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Passions in Poetry

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Cpat Hair
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Member Patricius
since 06-05-2001
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50 posted 09-04-2010 08:02 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

I gather still these forgotten bones
And carve upon the ribs such poems as might
Fit them back to cage where along the vertebrae I pause
Three syllables to inscribe as bees now dance within the hollow
That was once the marrow of each day
And in consecrated vowels lay to rest the soft of O
With mumbled prayers I found beneath the mica flakes

A glitter they were

As was the dawn upon fresh dew
Before the sun became too warm and left dry
Wood sorrel as it stood along the edge of copse
a glimmer of words scribed on wind
to rise with fading moon in search of meanings
still not written in dust or on this stripped joint of finger
left to point towards divinity yet defined


blah blah blah.... LOL

it wants to go too many ways and is lost to me now...so perhaps I'll come back to it later..
I gather still these forgotten bones
And carve upon the ribs such poems as might
Fit them back to cage where along the vertebrae I pause
Three syllables to inscribe as bees now dance within the hollow
That was once the marrow of each day
And in consecrated vowels lay to rest the soft of O
With mumbled prayers I found beneath the mica flakes

A glitter they were

As was the dawn upon fresh dew
Before the sun became too warm and left dry
Wood sorrel as it stood along the edge of copse
where in the fade of moon I found cast off
the tibia of dreams as it lay un-worded
and but a fey outline of what once stood
amid the shattered glass of stars

Along its length I pressed glyphs
as one might in wet clay
and listened to wind as it rose
to scatter these the early leaves of fall
into a rain of premature yellows and brown
trying as I was to capture the ends
of an in between time as comes
when on waking we see both moon and sun

Within its narrows lay honey now abandoned
but such sweetness I denied

blah blah blah.... (chuckling)
yes I came back to it... but do not think I did it any favors....  so it will rest again and so will I


I gather still scattered forgotten bones
cast by turning earth from passing days
And carve upon the ribs such poems as might
Fit them back to cage where along the vertebrae I pause
Three syllables to inscribe as bees now dance within the hollow
That was once the marrow of each hour
And in consecrated vowels lay to rest the soft of O
With mumbled prayers I found beneath mica flakes
and clay

A glitter they were

As was the dawn upon fresh dew
Before the sun became too warm and left dry
Wood sorrel as it stood along the edge of copse
where in the fade of moon I found cast off
the tibia of dreams as it was left un-worded
and but a fey outline of what once stood
amid the shattered glass of stars

Along its length I pressed glyphs
as one might in wet clay with fingertips
and listened to wind as it rose
carrying the scatter of early leaves that fall
into a rain of premature yellows and brown
trying as I was to capture the ends
of an in between as comes
when on waking we see both moon and sun

Within its narrows lay honey now abandoned
but such sweetness I denied to taste
letting instead the consonants hit back of teeth
and swallowed what was left of warmth
when in aggregate they spelled faith

So little in the lines on mandable of June
Did I carve runes to remember ancient spell
knowing well it had no hold on time
and could not stop the passing days or return
the heart of sly starred nights to sigh
the tender comma marks on glass in rain
that now the meaning's lost to all
except in scry of suites when deck is raised
then cut and cut again to deal a fotune told

Incoplete these fine bones of hand
do not span the distance need to hold again
the feel of love beneath fingertips
yeah, yeah yeah... indeed this one nags at me... and still wants to go too many ways... in part I think because I am reluctant to let it become some cynical rant or say too much of what it might.
so again..I will leaveit alone, knowing I have spent more time on it than I would normally consider...and am finding this practice of editing and writing only in moments in spurts so different
that I know if it were not done here, I would simply erase and be done..


