Category Archives: Poetry

Just Shy

Not a shrinking violet

Or scared to use her voice

Like a maestro with an instrument

She delivered courageous joy

Dire situations didn’t daunt her

A guidon in a hurricane

although the grim did haunt her

Fear forgot her name

Approaching Senior

older person holding an open book near a window

I am too old to be considered youthful

Yet, I’m a child, still wet-behind-the-ears

I’ve lived a life precariously truthful

But still, I’ve yet to see all of my years.

I have been as close to death as dust

But I still don’t know it by its common name

I have gifted dirges to those I’ve loved

A place in my heart they’ve claimed

If I’m blessed to live an entire century,

I hope that I won’t sit alone by the window

Waiting for those I love to learn too late they love me.

I’d languish for their amity, my companion, my shadow

There is a certain reverence to a life lived unfurled

The spiral tapestries of the lessons learned

Woven back upon itself briefly, beautifully curled

Love and joy have always been the life for which I’ve yearned

What Once Was

I know I didn’t fall from grace

But I am here,

Looking in the mirror

Staring at your face

Where once in unison our hearts beat

I couldn’t wait to share

My life stories laid bare

Somehow, now, I feel defeat

The connection that I had

With you has released

The distancing increased

It is neither good nor bad

It is what it was created to be

It’s darker now than ever it was

I cannot feel you in my blood

A monument of a you and I; “we”

Murder

I am repulsed by the weight of my skin

As if my every breath is a sin

Emotional trauma’s affection

Dissociative disconnection

Grappling a height I’ll never climb

For long ago, I was left behind

Every step I’ve made, I’ve done alone

Bitterness in my haunted bones

Illusions of love, of commitment, of joy

Are rotting with lies set to destroy

At times, I believe, I will rise above

That I will know peace of the mythical dove

But the curtain falls and the show is done

And I realize I have never won

I’ve stepped in line with my own path

Which cost me relationships in its wrath

But choices made were neither bad nor good

But all were made from a basic falsehood

That I was never good enough no matter how I tried

So, you see, I murdered her, so that I could live and thrive

The Lake

The lazy green-brown water giggling silver in the breeze

Aglow with the pure enjoyment of the heated evening

Sunset birthing the cotton-candy dusk, reducing the trees

To royal purple mascots of the Blue Heron’s seating

A fish flashes rainbow-sided far from the shore

A nearly silent explosion of prismatic rain

Relishing mosquitoes and dragonflies galore

Survival the only and longest campaign

Narcissus

I am the fairest in the land

I will not grant you to hold my hand

Women weep and lords they kneel

So taken are they by my appeal

I am a hunter, true, by trade

But that is not where my fortune’s made

For none can compare to my majesty

For those left behind me, it’s a tragedy

while wandering eve in forest’s thicket

the dusking chorus of chirping crickets

I leaned over the pool so clear and still

I heard the song of whippoorwill

Taken was I by the vision I saw there

With bright green eyes and curly hair

Immediately I fell head over heels

Born-again with religious zeal

I had finally met my illustrious mate

The vision fading as it grew late

I fitfully slept on the water’s edge

Praying not some sortilege

At morning star, I approached the shore

Gazing with beloved ardour

And there reflected so I could see

The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen

But every time I attempted to touch the hand

Ripples destroyed us like a reprimand

I beat my chest in furious pounds

Wrecking the forest with ferocious sounds

I wept to be kept from whom I truly desired

My chest turned purple, my loins afire

So intense was my love that I wasted away

And a flower with my name is known to this day

Narcissus, they say at my beauty unmatched,

Your vanity, your curse, will not be dispatched.

Big Bands and Crooners

Trombone sliding around trumpets

Ole blue eyes and Crosby balladering

Loudly enough on the hi-fi to be heard in the kitchen

Cinnamon and nutmeg joined in chorus

Butter whipped with rich brown sugar

Sunshine egg yolks breaking out of their shell

Clouds of flour rising with surprised impudence

and vanilla competing with cocoa

(depending on the recipe)

Blended, folded, mixed, stirred

always in time to the metranome of music

Oven preheated, we hand our offerings into its maw

Patience.

All dishes are washed. All surfaces cleaned.

Attend to the hopeful gifts being transformed

Dusting, vacuuming, beds long made

Wait while the trumpet solo reaches cresendo

Patience.

With the ring of the timer, we engage our success

while Big Bands and Crooners celebrate with us

Hero’s Quest

Moonlight ignites the open shore

Heroic lives are no more

Ballads sung of victories won

will mist away in morning sun

Still, the waves continue on

The sword declaring, “It is done.”

Forgetful kisses of water and sand

Corpses recovered to the land

Formidible fortress now is silent

Peace ironic after the violence.

Groundhog Day

The atmosphere is filled with fear

While the scythe swings deathly near

Labored breathing, barely there

Scars of battles warn: Beware!

The flies swarm round like vultures keening

Recycled life of profound meaning

The Otherwhere claims the tiny soul

Regret is mine for the life I stole

Soul Pool

Soul Pool

I have existed for eons before I was born

As a descendant of my womenfolk

Who have cradled me within their wombs

Nurturing my spirit they have always known

Just as I know them in my aging, dusty carcass

Animated by their tribal songs that lent me their breath

Extending their pneuma into my mortality

Anointing me with collective wisdom as my inheritance

Courage emblazoned like a scarlet letter;

ushered in with fiercest loyalty

Resilience bestowed as an endowment of hope

Strength of a champion intrinsically passed down

I am born again and again, basking in the immortality

Reveling in the joyful victories of lives well lived

Lamenting the horrors and pains that are birthed;

And rebirthed, and again

I am my mother’s eyes, my grandmother’s faith,

My great-grandmother’s charm,

my great-great-grandmother’s muscle memory

I am because of their willingness to grant me

This Soul Pool in which I float and swim