Saturday, May 23, 2015

Swings

Two swings required –
Close together, preferably,
So we can hold hands
And keep swinging
In tandem, in synchrony.

Legs pump back and forth
Building to frightening heights
Where, suspended momentarily,
The chains catch on reversal.

Two swings required
So we can discuss
The day’s events
And float above
The day’s events.

My hair flies out behind then forward, across my face,
Air rushes past my ears –
I hear only what I want to hear; you laugh,
We speak without words.

Two swings required
So we can stretch
Our legs to the sky
And touch stars
Together, hand in hand.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Piercing Beauty

  

On the news they showed a stunning image – 
Hovering in the distance a perfect, luminous rainbow
Missing only a pot of gold to be the stuff of fairies.
And just left of its midpoint,
The perfectly formed funnel of a tornado,
Penetrating purples and blues.

Such uncommon beauty –
Noisy color amidst dark clouds, 
Clean lines of the horizon 
Holding up a faultless arc,
Brimming with boundless prospects.

And the cone, so perfectly formed,
Its ridges narrowing to a point – 
What is its point? 
It exists only to destroy. 
And why today – why was this particular moment of beauty
Chosen by that funnel, piercing through, 
Casting no rainbows, leaving no treasure.



Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Summer House

The birds have returned to the spot below the window.
I never find the nest or evidence of feathers so well camouflaged.
Yet every spring they return
And I hear the coo, coo, flutter, tap, tap
As they open the summer house.
Rearranging and tidying up, moving furniture out of storage
Hauling mattresses to rightful positions on bedframes,
Sheets aired on the line
And pillows clapped to air out winter dust.
Cobwebs wiped clean and
Some paint to refresh the corners,
This year may be different as the children have grown
And may be in and out,
May not even be there together, at the same time.
But the nest must be readied.
Old sticks must be replaced with new bits of fluff
And perhaps a snag of an old baby blanket.


Thursday, April 9, 2015

Guest Poem!

My husband is also a poet, and he recently wrote this beautiful poem about his father. I wanted to share it.

Your Suits                                by: Thanassis Mazarakis

You wore a pinstripe suit on that lazy evening after work
When you dove to catch the soccer ball I kicked to score
Past your imaginary goalpost defense in our game.
And in that suit my mother rushed you to the hospital
To treat your broken arm while I was hiding behind the couch.

It was your signature tweed jacket you were sporting, 
the one you wore on weekends,
When you visited our new apartment on the Slope
To meet my newborn son, your namesake.
You got up from the armchair to take your leave,
Cat hair on your back, and 
Sure that it would get you mad, disgusted or quietly upset
I did not say a word.

I stuffed a picture of my growing children,
The one you told me you had liked a lot,
into the breast pocket of your favorite dark grey cashmere suit
Right before the funeral procession honoring your life and character
To keep you company but also to remind or reassure me
Of their closeness to your heart.

So it was no surprise, I guess,
When I saw you in my dream last night.
We were inching up a rocky incline, silently,
Your arm steadying your fragile body with my own.
It was a rainy day, or so it seemed,
Because the blazer I remembered from my youth 
was soaking wet.
But I was dry, or so it seemed, until I realized,
Awake again, that I was crying.



Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Public Exposure

Your voice carries your legal struggles
And lurid details of betrayal across from your table to mine –

Too much information for those of us
Whose involvement you compel without our concurrence.

We become embroiled in your lust for justice
And shudder as your voice rises in anger.

You glance at me as you hang up and I sit, condemned
Along with the putz of a lawyer I heard you fire.

Disregarding other patrons’ conversations
And crowding us with your overflow of files and fury,

You insist on our attendance
At your strange party.




Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Published in Clementine Poetry Journal!!


 



One of my poems was published in the fairly new journal Clementine Poetry, edited by the wonderful GF Boyer, poet and teacher extraordinaire. I'm in pretty fabulous company, as you can see from the other poetry published so far.  



Here it is:
Comments in the Dark


Saturday, January 31, 2015

Genius

I was never the smartest, 
but always knew how 
to make the connection, 
to draw an analogy, 
to ask a good question.

I always missed marks of distinction, 
doing well enough to move on:
always worked just hard enough
always at the last minute,
always meeting the deadline, just.

The genius
is one who knows
what to say at a the right moment,
what to listen to or ignore,
what matters or not.

Lessons learned through hard experience
Are most weighty;
Tough to hold,
Believe, act upon.
Genius comes at a heavy price.


Monday, December 22, 2014

Advent

Advent I

The plates are not yet clean from the feast
And yet the great preparation commences.
The bite in the air portends
The advent, the beginning.
My heart feels dull and strands of worry
Cloud my waking.
Too much, it’s too much to contemplate
How to ready my house, my heart?
I feel no flair yet, no novel approach
To set the scene for the stable,
The semblance of security, the safety of home.



Advent II

Snow today – steady, small bits
Accumulating no mass as yet.
When I was a little girl I made the mistake
Of connecting magic to snow.
Absent white flakes I believed
The beauty of the advent was wanting,
And I wanted, I wanted.



Advent III

Flurries,
Furious activity –
Frantic airport runs and post office lines.
Time eludes to think or contemplate or
Wonder at the wonder,
Tomorrow, later, after pageant,
Wrapping, parties.
Time to wait again will come,
Time to revel in all that is and will be. 



Advent IV

It is.
Quiet now, the early morning air holds
All the promise we have sought.
What is done is done, and
What is not will have to be forgotten.
It won’t matter in the end.
Faces will light and lighten.
And I will sing my hymn,
My praise song
For the silence, the peace, the glory
Of this moment and the earth.





Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Cascading in the Coffee Shop



Sitting in the coffee shop
There is an illusion of productivity
And novel thoughts occurring
While I simply sip from my cup.

Each morning follows similar patterns:
Get up, get ready, fill my head with
Goals of all I’ll accomplish while
Sitting in a coffee shop.

Surfing and navigating
The literary shoals;
Wading through the rushes,
There is an illusion of productivity.

A chance encounter with Howie
Breaks into my flow;
Banter begets new pathways, with
Novel thoughts occurring.

Now memories and inspiration loom,
Flowing from my fingertips.
Perhaps something new is brewing
While I simply sip from my cup.


Friday, September 5, 2014

Change in Plans

I planned for solitude this morning:
To use every moment to the fullest,
Quiet moments with no pleas for help, permission or attention.

But when I kissed the little one goodbye
and watched him walk his uncertain way up the path to his new school, 
my stomach clutched and I mourned instead.

I want them all home again to tell me what I missed
As they lived in their worlds out there.