(Dear Friends, these paragraphs below may appear to be total nonsense unless I first explain that they are meant to be a celebration of words and their melodious sound. I found a few lists of what people felt were the most beautiful sounding words in the English language, and I took the words and pieced them together in a sort of prose poem. So, that is what you have below: a celebration of the most wonderful sounds in the English language!)
Oh, melody, oh, beauty. The lyrical sound takes a shape; mellifluous music flows and the redolent word entices. An elixir so secret that only the poet knows. Dulcet tones wafting freely with no author. Extraordinaire! Gossamer threads of reverie touching another.
Nightingale heralds, wood thrush embellishes, peacock astounds.
Epiphany bubbles forth: luminescent, illustrative, delicious —succulently filled with the intonations of harmony. Resonant, yes, ever so subtle. Nothing superfluous.
Evanescent and ephemeral these echoes may be, but yet alluring and enticing themselves into memory.
Allegory: precipitous terrain without a guide. The mist departs.
Sweet serendipity collecting its members: sea-foam green and tangerine merging into aquamarine. Glistening azure.
Balancing cinnamon, a dollop of fudge and sweet lavender, what to choose? A lollypop of all? Serene shapes flourishing in chiaroscuro—a velvety overlay with chimera at the edges. No mere disconnected paraphernalia here; all woven together.
Salvador in paradise… him?? Finding sanctuary in the Elysian fields, halcyon days hinting at the ineffable. Resurrection. Shining aurora above the citadel on the hill. Sylvan sights for sure: the autumnal Worchester meadow rich in harvest, bordered by a brook. No saturnine threats from the heavens, ever.
What? No meaning here? Think again.
The feminine sway: curvaceous line—smooth, lithe, dancing vivaciously. Or did he mean to say voluptuous?
A loquacious ingénue’s silhouette swishing into shadow, both of them sashaying to a chosen place more cozy. A fetching bride she might be? (Voices heard off stage): “Arianna, so narcissistic, and then her shenanigans with no cachet, oh vey.”
Henri in ennui, lackadaisical, stuck in the mud of shilly-shally. Dressed in melancholy for the party. Not enough courage for soliloquy.
Back from the boulevards of Vienna and down the cellar door, slowwwwwly, languorously, lugubriously. Sanguine and serene, listen there: suave whispers that curve and don’t collide—cursive forms meandering along. Pandemonium avoided; good for that!
Assuage the predatory and savage, conciliate with the raging.
Pensively flabbergasted at the marvelous, amazed when the enigma loosens its grasp. Conflagrations extinguished. Nothing askew. Acquiesce to the opulently miraculous. Silence, as awe envelopes.
Bamboozled no longer, dear whimsy, let us have more of it!