Sunday, September 16, 2012

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


Friday, September 14, 2012

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

Sunday, August 19, 2012

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 StonesPure 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


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




Cyclamen



On the window sill
proudly look at themselves in the pane,
stylish, slim fuchsia
cyclamen.


© Claudia.Messelodi

Thursday, August 16, 2012

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

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

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

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

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

Monday, August 13, 2012

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

Friday, August 10, 2012

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

I am pleased to welcome my friend, Amanda HallWriting 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.

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

Thursday, August 9, 2012

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

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

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

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

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

Monday, August 6, 2012

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

Sunday, August 5, 2012

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

Sunday, July 29, 2012

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
 

Friday, July 27, 2012

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: 

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

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.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

The Snail Graveyard

(photograph ©2011, www.Francletography.com) 

The Snail Graveyard


They know-
Somehow they know.
They know where to end up,
Where they are all supposed to die.
But how?

They're here-
All of them: alone, together.
Each found his way, his place,
His spot to die –
In peace.



 © Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont



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.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Nowhere to Run (An Acrostic)

(Blind Alley, © Jill Arent, 2008)




Nowhere to Run (An Acrostic)

Never before, never again – or so I said; 
trapped like a rat, a mad thing,
Over-eager to be free to be away to be out.
Why am I here again, stuck in this place,
Heart pounding, adrenaline racing -
Every sense on high alert, 
waiting for the other shoe to drop,
Ready to run to escape to gnaw off my own arm.
Everywhere I look I see a wall.
The exits are not clearly marked, 
the aisles are not clear;
Open windows all have bars, 
open doors all have locks.
Running is not an option.
Until now I never thought “fight or flight” 
was a literal choice;
Now I know better. 


©
 Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont

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.