Tag: Poetry

Seven Seconds of Stunned Silence

~ Deb ~ 1 Comment

It’s a timeless moment,

a sharp intake of knowing, a breath of awareness.

The final word comes, either heard or read,

and with it the resolution of a thought

which resonates at a tone too deep for humans to hear –                                             

maybe heard only by sperm whales –

but which we can feel, and which we know rings

a truth truer than the truth known before.

 

My eyes linger at the white space

on the page after the final period –

Or I sit in the quiet after Garrison’s voice

falls away into broadcast silence. 

I stay in that silence.

I stay for a timeless moment,

seven seconds of stunned silence,

in that place where poetry lives.  

Thistle

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

I love to see a field of thistle

from a distance.  Get too close

and you will bleed.  But someone

has to chop it down before it

 

goes to seed and spreads its drifting,

downy, dangerous self into a

field of corn or beans or maybe

where the cattle feed.   It has not

 

many friends except the butterfies and

bees.  And I am not one either except

I love to see it purple in a field, far

away, where it cannot make me bleed.

Poet At Work

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

Sunday morning sipping tea.

Different from past Sundays.

No newspaper. No black and white movie on t.v.

No coffee (too acidic, causes arthritis, gums up your joints).

 

Now I sit at the kitchen table

still in my robe at noon

laptop computer wirelessly surfing the net

from one website to the oddly connected next

like a cyber version of six degrees of Kevin Bacon.

From the blood type diet to the blood type of Jesus

to a blog about Ernest Angley to a Wiccan site (for balance)

to a chakra site to Shirley MacLaine’s site

which talked about her new book

and had the first chapter online

which mentioned the connection of musical tones to colors

and how that is evidenced in the chakra system

which made me think . . .

 

Connection.  Colors.  Tones.  Energy centers.  Emotion.

So I wrote a poem about the color of anger.

 

Can’t you see I’m working?

Hues of Anger

~ Deb ~ 1 Comment

The Internet test said “write down the name of someone you associate with the color red.”

I put my father, of course, because everyone knows that red is angry.

Poor red.  So maligned. 

Some anger is brown. 

            Deeply rooted, earthy, quiet,

            smoldering like the bubbling brew under the Hawaiian Islands. 

Some is green. 

            Nurtured at the hands of others, growing, jealous, victim-anger.

Some is frightened, paranoid, unworthy. 

            Yellow. 

Whatever color anger – and I’ve had a rainbow – it’s definitely not all red. 

            But that’s still the color of my father. 

His anger is of the fire-engine variety. 

            Hot, spreading, fueled by anything in its path, inflicting damage. 

I click to the next screen of the Internet test.

It says, “The person you associate with red is the person you love the most.”

           

            I feel deep, midnight, black-like blue spill down over my head like a cracked egg

            and turn navy, then cobalt, then azure, then cornflower, then baby.  

I don’t think any anger is blue.