I gather still these forgotten bones
And carve upon the ribs such poems as might
Fit them back to cage where along the vertebrae I pause
Three syllables to inscribe as bees now dance within the hollow
That was once the marrow of each day
And in consecrated vowels lay to rest the soft of O
With mumbled prayers I found beneath the mica flakes

A glitter they were

As was the dawn upon fresh dew
Before the sun became too warm and left dry
Wood sorrel as it stood along the edge of copse
where in the fade of moon I found cast off
the tibia of dreams as it lay un-worded
and but a fey outline of what once stood
amid the shattered glass of stars

Along its length I pressed glyphs
as one might in wet clay
and listened to wind as it rose
to scatter these the early leaves of fall
into a rain of premature yellows and brown
trying as I was to capture the ends
of an in between time as comes
when on waking we see both moon and sun

Within its narrows lay honey now abandoned
but such sweetness I denied

blah blah blah.... (chuckling)
yes I came back to it... but do not think I did it any favors....  so it will rest again and so will I


I gather still scatter of forgotten bones
cast by turning earth from passing days
And carve upon the ribs such poems as might
Fit them back to cage where along the vertebrae I pause
Three syllables to inscribe as bees now dance within the hollow
That was once the marrow of each hour
And in consecrated vowels lay to rest the soft of O
With mumbled prayers I found beneath mica flakes
and clay

A glitter they were

As was the dawn upon fresh dew
Before the sun became too warm and left dry
Wood sorrel where it stood along the edge of copse
and in the fade of moon I had found cast off
the tibia of dreams as it was left un-worded
Images drawn but a fey outline of what once stood
amid the shattered glass of stars

Along its length I pressed glyphs
as one might in wet clay with fingertips
and listened to wind as it rose
carrying the scatter of early leaves that fall
into a rain of premature yellows and brown
trying as I was to capture the ends
of an in between as comes
when on waking we see both moon and sun

Within its narrows lay honey now abandoned
but such sweetness I denied to taste
letting instead the consonants hit back of teeth
and swallowed what was left of warmth
when in aggregate they spelled faith

So little in the lines on mandable of June
Did I carve runes to remember ancient spell
knowing well it had no hold on time
and could not stop the passing days or return
heart of sly starred nights to sigh
the tender comma marks on glass in rain
so now the meaning's lost to all
except in scry of suites when deck is raised
then cut and cut again to deal a fotune told

Incoplete these fine bones of hand
do not span the distance need to hold again
the feel of love beneath fingertips
or wear a brush of skin along the cheek
turned towards now fading sun

I gather still these bones
and mark them all
with passing time


ok... note to self... use of repeated theme in opening and begining is not an easy thing to pull off, and often seems to weaken rather than re-enforce the intent... come back yet again and edit the ending and last few lines as they wander off without tie into most of what goes before...
Ideas..add references above.... take out completely and sum up the piece with seasonal reference to winter's laying white flesh on the skelaton that remains... forget entirely..lol.. which might indeed be best.


OK.... I am with the compromise of this ending content to leave it be... if I still find I am content with it later, I will post it, if a title comes to me...


I gather still scatter of forgotten bones
cast by turning earth from passing days
And carve upon the ribs such poems as might
Fit them back to cage where along the vertebrae I pause
Three syllables to inscribe as bees now dance within the hollow
That was once the marrow of each hour
And in consecrated vowels lay to rest the soft of O
With mumbled prayers I found beneath mica flakes
and clay

A glitter they were

As was the dawn upon fresh dew
Before the sun became too warm and left dry
Wood sorrel where it stood along the edge of copse
and in the fade of moon I had found cast off
the tibia of dreams as it was left un-worded
Images drawn but a fey outline of what once stood
amid the shattered glass of stars

Along its length I pressed glyphs
as one might in wet clay with fingertips
and listened to wind as it rose
carrying the scatter of early leaves that fall
into a rain of premature yellows and brown
trying as I was to capture the ends
of an in between as comes
when on waking we see both moon and sun

Within its narrows lay honey now abandoned
but such sweetness I denied to taste
letting instead the consonants hit back of teeth
and swallowed what was left of warmth
when in aggregate they spelled faith

So little in the lines on mandible of June
Did I carve runes to remember ancient spell
knowing well it had no hold on time
and could not stop the passing days or return
heart of sly starred nights to sigh
the tender comma marks on glass in rain
so now the meaning's lost to all
except in scry of suites when deck is raised
then cut and cut again to deal a fortune told

