Come to Vaucluse, the rolling litany swerves & chorales in me.
With thick hard crusts, yellow’d apples, and spongy chestnuts.
A poets’ complimentary banquet which builds within a supple
Mind, a trellis upon which rhymes are stacked rudiments for
Collegiate verbiage, a tracery o’ frippery, supping queer and
Loquacious tomes, weighted texts, facts collected & intoned.
‘Tis an oblique octagonal hive, an amber honeyed anodyne &
We, the workers, filling the golden elixir, our busy feet &
Mouths wielding resinous propolis, sediment in furrowed
Wedges, a segmented symbiotic haven in a grotto o’ delights
Er, the golden door dissembling on the floor. Er the melding
Molded pews, entrées secreted in a cloistered reality between
Avignon and Vaucluse, intermittent is the ichor that doth rain
Between illusions, natural and strange.
October Hill Magazine Second Place Contest Issue 2019
Aria Ligi 
In Sonnet 92,
Ms Ligi, stretches her canvas of historic metaphor and pours us a golden cup of heady wine. Each crystalline metaphor arches over the rococco landscape with such elegiac power, we can almost hear the cherubs feathered wings catch and beat the air in flight.
I imagine as I wander through Ms Ligi’s garden of verse, that the shimmering texture of each piece gleams like a gold filter tapestry on some stone stair in the midst of some stony castle keep.
The power of each carefully selected phrase beckons us across a golden landscape in the afternoon sun on some Italian autumns vista..
Read each one again, read it thrice and the music of these lines will nourish and sustain.
Delicious verdant Aria, you conjure so much richness here… Beautifully layered…