07 Monday May 2012
Posted in Poetry
And, in my mind
there came a day
when winter ghosts
left icy walls, and
the crease of a wooden door
expanded, as
the roundness of velvet soothed my heart’s chambers.
West of here, I wait
to be a third wife within
a shadow of water’s memory;
forming, and then
dripping, down the rings of ribs
like hallowed bamboo, as
we chime for the earth.
Posted for dVerse Poets’ Open Link Night 43 at www.dversepoets.com
13 Tuesday Mar 2012
Posted in Poetry
Tags
French, Gabriel Faure, memory, mirrors, music, narcissus, paper white, pavane, poem, poetry, time, writing
Mouthless shadow;
a mirror’s
backward clutch.
Winter bulbs forced
from summer’s
pocketed stones
as narcissus skin
glows like velvet;
the beauty of soft paper.
Nectar collected
in a hollowed palm;
fragrance dripped in F-sharp
as hazy sunspots bounce
in a wood-paneled room
scratched into silver;
he drinks
from his fist
essence pours on his tongue; volatile.
His palm tilts sideways
my petals fall in a silent crash
from his gaping mouth
etched
in mercuric time
of a year passed;
looping; shifted images and tempos.
Posted for dVerse Poets, Open Link Night #35 www.dversepoets.com
Pavane by Gabriel Fauré is a thread that has woven through my life. As a young flautist, I performed this piece several times with a youth philharmonic orchestra and many years later it’s come back to me and been inspiration for this poem.
29 Wednesday Feb 2012
Posted in Uncategorized
I’m very grateful to receive the Liebster Award from the very talented and ever supportive writer Edjo Frank @Edo Frank http://www.http://edjofrank.wordpress.com/
Liebster (German) is in Dutch language – Lieveling – my dearest, is the word we use for the one that is your most special, the one you love beyond borders.
In accepting this award, the recipient agrees to:
1. Show thanks to the blogger who gave you the award by linking back to them.
2. Reveal your top 5 picks for the award and let them know.
3. Post the award on your blog.
4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people in the Blogsphere.
5. And, lastly – have fun and spread the karma!
A difficult task to choose only five of all the amazing blogs I visit, but here they are in no specific order:
Raivenne: http://raivenne.wordpress.com/
Someone I’ve very recently found, but her thoughtful and rich posts have made me a huge fan in record time. Good thing I’ve subscribed, I wouldn’t want to miss anything.
Lili: http://amethystaind.blogspot.com/
A Twitter friend and writer of deep romantic love and connection. Fellow lover of purple ink and Pablo Neruda.
Heaven: http://a-sweetlust.blogspot.com/
My kindred Sister. Writer of wonderfully sensual poetry that leaves me in a sigh.
Claudia Schoenfeld: http://jaywalkingthemoon.wordpress.com/
A favourite dVerse Poet’s Pub poet and prompt facilitator. Super talented and ever supportive from my first blog post, last summer.
Gay Reiser Cannon: http://hollyheir.wordpress.com/
Blog and Twitter friend. dVerse favourite who puts out the most interesting and challenging prompts! Wonderful poet who writes about travel, art, music, dance, animals and more. Her words have made me laugh and cry.
Visit these wonderful poets and they will enrich your soul.
Love, Eva
24 Friday Feb 2012
Posted in Short Poems
31 Tuesday Jan 2012
Posted in Poetry
Oh, phosphorescent night;
a gift from the sea
that glides us on foam
reflection of light
moon’s mouth; dripping in
ribbons of glass thread
woven into rope; swaying
we chime at high decibels
ascending; arced
luminaire pulls; bound
by silvered sand
stitched with a hard swallow
breaking shards carry us toward eternity
I sink into your hard night
inhaling stars; we become aurora borealis
the composition of colour;
we ride against light
and the sound of forever; luminescent
For Open Link Night #29: dVerse Poet’s Pub at www.dversepoets.com
03 Tuesday Jan 2012
Posted in Poetry
Tags
loss, miscarriage, moon, perspective, poem, poetry, pysanka, time, writing
Time points down to a fleshless skull; memory
preserved and resting; safely nestled
inside a uterine lining; still echoing
daily; a ghostly cry; crows
feed inside flexible hips,
empty but for the
grey ash of time.