Incomplete these fine bones of hand
do not span the distanced need to hold again
the feel of love beneath fingertips
or wear a brush of skin along the cheek
turned towards now fading sun

I gather still scatter of forgotten bones
Knowing soon that winter comes and all will wear
A gown of white that chills
My own

Amaryllis
Senior Member
since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


51 posted 09-04-2010 01:03 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

That`s pretty, with so much texture.  
.
.
Along the ragged selvage
of the Lewis
fir and cedar punctuate steep banks
where storm felled trunks lie in velvet
wearing moss and lichen
green creeps inexorable upon
anything stationary
if you stand still
you think it will trail carpet
against your skin.
Down the rushing corridor
of blue, wet rock and softened bark
where the foliage dares to
dip a toe, in the secret
crevasses and hollows
slick with years, you`ll find him
intent there, pan in hand
filtering the river
with swirling sway the gravel
oscillates, sparking black
and promising of gold
.
.

Cpat Hair
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since 06-05-2001
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52 posted 09-04-2010 01:16 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

very nice... blck sands often being gold sands, the lush green of the northwest well captured... I am more than a little impressed...

Amaryllis
Senior Member
since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


53 posted 09-04-2010 01:20 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Thanks... me hubbins is a gold panner/prospector/sluicer(?)/dredger  lol   I am always inspired to write of his hobby, but whenever I try it comes out trite; I don`t know why! hah  
~Sharon
Cpat Hair
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54 posted 09-04-2010 01:35 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

I didn't think this trite... I did think it could have gone on to describe his hands, the wayshoulders bent, the shirt or the close scrutiny of eyes... to add more of his person into the write and maybe explore the "why" inside his search..other than of course the $..
I warned you..I often see back stories to pieces and or series from a single piece
where none are intended or planned...

you took me so well to the place..your descriptions of green the lushness time worn stone, it all made me see the place, and I then just got a glimpse of the man and wondered what the tie was to him and the green... the tie to the black sand and his search.....  
in telling a vignet, the reader should walk away in my opinion wanting more...and you left me wanting more of the story... to know more about the man, more about the why...and the what of that wich was inside..

Amaryllis
Senior Member
since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


55 posted 09-04-2010 04:16 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Ohh am laughing... because of course you caught that.. that`s the same thing that bothers me bout it! Truly I wanted to write more, bring in the man and all about him but my kids needed me lol so... yup, just wrapped it up too quick!     lol
.
I like that your mind sees `series`, continuations, details, etc. when reading.  
.
Thanks for the feedback!  Gotta run... fam needs me! Ciao, my good man...
~Sharon
Cpat Hair
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56 posted 09-04-2010 04:21 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Ciao m'friend....
  perhaps you'll come back to it and flesh it out or think of doing a series on your husband and his prospecting. I think it would make a wonderful treasure for him and your children, perhaps not now, but in time.

I can think of no better way to capture who he is who you two are and what family is than to write it through the words of a poet


Amaryllis
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since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


57 posted 09-04-2010 08:39 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Oh I agree! That would be divine... if I ever have the patience, lol! No, truly, I do think that would be a special gift.

And I would like to come back & 'finish' that one, above, soon.... *whew, busyyyy weekend!*  

Best to ya~
Sharon
rwood
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since 02-29-2000
Posts 3797
Tennessee


58 posted 09-05-2010 08:07 AM       View Profile for rwood   Email rwood   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for rwood

What a wonderful thread. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading you, Amaryllis. Your detail of imagery, texture, sound, color, etc. unbridles the senses/psyche with nature—which you take action with and create emotion, or vice versa, expressed emotions make your surroundings come alive and take flight. And the presences of your human subjects project tenderness but solid honesty—they seem to possess a dreamy quality but they are altogether real, to me.

Great reads, all the way.

I connect with your need. My need to write is inherent, but it vies heavily with my need to read. There’s just not enough hours in the day!!

Thank you, and thank you, too, Ron, for your deeply talented insightful inciting of inspiration.

You are both a gift to me today.

I’ll be back to add something that Ron stirred in me. He captured me with his poem “Iridescent Blues.” The dragonfly is supposed to be my totem. I’ll see if I can share something when I have more time.

