Poetry in April #3

Carolyn’s Online Magazine

POETRY IN APRIL #3

 Haiku —Carolyn

Glittering sparkle

Stardust sprinkles brighten earth

Black coal heats our homes

The next poem will likely be in my novel. One character, Mary Googins des Isles Swett, is a 1790 to early 1800s Maine frontier resident who liked to write poetry. Thus the section of the book on her will include short poems.

PEAKS OF MT. DESERT ISLAND  

Across the bay worn-off mountain peaks

Stretch across Mt. Desert Island

Majestic, alluring, pulling my interest

Yet are officials guarding our land

 

A CRY FOR GOODNESS

Jane Lipsius Driver, Carolyn’s sister

If I could bend to Love,

Though now uncertain of my fate,

Eternally cursing my freedom,

Would you afterward not veil me in dishonor?

To stand in the brightness

And give evidence of your loving

This veil keeps beyond my reach

A reverence bestowed upon another.

My soul stands longing

To merge with the one whose shadow,

The one whose every breath,

Keeps me entombed in disgrace.

I do not desire that I should continue

So hungry to be fed, by your grace;

Accepting another’s cast off rinds

Given from your first fruits.

Say I again and again:

If I could bend to Love,

Eternally cursing my freedom,

Would you afterward not veil me in dishonor?

 

SHEPHERDS OF BUCHENWALD

Walter Matusic, Beanery Writers Group

It’s nearly night time now…

Even the crows have found their rest.

But there will be no rest for me

‘til I hear you have confessed.

Patiently I will wait

‘til the cold steel jaws

of your trap springs

‘til then, I will wait for you to confess.

 

PUBERTY’S LAMENT

Raymond “Dmitri” Beljan, Beanery Writers Group

Zero to seven are years I don’t recall.

Yet those, I’m told, are when the self is form’d.

And all those years I spent in growing tall

Will draw upon those early years not mourn’d.

 

Then puberty will surely now reveal

There’s more to life than playing hide and seek.

And preacher’s words disclaim what now I feel

A centerfold entices me to peek.

 

So now old men far past their prime do move

To make my early years a time of pain

and guilt. You see they so disapprove

the drives in me that really are quite sane.

 

In spite of younger years so spent in pain

I find my life, here now, not spent in vain.

 

BLACKBERRY MORNING

Joan Myers, Beanery Writers Group

Moss-edged roadsides cushion my step

Dark webbed surface and pale gray

Dewdrops on poplar leaves pearl

Dappled shadows thinly streak

Ghostly mushrooms sprout anew

Flecks of sunlight leak

From Queen Anne’s cup

A red-spotted ladybug spies

Angel wings the horizon span

Fairy-like quarter moon in sky

Birds on wing flash breasts of white

Stark dead tree a woodpecker drills

Crows complain—caw caw caw

Seedy, tart-sweet blackberry droops

A hairy yellow caterpillar loops

Which end is head or tail

Touch-me-not nectar weeps

By scent of nature teased

Stinkbugs, moths and bees

Brief stirring of trees sigh

Chatty chickadees reply

Downhill, a soft deep fog

Narrows the passage and dies

A cardinal breaks the misty bog

Grape vines, crown vetch conspire

Grey green lichen gritty boulders find

Golden rod. Sumac fire

A hint of sassafras unwinds

As one with Nature

In the moment

A LABOR OF LOVE

Diana Reh Hunt, Beanery Writers Group

Plump, crimson faces signal readiness from the vine.

Glass jars, rings and lids gleam in sterile purity.

120905 IMG_4539e

Scalded fruits separate easily

from skins and seeds in grisly grinder,

leaving steamy meat-slimes clogging and clinging desperately to sloppy metal,

dripping above their ruby red juices.

 

Spices mingle brightly with sweet blood.

Empty jars being filled

resemble

famished vampires gorging upon their last meal.

 

Filled jars in the basket

are lowered

into their bubbling, hellish bath.

 

Forty minutes later,

freshly canned tomato sauce is carefully lifted from the water,

each jar delightfully popping;

a sound of successful, summer preservation.

 

With each batch

the process repeats.

 

Winter meals will be wonderful, enjoying garden pleasures

that signaled their readiness from the vine.

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About carolyncholland

In several if my nine lives I have been a medical lab technician and a human service worker specializing in child day care, adoptions and family abuse. Currently I am a photo/journalist/writer working on a novel and a short story. My general writings can be viewed at www.carolyncholland.wordpress.com. My novel site is www.intertwinedlove.wordpress.com.
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One Response to Poetry in April #3

  1. Pingback: Poetry in April #5: A Fireworks Finale of Poetry | Carolyn's Online Magazine

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