The West Pool Poems at Vizcaya

 

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The barge at Vizcaya Museum and Gardens. (Photo by JW Bailly CC BY 4.0)

Never-ending Journey
A new place with new ideas,
Away from familiarity
I could only see what’s across the sea
And could only think of what I left behind

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Photo by Benjamin Obando

No Heir to the Throne
By Benjamin Obando

James Deering meticulously molded
Vizcaya his winter residence to mirror
An Italian villa in the seventeen hundreds.
He hit bull’s-eye when Vizcaya stabbed
The crusty shores of Biscayne Bay.

Winter homes are meant for families to treasure
The time spent together. The passage of such precious
Time can only be measured by sand trickling
Down an hourglass.

The main house is spacious,
But James Deering
Did not have children of his own
To run around the courtyard making it beat
Lub-dub, lub-dub.

The lower level of the main house has a pool,
But no children to cannonball into the cool waters.

The east terrace slides down into the waters
Of beautiful Biscayne Bay,
But no children to swim out to the slimy barge.

The south terrace unfolds
Into a European-inspired garden,
But no children to wake up the sleeping orchids
As they giggle their way around playing a game
Of hide-and-seek.

I see Vizcaya as a family heirloom,
But no children to inherit the throne.             

dria
Photo by Dria Thomas

The Birth of Vizcaya
By Dria Thomas

I can hear the echoes of voices that ricochet off the glossy marble floors,
I can see the faces that were here before me,
And I can feel the vibrations of cultures that run through this land.
The birth of these cultures so pure and so rich.
The mixture of French Baroque fixtures, Spanish Plateresque carvings, and the chisel of Italian sculptures
Just to name a few,
Have birthed and raised this land to what it is today.
As the land gets older and grayer its beauty will still impress those who come and go
Vizcaya is what they call this land.
From the warm hues of the morning sun
Till the polka dotted lit night sky,
We will never forget how you made us feel at first sight.
We will no longer have to wonder
Helplessly
And blind.
Our long lost kin
Is found.
I can hear,
I can see,
And I can feel the vibrations of cultures that run through this land.

The Vizcaya Poems by Poetry Art Community
The Frog Fountain Poems
The Secret Garden Poems
The Center Island Poems
The Grotto Poems
The West Pool Poems