Until then, please do keep writing. I’m happy to read.
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59 posted 09-05-2010 12:00 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Rwood... eager to see what my meager words might have inspired. Knowing the poetess you are, I am certain that they will take the images or words much further than my scribble...

Amaryllis
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since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


60 posted 09-05-2010 07:28 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Thank you so much, rwood...  I`m pleased you stopped by to read, and would be thrilled if you added your pen~!  
And thanks for the kind words about my writing, also  
Best~
Amaryllis
Mysteria
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61 posted 09-05-2010 11:07 PM       View Profile for Mysteria   Email Mysteria   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Mysteria

When you get Regina to come out and play, you have succeeded in stirring the muses, both of you.  I can't wait to see how the dragonfly takes flight.  I am also enjoying this thread, and like Regina, I can not find enough hours in my days anymore, so the balance of reading and writing is often out quite a bit.

Have fun,
~ Sharon ~
  ((*^))
Amaryllis
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since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


62 posted 09-06-2010 01:40 AM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Thanks, Sharon~ yes, reading is also a passion of mine! I find I go in streaks; reading almost exclusively, then so with writing, etc. Also, painting will crop up now & then, between times       Never a dull moment...!
.
.
Wanted to scrawl a bit here, tonight, again...
.
.
Here you have the grand entrance;
the solid door inlaid with leaded glass,
framed by boxwood, bougainvilla-
and artfully arranged topiary.
Step in,
onto hand-rubbed brazilian cherry,
shining in the natural light,
follow now
the lush pile of the mashad runner
along the soaring hall
where the white moulding crowns
by ten foot ceilings.
Enter the great room,
with many windows and
where snapping flames
fan in the hand-hewn fireplace.
Shelves of books
and down stuffed armchairs
await your leisure.
But who sits here, already?
See the woman
curled within the velvet sofa,
in her pearls and prada;
ash blonde head now bent
within her arms,
why do her shoulders;
slim as coat hangers,
shudder; why the sounds
that echo now off paneled walls,
hung with oil originals
framed in gilt?
As if a wounded animal
had somehow found it`s way
to paradise?
.
.
.ps: This poem NOT autobiographical!  Poetic license  ok  

[This message has been edited by Amaryllis (09-06-2010 12:59 PM).]

rwood
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since 02-29-2000
Posts 3797
Tennessee


63 posted 09-06-2010 11:55 AM       View Profile for rwood   Email rwood   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for rwood

To the Order of Totem Odonata

Somewhere,
within the pearl of your wings
my name is instinctively written in veins
You like to needle me
with your neon flit & shimmer,
lighting just long enough
to show off

Did you follow me
to Le Rouge?

Hovering warm cobblestones,
waiting for me to reappear
outside the bistro,
so you could sense the fresh mint
through my skin.

How did you find me
in the village?

Where for a thousand years
people have sold their wares,
and my eyes told too much
as I spied-home one more pair
of red shoes.

How do you pick me
out of a crowd?

I—among a roving mass
that was moving past
The White Places
where stone, so plentifully,
told of rare polished men.

I touched you once,

as a girl, among the cattails
& reeds of the creek
I sat in mud, and felt its coolness
speak to me between
my fingers.

I must have made a pact with you, there

on the first day of summer
when I fell in love
with the sparkle of the sun
that was caught in a prism-web
of mist across the waters.

I knew; moss was to my youth
as Emily was--when she penned
of death and tombs
Lie not, I, too still enough
for spore to steal my voice.

Aye, You are
my wing-quill messenger
who is fond of the freckles
on my shoulder
and the birthmark on my arm.

When the days drag on
and I seek adventure
you are with me, Gypsy-fish,
between the sheers of realms
and lands unknown.

Nymph at heart, naiad perhaps,
Arethusa--at times, between
the springs and salts, we are
of wind & watered earth
Pathways, do change.

I wear your likeness
in silver, when we winter


So here I am, penning poetry again, thanks to this thread. I've not worked on anything in this light for a very long time. I doubt the flow, entirely, and I highly doubt my punctuation serves purpose, as yall can see   very problematic for me.