I wish for the
irrelevance
of space
in vein
blue
paper
drenched;
and dried out on
a white windowsill;
l keep it for some time
with tufts of dead cats’ fur;
black, grey, and orange, neatly
tucked into small squares of a large
mahogany jewellery box; handmade
against my wishes the colour fades like a drug.
Crimson wax flows; laying pysanka* in a pattern of
stars and double-helixes; dripping in moons of
rose-tinted honey held in the comb, then
released; in a spontaneous flush- out.
Unexpected and without any explanation; ‘just a glitch, really.’
Occasionally, I still consult lunar charts to see
my waning windowsill of opportunity.
One hundred and eight moons
have passed counting
down to
none.
I
hold a
séance for
my heart to conjure
a kindred soul.
Posted for dVerse OpenLinkNight # 25 www.dversepoets.com
*Pysanka is the art of Ukrainian egg decorating. A pen-like instrument is used to draw patterns on an egg with beeswax. The egg is then dyed, the wax removed, and the colourful pattern displays against the egg’s natural colour. The process can be continued in multiple layers of design and colour. During the time of this poem’s event, I made many of these eggs, not for any religious meaning at all, but because I loved preparing the eggs, creating the patterns, and living the process.
01 Sunday Jan 2012
Posted in Short Poems
06 Tuesday Dec 2011
Posted in Short Poems
22 Tuesday Nov 2011
Posted in Short Poems
15 Tuesday Nov 2011
Posted in Poetry
My back sways toward a grey sky
face tilted, up
fear gusts me down the steps
on an afternoon
in early winter
of my eleventh year.
Screen door bangs rhythmically behind.
I have only three wishes: I wish for wings; I wish for clear sky; I wish for colour.
The wind whips
as I reach high
clipping frayed towels and threadbare sheets
to a drooping line
icy fringe stabbing my fingers; bleached.
Extra pins drop from my mouth
caught by a tub
I bathed in as an infant
once white.
Tire leans against the tree.
I fold myself inside
comfort of invisibility; contorted
upside-down; becoming the tire
for as long as I need
studying the interior
I compare texture against my skin.
Gross.
Everything looks different from inside the tire.
Bic Flick!
Cigarette lit
ash bark splits, releasing steam
lips pursed, my practiced exhale
tries to swirl the two vapors
in spirals; upward.
Unsuccessful, I return to chains.
Panasonic radio silences
chaos and wind; nicely.
Hungry, I enter the clubhouse.
Metal door screeches shut; rust spills.
I light a purple candle with kitchen matches.
Tab, Cheez-Its, and potted meat fill me; prepared lunch.
Tracing comics from the newspaper, I begin to colour.
I decide if I could only have three of the thirty-two colours
they would be magenta, sky blue, and grass.
And black. Ok, four.
I whittle my pencil; jack-knife sharp.
Pop!
Band-aid box snaps open.
dead wren slides out
over my glass shard collection; now dulled
each piece has a story
green, purple, orange, red, and cobalt.
I know it’s wrong, but
I think this dead bird
is the most beautiful thing
I’ve ever seen.
Moving its wings, I wonder about flying.
Slam!
Officer Jerry’s car door.
He knocks on the screen door, but no one answers.
Figures.
His pitied eyes ask for help again
just routine questioning;
can I take him inside?
Shit.
Our four footsteps
ascend the stairs
ungrounded;
leaves crunch; he holds my hand.
I insert the key,
turn the knob,
as we step
into hell.
I have only three wishes: I wish for wings; I wish for clear sky; I wish for colour.
Someone told me that if you wish hard enough your wishes come true.
They were right.
For dVerse OpenLinkNight #18 www.dversepoets.com
Poetry Picnic: Childhood Dreams for http://gooseberrygoespoetic.blogspot.com/
