24 August 2010
20 August 2010
McCarra/Poetry Now Available via Kindle!!!!!
McCarra/Poetry is now available via Amazon.com's "Kindle Store." Have McCarra/Poetry delivered to you, monthly, for the bargain price of just $1.99!!!! Trial subscriptions available for the undecided amongst you....
Cheers,
MaryAnn
Cheers,
MaryAnn
15 August 2010
Digging His Garden
digging his garden she sees
him planting bulbs, one by one,
in the dark furrows he dug
Tuesday last, after coming from
work and changing his clothes,
his back curved over the earth,
as she washes dishes, one
by one
each of his movements a
sign of faith
that the roots will
feed and the sun shine still
over his handiwork
whispering up to him, trumpeting
out sounds like the pale
honeysuckle emits their warm fug
of scent
she lost him between breakfast and lunch,
it was that simple, their parting, like
the Red Sea, away from each
other, but still she speaks...with each
seed he plants he hears her consonants
and vowels mixed perfectly, as heavy
cream through coffee
and still she does not understand, as
her fingernails grasp at the flagstones
placed with such care
(he has decided, this year, on a
border of red mixed with white)
paltry words an offering poor enough,
but still, all she had
him planting bulbs, one by one,
in the dark furrows he dug
Tuesday last, after coming from
work and changing his clothes,
his back curved over the earth,
as she washes dishes, one
by one
each of his movements a
sign of faith
that the roots will
feed and the sun shine still
over his handiwork
whispering up to him, trumpeting
out sounds like the pale
honeysuckle emits their warm fug
of scent
she lost him between breakfast and lunch,
it was that simple, their parting, like
the Red Sea, away from each
other, but still she speaks...with each
seed he plants he hears her consonants
and vowels mixed perfectly, as heavy
cream through coffee
and still she does not understand, as
her fingernails grasp at the flagstones
placed with such care
(he has decided, this year, on a
border of red mixed with white)
paltry words an offering poor enough,
but still, all she had
Naptime
the perpetual hum of the
air conditioning units block out
the street noise so it seems
the neighbors mime with madly
gesticulating hands, their mouths
moving, but wordless, these
passing members of the play, the
man in black dragging his
bag of cans, the lap dog
cosseted in a stroller colored
candy-pink
storm coming--the sudden dark,
casts the room in shadow, no
need for a weatherman to see
what way the wind blows and
the plink, plink, of the drops
are a rough morse code
repeating, again repeating, here
you are, again, to hear
these same old sounds, each
filed away and stored in
aural memory, the clatter a
relief in the cool quiet of the
bedroom and him just
waking from a nap with a cry
for an embrace, some food, too
air conditioning units block out
the street noise so it seems
the neighbors mime with madly
gesticulating hands, their mouths
moving, but wordless, these
passing members of the play, the
man in black dragging his
bag of cans, the lap dog
cosseted in a stroller colored
candy-pink
storm coming--the sudden dark,
casts the room in shadow, no
need for a weatherman to see
what way the wind blows and
the plink, plink, of the drops
are a rough morse code
repeating, again repeating, here
you are, again, to hear
these same old sounds, each
filed away and stored in
aural memory, the clatter a
relief in the cool quiet of the
bedroom and him just
waking from a nap with a cry
for an embrace, some food, too
August
this is the desert month--the
doctor's office closes, the woman
sits, eyes heavy-lidded, listens
to cricket-hum as flowers turn to
photographs, the leaves curling
away to reveal a limb, a
wink, the shyness of the cerebellum
rounding the corner to come
to a terrible conclusion, hard
won, peeling away the layers, the
seismic shift these actions make
noticed by none but herself, the
artichoke peeled to its center, the
wordplay and sentence structure
broken down, the bones diagrammed
so--here was her heart, her liver
fleshy-fat, here the coils of her
brain-pan, white like pickled fish
caught in a jar
and what remains, of her, in
this desert August?
some fond remembrance, perhaps,
some inkblots, a tear in a
dress of grey lace, a heel broken from a
black shoe, drowsing there in late
afternoon, framing the world
with ten fingers, hoping, still
for water from rock, bread
from the skies
doctor's office closes, the woman
sits, eyes heavy-lidded, listens
to cricket-hum as flowers turn to
photographs, the leaves curling
away to reveal a limb, a
wink, the shyness of the cerebellum
rounding the corner to come
to a terrible conclusion, hard
won, peeling away the layers, the
seismic shift these actions make
noticed by none but herself, the
artichoke peeled to its center, the
wordplay and sentence structure
broken down, the bones diagrammed
so--here was her heart, her liver
fleshy-fat, here the coils of her
brain-pan, white like pickled fish
caught in a jar
and what remains, of her, in
this desert August?
some fond remembrance, perhaps,
some inkblots, a tear in a
dress of grey lace, a heel broken from a
black shoe, drowsing there in late
afternoon, framing the world
with ten fingers, hoping, still
for water from rock, bread
from the skies
18 July 2010
Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer - 2010 April PAD Challenge Results!