I appreciate the sharing and opportunity to remove a little rust.

And thanks Ron and Sharon for expressing your kind faith in my creativity.

Happy Labor Day Everyone.




Mysteria
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64 posted 09-06-2010 02:12 PM       View Profile for Mysteria   Email Mysteria   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Mysteria

Boy I don't even know where to start to sing your praises on this one Regina.  LOVED IT!

As you know, In legend, the dragonfly was a real dragon who offended the gods and was turned into an insect.  Despite this apparent setback, the dragonfly transformed herself into a gorgeous and highly capable creature. She is the only flying insect that can hover and make rapid sharp angle turns. Thus, she has become a symbol of tenacity and beauty.  I always thought the dragonfly was a perfect symbol for women period!

Our family wear our dragonflies with pride, and the older girls all have tattoos on their outside ankle, and some of us chose places only we know where it is.         This is a necklace we all have and thought I would show you what a Celtic dragonfly looks like:



I can SO relate to this poem, as one or another of us has always commented when we are together and see one, that there goes Nana and Poppy!  (Grandparents)  I swear those dragonflies will show up when you actually need a sign you are making the right decision.  Do you find that?  I too wear one all winter and when troubled I touch that thing, and whamo - answer comes!

I can not pick out certain passages from this poem, as I love it in its entirety, and wow do I miss your writing.  Put that book down once in awhile won't you?   Take care of that brood of yours.  Happy Labour Day!
Mysteria
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65 posted 09-06-2010 02:19 PM       View Profile for Mysteria   Email Mysteria   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Mysteria

P.S.  Ron good to read you again too, when I get time later will start over on this thread and read the entire thing.
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66 posted 09-07-2010 07:51 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Regina... that is lovely... truly what I have come to expect from your pen and talent...

you should not hide it here but offer it to others..I urge you to post it ma'am.
Amaryllis
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since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


67 posted 09-07-2010 11:06 AM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

That poem was lovely; dreamy and magical... I enjoyed every word, thanks so much for sharing it! Especially liked being taken into the memory of touching the dragonfly years ago, in the reeds...  and your descriptive wing... well, there`s so many places, really, that I loved      Fabulous writing.
.
Sharon, I adore that necklace!  Beautiful  
.
Best~
Amaryllis  (Sharon2)
rwood
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Posts 3797
Tennessee


68 posted 09-07-2010 11:17 AM       View Profile for rwood   Email rwood   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for rwood

Sharon~ Wow...yes, we definitely relate. The odd thing for me is that the dragonflies show up in places they shouldn't be, even unseasonably, at times. And yes, they seem to be messengers of change & clarity to me. I've had them light on me in crowds of people, etc. I've been collecting their likeness for many years and have dragonfly everything, all except for the tattoo. LOL. I'm still waiting for them to come out with non-fading iridescent ink! Haha.

Gorgeous silver charm. I have one that's very similar!

My hubby just gifted me with a silver & resin dragonfly necklace & earrings. He couldn't have picked a more "Me" set. So, yeah, I'm pretty easy to shop for. Books and dragonflies. Lol.

Thanks so much for sharing with me and I'm really happy that the poem connects us. It's an honor to be a "sister of the dragonfly" with you  

Ron~ Smiles. But this is such a good hideout! Lol. I'm truly happy you approve because I honestly feel my poetic inkwell is rust bucket. But You and Amaryllis inspired me and that's something I cherish.

As you wish, poet friend. I'll flit to the open.

Much gratitude Sharon2 Your words are gracefully encouraging to me.



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69 posted 09-07-2010 12:32 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Yes, it is a good hideout... and nice to see the comments as well as see the offerings here...

as for inspire... ma'am, the words are in you or you could not find them and write. If in any way the scribbles of mine helped you find them, or them find you..I'm honored.

