You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
We were gathering her possessions
for our return to school when I came across
Hollander’s recording of The Tempest.
“Where’d you get this?” I asked curiously,
looking up to see her disappointed face
and be told: “It was for your birthday.”
Years later, another lover
would filch the album
amid another tempest.
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Poem copyright 2015
Attraction includes conflict. Passion. Suffering. Adjustment. Breakthroughs. Surrender, even.
A tender touch. Renewal. A dance, together. Our song, in the end.
For the full set of poems, click here.
~*~
I used to like the Public Broadcasting System series, back before I bought an old house. Now it’s too painful. Look at all this old wiring, the plumbing problems, the rot and warping, the fact the bulkhead needs replacing. The flaking paint, again. (Bulkhead? Didn’t even know what that was beforehand.)
What else do you want to know about New England?
~*~
For more on my poetry collection and others, click here.
New England can be a harsh place. Its winter is long, with snow possible October into April or even longer, at least where I live.
You’re never far from earlier generations, either. They’re hardy as stone.
Each month sinks down through centuries.
As do the poems in this almanac.
The new year’s just around the corner. For your own copy, click here.
~*~
It’s a kitchen table, rather than a largely ignored dining room. Or outside, in the rain. Or even a restaurant or diner.
Well, in one of the poems, it’s linen covered beside a black pond. But that’s for a formal occasion.
As for the rest of the series, the pieces reflect home and family and a calling to intimacy. How informal do you want to get? And how do you like your tea?
~*~
For your own copy, click here.
If you’re still here, with me, I hope there’s no need to remind you:
~*~
That’s what Woodpecker says!
Yeah, there were brats. You couldn’t avoid them.
And broken glass. And sirens at midnight.
It’s what we could afford where we were.
Oh, what a neighborhood!
~*~
For your own copy, click here.
How can you not appreciate the way the word flows on the teeth and tongue and along the lips?
Given its name, Oyster River, in the Lenape tongue for the profusion at its mouth in Chesapeake Bay, the word ripples and sings.
Upstream, where I lived, a different name would have been fitting but, I’ll presume, no more beautiful.
~*~
For your own copy, click here.
What catechist insists
they’re ivory flights
in snowy clouds? Angels exist
in every rainbow color, including scarlet
footsteps on silver ladders
where charity runs in both directions.
Scarlet, as well, fills the Seventh Day
and Seventh Year, when you take rest.
Scarlet, as the sunset or sunrise
or the blood of the lamb. For that matter,
faith demands more than walking on water.
For starters, try treading on air
with or without the ladder.
To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015
As I said at the time …
You know, of course, what an absolute delight it is to have all five submissions accepted. I’ve been floating all day.
Thanks.
Jnana's Red Barn 