"Orinoco Flow-Enya" My Poetry Incense memories like incense lit, linear burning ember finite stick, combust and change, to ashes- to dreams smoke -like longing- spinning, swirling, sailing to heaven where angels gather in bliss like the source- invisible, aroma encased in incense released by fire Steam Smoky screen inside the boundary distorting reality outside, immense heat blankets my body Library Book I sit on the shelf collecting dust until fingers tickle my spine I'm waiting to share all my knowledge. All of us lined up on the shelf silently screaming, "Pick me, pick me" like puppies in the pound. Until a philosophy student pulls me out of the row. Opens my cover to see when left this place last, My tattoo reveals 1992. I've been waiting to leave for years, I hope he's worth it. He takes me home and forgets me under a pile of blue jeans and Tommy Hilfiger shirts, he is no different. I wanted to enrich his mind, instead I am lonesome for scent of the non-circulating air and the two books pressed up against my side. Finally, he remembers me and picks me up off the floor slams me on the desk finds what he needs on my page and folds dog ears. Turns to another page highlights in yellow and underlines in blue- He doesn't even read all my pages, I am lonesome to be understood. When he finishes the boy grabs me, by just one cover stuffs me in the night deposit box and I wait once again, hoping next time will be better. Sestina-Memories from New York In New York mother and I did a lot of walking from our house on 123 Street the shops on Liberty Avenue. The streets of the Big Apple were filled with energy, people celebrated. every occasion and nationality on street corners and in front of stores. When mother and I walked, the dog followed us. Father was in the two car garage working with cars, tools and grease. Father kept silver in the big red tool box permeated with grease for me to pilfer when the ice cream truck came to our street, all the kids and I, with my dog, followed the jack in the box music and traded the silver marked with "liberty" for soft serve ice cream that tasted better than from stores and every day during the summer the little kids celebrated. At night the big kids celebrated. Father came in and left his boots at the kitchen door so grease wouldn't stain the carpet again and the big kids made noise at the corner store after it closed. Every night someone called a policeman who got out of his car and walked around; the kids scattered seconds before. After he left they resumed their liberty. That summer my dog had pups. We gave our neighbors the dogs. At my birthday parties, lots of friends gathered and celebrated little girls were dressed in fancy dresses and boys like sailors on liberty. Father used M30 hand cleaner to remove the grease from his hands. I could always recognize the scent as we walked across the street to the corner store. I used to design my own money and give it to the nice man who owned the store. When I went school the dog waited for me in the school yard and then she walked me home. On the Fourth of July the whole block gathered outside and celebrated. Father kept sparklers in the toolbox they smelled like grease, just like the coins marked with liberty. Mother worked on Liberty Avenue in Allen's Store selling nightgowns, meanwhile father worked on the cars with grease. One morning a dog catcher knocked on the back door and said he had my dog. I didn't feel like celebrating anymore. Who would accompany me to school when I walked? Years ago we left the city with the Statue of Liberty, drove to Florida with the puppy-dog. Mother worked in another store. In Florida where nobody celebrated like the New Yorkers on our block. Father worked in someone else's garage and the grease smelled different. The sun was too hot so we never walked. Home |Chapel | My Poetry | Issues Sunburst717@aol.com
"Orinoco Flow-Enya"
smoke -like longing- spinning, swirling, sailing to heaven where angels gather in bliss
like the source- invisible, aroma encased in incense released by fire
Father kept silver in the big red tool box permeated with grease for me to pilfer when the ice cream truck came to our street, all the kids and I, with my dog, followed the jack in the box music and traded the silver marked with "liberty" for soft serve ice cream that tasted better than from stores and every day during the summer the little kids celebrated.
At night the big kids celebrated. Father came in and left his boots at the kitchen door so grease wouldn't stain the carpet again and the big kids made noise at the corner store after it closed. Every night someone called a policeman who got out of his car and walked around; the kids scattered seconds before. After he left they resumed their liberty. That summer my dog
had pups. We gave our neighbors the dogs. At my birthday parties, lots of friends gathered and celebrated little girls were dressed in fancy dresses and boys like sailors on liberty. Father used M30 hand cleaner to remove the grease from his hands. I could always recognize the scent as we walked across the street to the corner store.
I used to design my own money and give it to the nice man who owned the store. When I went school the dog waited for me in the school yard and then she walked me home. On the Fourth of July the whole block gathered outside and celebrated. Father kept sparklers in the toolbox they smelled like grease, just like the coins marked with liberty.
Mother worked on Liberty Avenue in Allen's Store selling nightgowns, meanwhile father worked on the cars with grease. One morning a dog catcher knocked on the back door and said he had my dog. I didn't feel like celebrating anymore. Who would accompany me to school when I walked?
Years ago we left the city with the Statue of Liberty, drove to Florida with the puppy-dog. Mother worked in another store. In Florida where nobody celebrated like the New Yorkers on our block. Father worked in someone else's garage and the grease smelled different. The sun was too hot so we never walked.