arms moving.”



To me, it is simply

the sea  

where I fell in love with the Mediterranean blue,

where I lingered long summer hours at the shore

lazily dreaming,

about people and lands  

beyond the faraway infinite line,

that elusive border  

separating two magical shades of the azure.
Anais Vionet Dec 2024
(A Christmas vacation vignette)

Lisa and I choppered onto Manhattan island yesterday morning. We’d both felt toasted—so we took naps—and yay! We awoke recharged.

Later that evening, Lisa and I were at the ‘Elsie’ Rooftop Bar, in Manhattan, waiting for Lisa’s boyfriend, David.
Ok, man-friend? More age appropriate I suppose, he’s 27, but that description doesn’t have the same bf slap.
Dave’s a Wall Street M&A guy and they’ve been together for over a year - a future for them seems very real.

Slinky, jazz-like versions of secular Christmas favorites were playing somewhere and it’s a groove I slipped into immediately. We had reservations and I’d misbegottenly hoped for a five-star, breathtaking city view, but the indoor tables turned out to have these uncomfortable, high-backed, bench-like seats that face away from the windows—***? I made a mental note to check website pix in the future. The place is in need of some serious feng shui-ing.

Disappointed, I asked for a side table where there was, at least, a pitiable skyline view and I placed my iPad, volume down, on the table so I could side-watch the Thursday Night football game—hey, I’m not meeting MY boyfriend, ok? As the official third-wheel, I figured I’d need a little entertainment.

After a few moments, a waitress came by and she paused to look us over with a cat-like indifference that signaled she was better than me, better than us really. She was just cooler.
I was delighted—why am I drawn to people who look down on me?
I suppose I need years of psychoanalysis—but who’s got the time?

I glanced at Lisa. We know each other at a cellular level. With a milli-second of lash flutterings and eye dilations, I asked “are you getting this?” And she affirmed that she was. Because we’re cyborgs. A couple of cyborgs.
Just kidding. We’re not cyborgs, neither of us. We wish we were sometimes—think of the advantages, you could complete college in a blink—wirelessly.

Anyway, back to the narrative. The waitress reminded me of when I was starting high school and my mom and I toured colleges, how snooty the Harvard people were, even though I’d been accepted and offered a free-ride scholarship—I mean, shouldn’t we all have been one, big, self-congratulatory snooty-group together?
(Of course, I chose Yale because the people were totally friendly).

“I better get used to it,” I side-bar’d Lisa, who got the reference to my upcoming, year-long, master's program at Harvard—because we’re cyborgs. I handed ‘Laura’ (our snooty waitress was tagged) my Black American Express card, which got her attention, and said, “start a tab please—someone will join us—run a 40% tip too,” I added with a smile. She practically jogged off to get our drinks and hors d'oeuvres and I turned my attention to the game, you know, to catch up.

I love Pro football—it’s not really fall without football—is it? Even though Tom Brady retired. This all goes to say that I’m a pro football ******. Lisa likes it too, though she’s not totally obsessed.

Just after Laura brought us our martinis and ‘poached lobster’ slides, a random, well-dressed man (he was wearing an expensive Brioni, wool linen silk suit), 35-ish, receding mousy-brown hairline, high-ball glass in hand, took the opportunity to stop by and chat. “SO,” he said, in a deep, jolly, ice-breaking salesman’s voice,
“You girls like football?”
I decided that the suit was too shiny for a Brioni—was it a Zegna?—I idly wondered.
“We’ve boyfriends,” Lisa announced, almost apologetically, nodding to include me—in case he missed the plural. Undeterred, he swiveled my way—as if he needed a second opinion—and asked me,
“What do you like about football?” He sounded somewhat condescending to me, so I did what I always do with condescending males—I played the ‘ditzy-girl’ card, “The costumes,” I answered.
“The uniforms,” he gently, fatherly, corrected—before rocking back a little on his heels and sipping his drink.
“And the hats,” I updogged, but before he could digest my reply, David, Lisa’s man-friend, arrived on the scene.
“Sorry to be so late,” he said, giving me a little, jiggly, 4-finger wave, shedding his coat and giving Lisa a smooch on the top of her hair.
The salesman wordlessly took his leave.
It’s a night on the town—let the 3rd-wheeling begin!
.
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Songs for this:
Diamond Dave by The Bird and the Bee
You Belong to Me by Vonda Shepard
.
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And a Christmas Playlist - because the big day is 8 days away!
http://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_24.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/07/24:
Misbegotten = something badly planned or thought out.
Aimée Dec 2024
A man and his family drove down a white-covered road,
He rolled down his window,
And a ******* was shown.
Christmas had come once again,
The tree was 8 foot,
No probably 10.
The guests had arrived,
The dinner was cooked,
A squirrel jumped out of the tree,
The whole family was shook.
The house lights wouldn't work,
So many times he had tried,
Clark accidentally said,
"It's a bit nipply outside"
He got locked in an attic,
With a towel on his head,
His family didn't know,
But let's leave that unsaid.
The ******* was full,
Let's blame it on Eddie,
Mr Griswold went sledding,
And he definitely wasn't ready.
They were the jolliest bunch of *******,
A crazy nuthouse,
But oh boy oh boy this movie,
Would put a smile on your mouth.
This poem is inspired by the 80s movie National Lampoons Christmas Vacation. Hope you have a laugh reading it.
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
Toi et moi irons au bord de la mer
Toi et moi fuirons le froid de l’hiver
Pour habiter sur les belles plages
Ou dans les vagues des rivages.

Toi et moi rêverons ensemble chaque soir
Toi et moi vivrons sous les nuages dans le noir
Toi et moi coucherons avec nos oreillers
Sur le sable blanc dans la chaleur de l’été.

Toi et moi parcourrons tout le littoral
Chaque soir nous rêverons à la belle étoile
**** des amis, sous le ciel tropical
Pour voir le départ des chaloupes à voile.

Au bord de la mer, nous vivrons nos vies
Dans la paix, l’harmonie, et **** de la frénésie
Toi et moi vivrons au bord de la mer
Dans l’amour, sous le ciel bleu et clair.

Copyright © Décembre 2019, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs livres de poésie.
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