Poetic Asides with Robert Lee Brewer - 2010 April PAD Challenge Results!
MaryAnn's poem, "White Rock Fairy" is number 24 in the list of 50 poems chosen from the 1000 poems submitted for the April 2010 Poem-A-Day Challenge!
Many thanks to Robert Lee Brewer for sponsoring the PAD Challenge!
MaryAnn's poem, "White Rock Fairy" is number 24 in the list of 50 poems chosen from the 1000 poems submitted for the April 2010 Poem-A-Day Challenge!
Many thanks to Robert Lee Brewer for sponsoring the PAD Challenge!
11 July 2010
King of Syracuse
under the eye of the sun he
became King of Syracuse, this
Prince among common men
bordered by water, but
untrammeled, so, by those old
strictures that held other sons
in check
the potter's son, then, a leader
of men and not to be trifled with,
see his steel, glinting at noon-day?
see how it pierces the heart?
crown him, with green and gold.
became King of Syracuse, this
Prince among common men
bordered by water, but
untrammeled, so, by those old
strictures that held other sons
in check
the potter's son, then, a leader
of men and not to be trifled with,
see his steel, glinting at noon-day?
see how it pierces the heart?
crown him, with green and gold.
Grand Opening
see them assembled, suited in
blue, grey, straining at their
neckties, shifting in their heels,
waiting for the flash that will
freeze them for all time. And
here we are, at this Grand
Opening (near Grand Street) of
cool aisles of comestibles
I simply cannot live without.
Ranging among the tomatoes, lounging
by the lettuce--oh, weighing the
heft of eggplants in her hands
oh, the loveliness of canned
peaches in heavy syrup, the
fruit cocktail, too, jumbled in a crystal cup,
marbled meats wrapped by
the butcher, humming along to
the muzak....will you still
need me......
blue, grey, straining at their
neckties, shifting in their heels,
waiting for the flash that will
freeze them for all time. And
here we are, at this Grand
Opening (near Grand Street) of
cool aisles of comestibles
I simply cannot live without.
Ranging among the tomatoes, lounging
by the lettuce--oh, weighing the
heft of eggplants in her hands
oh, the loveliness of canned
peaches in heavy syrup, the
fruit cocktail, too, jumbled in a crystal cup,
marbled meats wrapped by
the butcher, humming along to
the muzak....will you still
need me......
Counting out the Coffee Spoons
counting out the coffee spoons in
the sleep-stupid morning, counting out
the cries in the night, counting the
strands in the cobweb, counting
out the six grey hairs on her head discovered
just this morning and herself so
terrible at mathematics--however
will it all add up, this
assemblage of ends and oddments,
how to enter it, messy-black on
the fine-lined pages of a ledger?
blotting my copybook, the
perpetual cloud mists and
blesses me again and I
respond mea culpa, mea culpa,
mea maxima culpa
and, to that end, amen!
the sleep-stupid morning, counting out
the cries in the night, counting the
strands in the cobweb, counting
out the six grey hairs on her head discovered
just this morning and herself so
terrible at mathematics--however
will it all add up, this
assemblage of ends and oddments,
how to enter it, messy-black on
the fine-lined pages of a ledger?
blotting my copybook, the
perpetual cloud mists and
blesses me again and I
respond mea culpa, mea culpa,
mea maxima culpa
and, to that end, amen!
Porch in Summer
motor turns over then a
trickling noise--coolant through
the coils? ah, the sweet
relief of air-conditioned
rooms that brought us in from
summer porches where we would
rock, nod at a passer-by,
reflect on the rough borders
of marigolds overgrown so
slightly, the stir in the
air a relief, the night
welcomed for the cool dark
the glass refreshed with (yet
another) splash, the closeness
of the kitchen, this tenth
ring of hell she so happily
endures, knowing that later will
come, and the fireflies, too
with their bright punctuation, placing
an end to her wordless sentence
trickling noise--coolant through
the coils? ah, the sweet
relief of air-conditioned
rooms that brought us in from
summer porches where we would
rock, nod at a passer-by,
reflect on the rough borders
of marigolds overgrown so
slightly, the stir in the
air a relief, the night
welcomed for the cool dark
the glass refreshed with (yet
another) splash, the closeness
of the kitchen, this tenth
ring of hell she so happily
endures, knowing that later will
come, and the fireflies, too
with their bright punctuation, placing
an end to her wordless sentence
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