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70 posted 09-09-2010 01:28 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

Lunch Counter Geography

Angela moves like a worried ferret
As she pushes pie and 64 trying to hustle tips
While wasting nervous motions in back and forth
Between orders and knowing nods to the regulars
Who come with folded papers and begin to talk
To anyone with an ear about how it has all gone downhill
And even the crooks we elected can’t be trusted
To fix the favors handed out the way they used to

I always leave 20% or more on the counter for Angela
Because I remember how she told me on a slow day
How she lost her husband a few years back and now gives her daughter
Who lives next door a part of what she makes, ‘cause single moms
Just can’t make it when they work and pay
For the babysitting and rent
In return, when I walk in, she always has a glass of water waiting
And a copy of the local for me to read then recites the specials to me
Even though she knows I’ll probably just have soup

Last Tuesday she dropped my bowl in front of me
And instead of retreating back to fidget with wrapping silverware
Up in paper napkins and lining them up like so many rows
Of white three part sardines
She asked me where I was from, and waited tentatively to see
If I was going to scowl or mumble some answer that she wouldn’t understand
I laughed
And told her in general terms that I was from further south than here
Then turned the question back and asked if she was from “here”

She smiled and began to talk,
Ignoring and forgetting for a few moments the nervous tic of doing nothing
As she told me how she came from further east and only settled here
When her husband who was Navy bound brought her back
To be closer to his family, but she had missed something then
Of the way elbows got jostled in crowds on the train
And how she remembered hats
Such wonderful hats she’d worn back when she’d turned the eyes
Of those young men who in their own fedoras were playing grown up
With their pipes and ties as they waited to shuffle onto
Their clerical paid holiday by the shore

I smiled and listened as I touched the spoon to broth
And wondered why she chose to tell me

She finished talking about the same time I finished my soup
So I grinned at her with a nod of head and told her I was sure
She had turned a lot of heads in her day
And put enough on the counter to cover the meal and her tip

She smiled as she picked up the money
And said as she turned
“You’re not from around here”

[This message has been edited by Cpat Hair (09-09-2010 04:13 PM).]

Amaryllis
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since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


71 posted 09-09-2010 03:56 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Loved that, Ron... so genuine; a piquant observation, and we are able to see through the eyes of both Angela and the N.  Love the colloquial voice, also.
.
I`ve tried to write twice now, in the past two days... my muse seems to be MIA but she will return, I`m sure of it  
.
Best~
Sharon
Cpat Hair
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Member Patricius
since 06-05-2001
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72 posted 09-12-2010 09:22 AM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

I see you found your muse...and your offering was indeed one of merit..

my own muse seems at present to be watching the fern turn yellow and the clouds slump their shoulders and stay still as it rains..

Amaryllis
Senior Member
since 05-20-2010
Posts 1325
Mi now


73 posted 09-12-2010 02:55 PM       View Profile for Amaryllis   Email Amaryllis   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Amaryllis

Yet, I hear her still, in your words, Ron  
.
.
.
Oh, I know you want the boy
to leap into the chain mail
of young adulthood, yes
but why the wild river
where bedrock hides the bones
of presumptuousness
turning bisque within the olive silt
why the granite mandible
jutting 20 feet into the day
where these browned and glistening
acolytes of manhood jump and shove
and bandy about the filthy slang
of fear; why the silver`d eye
of competition, why the leap
into the shocking air?
While the indifferent river
rushes to the Columbia
and on into the sea?
Cpat Hair
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74 posted 09-12-2010 05:27 PM       View Profile for Cpat Hair   Email Cpat Hair   Edit/Delete Message      Find Poems  View IP for Cpat Hair

ah... indeed that is lovely.. in language and imagery as well as the content..

the river..oh how she has been mistress and ghost that seems to haunt....


This finger of water grasps
the edges of the Blue
carressing the margins of her bed
then mixing the silt of limestone upland
with the darker valley loam
when the rains come and she

in her lower voice
moans against the sandstone
taking for her own the wear of grain
to polish smooth
sharpest edge

but when the calm of summer
finds her languid
she takes introspect
and those who might court the favor
of warm wet nights and dew
she graces with the touch of whisper
telling tales so made of words
that lie beneath the sand
descrbing how the calf and thigh of time
stepped deep within eroded pools

she left behind


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