"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Friday, March 24, 2017

Bit Part

An Actress with a Mask
Eva Gonzales
19th Century Impressionism

Maybe this happens to all adults:
The dawning realization
that the life you have so pains-
takingly achieved
is a sham.
You are going through
motions of teacher, lover,
mother, friend
and even worse,
you don’t know what
this ‘life’ is really
supposed to be.

The role you have played
has become the part.


Words Count with Mama Zen

Friday, March 17, 2017

Unknown Territory

Children Playing in a Garden
Pierre Bonnard (1899)

Some afternoons, we’d climb the fence
and scramble around the neighbour’s backyard,
pick new buds from his rosebushes,

scrounge for cherries in the fall
from an aged tree he seemed to have forgotten.
We claimed this territory

the way all colonists do, by stealth
and secrecy, taking broken tools from the shed,
digging for treasure in piles of leaves

until the day a band of yellow tape
barred our way, men in uniform converged
on our doorstep, and we, wide-eyed, saw

a pallid girl stumble out from the battered
front door, blinded by the sudden light of day,
her childhood left on the basement floor.


For Fireblossom Friday ~ Incongruity

Thursday, March 9, 2017

Out & About

I would like to express my thanks to Carl Sharpe for featuring my poem, Contemplating People, and a reading on Verse Wrights this week. His enthusiasm and encouragement is greatly appreciated.

Friday, March 3, 2017

Sonnet 33

Night Perfume
Kaoru Kawano (1950)
Fair Use

I wake with a sudden flush of heat
upon my skin (so suddenly the dream
is pulled adrift) a thought left incomplete,
an odour at the edges of the room:

these dog tail days of summer bind
sweat to salt to tears (they taste
of every desultory day I spent confined)
but let me perfume the damp corners
                                     of hope gone to waste.

When did the promise become ordinary?
All subject to this wear and tear (my edges
are ragged as seams unpicked) and no balm
for a life when I’m only halfway there.

What faint scent lingers in the crook of my arm?


Bits of Imagination ~ Perfume is a prompt hosted by Susie Clevenger in the Imaginary Garden.