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 Breaking
Too Much News Is Giving Me The Blues. Some Days I feel It’s Better Not To Know, Than Watch Tragedy As A TV Show, And I do My Solitary Dance In Total Ignorance.
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 *Woman Fleeing* Dosso Dossi c. 1532 Tristesse
Struck By Love’s Herb Tipped Spear, He Falls For A Lady’s Obvious Charms, And Tries To Take Her Into His Arms, Victim Of, By Gosh, By Golly, Fragrant, Flagrant Folly. But She, Ironed By Custom, Pressed Flat By Habit, Is Meeker Than A Rabbit, Declines A Lover’s Blind Sacrifice, The Bloodless Wound Of Affection, And Runs The Opposite Direction.  Radiance
The Impatient Sun Climbs Up And Over Our Endless Trouble And Warring Rubble, Fiery, Sublime, Awaiting The Time Some Critical Node Will Explode, And Fling Mankind Beyond Mars As Desolate, Black Stars, Leaving Silent Space In Which To Cast Without Fear Luminous, Flaming Sparks Into The Dark For Eternity, Year After Unnumbered Year, No Destructive Human Near.  Shower
I smelled The Rain Before It Came Loafing Up From The South, Bringing The Taste Of Dust To My Mouth. Quarter Sized Drops Spatter, Dulling The Traffic Clatter, Sparkle In The Trees, Blow Sideways In The Breeze, Then Abruptly, The Brief Deluge Leaves.  Solstice
I waited For Moon Rise, Rare Honey Moon, Strawberry Moon, To Come Bobbling Up Over The Mountain Into Night, Skim The Air And Gather Light. I saw No Color In The Androgynous Face As It Assumed It’s Place To Glow, Riding Low In The Sky, Matching The High Sun’s Arc, Illuminating The Summer Dark. I asked A Blessing, As Ancients In The Past, A Wish For Some Earthly Boon, That Like The Moon, Could Last.  *Detail: Woman Planting* Van Gogh Tilling
Eight Months A Year, I flutter And Fawn Over My Stubborn Lawn. I water, Weed, Fertilize, Aerate And Seed, Give It All I’m Told It Will Need, But Whatever I sow, The Stuff Simply Will Not Grow High Enough To Mow. Some Tough Desert Breed Planted Folly, And A Wicked Blight Came To Pass Called Buffalo Grass. In The Night, His Vengeful Spirit Haunts The Town, And Turns All My Efforts Brown.  *1941 Cadillac Hood Ornament* Passenger
I’m Traveling Through Life In A Vintage Car With Two Dents And A Prominent Scar. The Chassis, Still Fit, Has A Lot Of Miles Left In It. Sure, There’s Some Wear, But The Upholstery Hasn’t A Single Tear. The Paint Job Is A Little Thin, But Listen To That Engine! Take It For A Spin, And You’ll See How Great A Ride With Me Can Be.  *Othello and Desdemona* Roman Romanyshyn Dramatis
Othello Was A Brutal Fellow With A Streak Of Pitiless Yellow. Thinking He Has Discovered Des In Media Res With A Lover, He Choked The Life From His Unfortunate Wife, Claiming He Loved Too Well. This Military Mercenary Should Roast In Hell. I have No Time To Forgive His Heinous Crime, And She Might Have Known He Could Never Believe Her Worth, But Would Erase Love And Her From The Earth.  *Woman Writing* Johannes Rosierse Game?
Poetry Is A Particular Conceit, Able To Defeat Verbal Vanity And Perhaps The Inanity And Every Day Squawk Of Empty Talk, That Says What’s Needed To Say, But Contains Little Or No Play. Take Time To Form A Rhyme And See How Pleasant It Can Be. Before You Know It, You’ll Be A Poet.  Souvenir
Photographs Put Away, Remnants Of Another Day. Captured When Young, Mouth Open, Song Sung. They Whisper To Me From A Book Where I no Longer Look, And With A Sigh, I don’t Reply. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
November 2022
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