Failing as we Fall, by Scarlett Rains

Failing as we Fall

Words trip from my lips,

stumbling, they fall 

in stops and starts,

tumbling towards misinterpretation.

Coward that I am,

I call them back.

Too late. 

Your eyes remind me, again,

I am too late.

© 2012 Scarlett Rains

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Potential Untapped, a poem by Scarlett Rains

Potential Untapped

The one note, unsung, sets the 

tone for it all,

like a gong unsounded in 

a Buddhist’s garden,

or a dewdrop clinging to the leaf.

© 2012 Scarlett Rains

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Scarlett's Guest Poet, Claudia Messelodi, stops by from Italy...

Please, welcome my friend, Claudia Messelodi.  Claudia has traveled all the way from Italy (via the Web)—taking time from her husband, three children and responsibilities as a high school teacher —to visit with us this week, and share her work.   I am so glad she is here! Claudia’s poetry has been published in EoTE, Dragonscale Clippings,  A Handful of Stones,  Pure Haiku, Simply Elfje, and Calaméo. Her first poetry collection 'Sky-blue Wisteria' was published March 2012 by the Arcolibri Cazzaniga Editore. Her poem, 'Presenza', won the  Perle Poetiche award in Italy this past February. You can enjoy more of her writing on her blog, a stream of small stones and contact Claudia here. 

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Claudia Recommends

Wisteria

Wisteria

Delicate
light purple-blue
tendrils – embracing;
vulnerable, youth-scented
weeping clusters,
imbued with shy, self-effacing elegance;
pale, fuzzy leaves.
Convey
an intimate sense of friendship.
Blossom out
reciprocal belonging.
Celebrate
harmonious wildness.
Unveil
untamed, natural beauty.

© Claudia.Messelodi

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Cyclamen

On the window sill

proudly look at themselves in the pane,

stylish, slim fuchsia

cyclamen.

© Claudia.Messelodi

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The Colours of the Rainbow (Haiku sequence)

The Colours of the Rainbow 

(Haiku sequence)

Rainbow red up high, 
let your fire spread through pale panes,
warm up frozen hearts.

Rainbow orange stripe, 
scatter joy and mirthful smile 
upon hopeless eyes.

Rainbow yellow yawns 
as sun shine lights up the room,
stormy rains have gone.

Rainbow green grows wild
touching hills and mountain peaks,
earthly powers rise.

Rainbow blue beams bright
amid indigo and green, 
pours dew-drops from skies.

Rainbow indigo,
intense shifting gradation,
evokes His presence.

Rainbow violet arch,
lavender scent to announce
God's mercy on earth.

© Claudia.Messelodi

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Bees

Bees

Curious untiring bees,

your buzzing round our ears,

as a welcoming cheerful melody

that expands in the air;

you show us your golden fuzzy rings,

tracks of stardust,

as reminders of your nourishing juice,

beside your proud pitch-black parts,

as cautious lifebelts,

hiding the most defensive weapon.

© Claudia.Messelodi

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My Friend

My Friend

The intimate sound of your voice, my friend, 
as a cradle-song for my anxieties, 
heals my fears, 
strengthens my belief, 
whenever the hinges of life 
start to vacillate and weaken. 
Do come wings of that unique voice,
flying softly over my face, 
give me the spur to go on, 
once again, 
infuse into my being 
your delicate lulling sounds, 
that once 
only my mother 
had been able to modulate 
in the most absolutely 
perfect way.

© Claudia.Messelodi

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Sky-blue Wisteria (Haiku sequence)

Sky-blue Wisteria 

(Haiku sequence)

Weak dwindling strength sways
in the wind while sipping sap

of uncertainty.

Tightly interwoven

twigs ovecome loneliness

in mutual support.

Pale purple pink white

wisteria - mirrors of one's 

rooted rarity.

Colourful fragrance

tasty touch - crossed crowded bridge

that crosses barriers.

Celestial light blue

shoots - skimming but not lapsing

over frothy sins.

Flourishing clusters

that flatter rusted railings 

plunged in rotten clay.

Bright blooms bend downward

shunning the shimmering gloom

of a moonless night.

Through fluctuating shades

constant modulated grasp -

shifting perspectives.

© Claudia.Messelodi

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Meet, Amanda Hall, and enjoy her poetry...

Amanda recommends this !

I am pleased to welcome my friend, Amanda Hall. Writing is Amanda's life, though she says she has a hard time admitting that out loud. Regardless, there is no denying her talent!  I love  the intensity and honesty of Amanda's poetry. She is a gifted author who also writes short stories and novels. Though her work is as yet  unpublished, we encourage her not to give up.  It is simply a matter of time, and finding the right agent. Get to know Amanda Hall by stopping in and joining in the dialogue on her blogs.

