Following are the three poems I read at the Valentine’s Day edition of the Bucktown Revue on February 20, 2009. Hope you enjoy them!
UNANSWERED
She sits still gazing into
The moonlit night.
Her head leans against
Smooth mahogany grains
As the afghan she knitted
When her hands still clutched
And her eyes still grasped
Warms her thin and aching legs.
Her cream softened hands
Rest lightly against the arms
Of her grandmother’s rocking chair.
Her grey hair pulled neatly
Away from her life-worn face
Shines in soft starlight glow.
Her mind drifts back in time
To this place she knows so well;
A place her thoughts have drifted
Each day of her last eighty years:
The day he returned home.
She searches his illusioned face
For the hint of the answer why.
Years she has waited;
Waited patiently for his return.
Her eyes slip into darkness
As a single tear escapes;
She floats from this Earth
Leaving it all unanswered.
FOG ON THE RIVER ON A COLD FEBRUARY MORNING
The masquerade ball begins;
I watch from the balcony.
Translucent swans glide
In ice-air, bow their heads
To the other as if to say, “begin”.
She curtsey’s toward him,
Paper lace fan flutters;
Only her eyes reveal.
Eyelids flutter so softly,
Whispering her invitation.
He lilts to her gracefully
His foot so slightly behind,
Seemingly unmoving
But floating
To initiate the dance.
He takes her fingers in his hand
And kisses the soft flesh.
Her silken scarf billows
Encircling him with the shroud,
Briefly obscuring his face from the crowd.
Arms raised encircling in ascent
Commencing the winter dance.
Rising in curls
Fading then ascending
Her bell skirt swishes and swirls.
The dance smooth and calculated
But un-efforted and unintentional.
Scripted but aimless,
Rising and falling like a smooth
Merry-go-round or a wave.
Continuously riding the stream of air.
Warmth lifts to heaven
Away from cold crystals;
Frigid meets frozen and mingles
As the dance continues.
Wisps of fog reach out like fingers
Saying come hither;
Other dancers join;
Flowing symphony of
Dozens of couples dancing
Above the ever changing
River ball room floor.
Dancers curling, mingling
Until becoming one,
Boundaries of individual
Indiscernible in the smoke-filled room.
They dance without purpose,
Sway, wander, floating,
Performing to perform,
Power of the movement.
The ordinary cannot be ignored.
The ball continues
Even as music disappears
until dawn threatens
As air warms or river cools,
Bringing equilibrium ending the fog
And the dance.
CRUSH
When my eyes close at night,
Always there he is;
Those big blue eyes
And lips I want to kiss.
He’s always right there
When dreams start to play;
Always holding my hand
Gazing at me the love-way.
The dream always ends
With words he must share;
Always I’m the only one;
Only girl for whom he cares.
Just as his lips lean
To my cheek for a kiss,
My alarm always rings,
Left with elusive bliss.
Though I’m awake,
The image will stay.
As I eat my cheerios,
I hope today is the day.
When I get to my locker,
He’ll be waiting there.
He’ll say “Where’ve you been?”
“I’ve looked everywhere.”
He’ll say he’s been blind;
That’s what it is.
He’ll place his hand over mine
And promise I’ll always be his.
