Languor
A vintage poem.
Heavy wood door opening; its elegance held in wine-red glass
a warmth emanates, enticing into darkened opulent languor
Spilling notes imbue the air, ooze charmingly as if to settle
finding a place, amongst a cloud of tobacco smoke
ascending gracefully from cigarettes
held in Bakelite by elongated fingers, adorned
Imperceptibly entering, this room with polished mahogany,
Sumptuous red velvet curtains, cocoon low,
moody amber – fiery glints in glass, lighting
a palpable atmosphere of luxury, of comforting indulgence
Perching on velvet cushions,
crossed legs, intimately regaling tales to
companions gracefully exchange; faces contented, amused,
Too engrossed in enthralling conversation, mesmerised by a hypnotic gaze,
Your entrance absorbed, instantly at ease
relishing the unobtrusiveness, by enigmatic ambiance
you easily take your place; slipping within, amongst
Letting out a blissful sigh, like smooth burnished silk.
Written for the 'Smooth' challenge 2023 ©
About the Creator
Tammy Wakeford
Reflections on life; with original photography and artwork
Nurse by day; but writing is where my heart truly lives. Mother to a son and many pets. Enjoy history, nature, rock music.
- Based: South Wales UK -
X, Instagram and Tripadvisor
Keep reading
More stories from Tammy Wakeford and writers in Poets and other communities.
Can You Drive a Ford Fiesta Through a Desert?
I’m flying down the B1 highway from Windhoek to Keetmanshoop with a map and a boot full of camping gear. I’m excited for the first stop of my Namibian road trip: the Quiver Tree Forest. I spot the sign and turn onto the C17, off the tarmac and onto the gravel. I’ll be there soon; it’s only ten miles or so. I am unprepared for what comes next. The car slides and slips across the road. I am not fully in control anymore. I slow to a crawl. The car judders and shudders, the noise deafening, the vibrations rattling the teeth in my skull. It takes me around an hour to drive the ten miles. I arrive at the campsite relieved to be in one piece, even if it feels like all my bones have been shaken slightly out of place. I will later learn that this is what happens when the gravel road becomes “corrugated”, and that the roads authority goes round once a week to “grade” them. Seems I arrived about 6 days after the grader had last been round.
By Jenifer Nim4 days ago in Wander
Comments (1)
Wow the prose and atmosphere set by your poem is beautiful!