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Thunder

Thunder

Standing in a never-ending aisle

 pulling things out of boxes

red, white, blue

robotically piling them into

neat rows in

neat shelves

the floor rumbles and I

nearly tip over at the sound

of a hundred elephants

 trampling the roof tiles

and the ceiling almost crashes

down on me

thrust into shadow

 I look around, panicked

 but there is nowhere to hide

 people rush by

 and I am frozen

someone calls my name

 but it’s not who I’m looking for

 I follow because

 she’s scared too

ushering people out

people who are not scared

who would laugh at us

if they knew the truth

she finds a comfort, but

 I am alone

 again

I sprint

rush

until I’m in the place

with all the windows

lightning cracks the sky

three

four times

and I take out my

 box cutter and

 sink like jeans

 that slowly go down

 in the water

when they get wet

until I’m leaning

 against the register

holding me up

a hand on my back

guiding me in the

dim light

until I open my eyes

and see that

     

no one is with me

© Amanda Hall

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A.R.R.H.

A.R.R.H.

twisting
turning

pulling

excruciating in my gut

resists the want of food

or not want

the thick, luscious

velvet buttercup

but not for me

instead a crushing titanium

 the pressure burning

into my temples

my vision is like

I don’t have

my glasses on

tearing resumes,

wrenching every part of me

swimming in heat

and I sit

with my head between

my knees

lungs empty of breath

like two flat

paper bags

moments

seconds

years pass

and I breathe deeply

flat dry air as the

pressure ebbs

and I lie in the haze

and close my eyes

© Amanda Hall

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Remember

Remember

I remember when I

saw you for the first time

and a smile lit up your face

You kissed your mom

on the cheek before we

left, and you said goodbye

to your dad

And we went and got

shakes in my car

with the other two who

we sometimes forgot were

with us. You laughed

so much that night

and I did too

more than ever before

I could not believe how

perfect you were.

I remember the first time

I saw you when

we were in bed together

and how perfect you

were and how

beautiful it was.

and still is.

© Amanda Hall

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Summer

Summer

Not a swirling cold

Or a silent night

But an open window

Staring into lemon light

And charcoal beetle wings

Against the cook-an-egg

Cement.

Not a bitter white touch

Or chattering bone

But an oven in your car

Lying next to the roaring

River that threatens

To take you away

And a heat soaking

Through your lace shirt

And into your

Skin.

© Amanda Hall

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Swollen

Swollen

Shut partway

liquid dams up and spills over the bridge

the pressure too great

for the wall to withstand

and it crumbled

piece by piece into the

icy river below

it rose up over the tired banks

and into worn houses

asking for strength

for determination

but emptiness greeted it,

vast and unforgiving

creeping coldly into the corners

to find strays

that did not

belong.

The dam now burns

the wall fallen

dry and hot in the bleeding sun

death and fire approach

life has moved to another home

one that does not keep it quiet

or shut it away

but sets it free, flowing

swiftly into the streets,

and slowly under mossy carpets

to gain

life

of its own.
 © Amanda Hall

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Red Lights

Red Lights

Red Lights

sea of crimson

glaring

burning into my retinas

into my cerebrum

banshee-screeching

finger-flipping

calf-cramping

pedal-pushing

through the muck and mire

beneath an anvil that

constantly sways

and sags with

gravity

madness keeps my

eyelids pried in the

two-ton molded-metal pile

it finally moves again

brings me to the

spacious

deserted

place where I

sit in the one

recliner

and eat my ramen

alone

with my

tv.

 © Amanda Hall

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My Guest Poet this week is...

Author, Patricia Neely-Dorsey, who considers her books as a "celebration of the south and things southern". Patricia currently lives in Tupelo, Mississipi with her husband James, son Henry, and Miniature Schnauzer, Happy. For more about Patricia's work, visit her blog. 

Patricia Recommends

My Guest Poet this week is:

Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont.  I am delighted that Jill left corporate America to focus on her writing. You will see that she is quite talented. For more information about Jill, and her journey to becoming a writer, visit her lovely website: 

All Things Jill-Elizabeth.

Jill's Book Recommendation Where the Sidewalk Ends

The Quiet

(photograph courtesy of Francletography, ©2011, www.Francletography.com)

The Quiet

I love when the world goes quiet and still;

When the spinning whirling twirling comes to a halt,

When everything stops, pauses, 

ceases for a moment in time.

When everything is quiet.

Unlike many, this absence goes not give me a chill –

I am not afraid to be still.

Rather, I find it perfect, peaceful, sublime.

The eye of my storm.

If it were up to me, there would be mandatory silence

Enforced by the universe

At regular intervals throughout the day –

Null moments, 
Required time to just sit and 

be ruled by calm and patience;

No action allowed –

Empty time, devoid of work, absent all play.

My own little black hole.

I need time to just be – not be helpful 

or be clever or be nice, 

Not to worry about you or me or 

the price of tea in China

But to just exist, lost in my own world, my own head,

Sitting in my own quiet dark mental corner, 

facing the wall.

I am not a rock, don’t want to be alone forever, 

am not made of ice; 

No man is an island, and I am no man.

I need interaction too, need love and 

conversation as much as water or bread.

I didn’t always.  You gave me that, my love, 

and I can never thank you enough.

But handfuls of placid moments, 

scattered here and there

Are still a part of who I am,

Are essential to my psychological welfare.

Without them, I am not me.  

Even with you.


© Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont

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Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont, a  former corporate attorney and government relations and health policy executive, walked away (well, skipped actually) from the big-city worlds of corporate and political America and headed for a more literary life (equally challenging, but infinitely more enjoyable).  Visit Jill at All Things Jill-Elizabeth and leave a comment about her poem below.

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