Coffee Cup Poem no.47

On rainy, stormy days I always yearn to be back in Nebraska watching at night through an old screened in porch.

At the Cabin

nothing comes close to the beauty
of Nebraska thunderstorms through an old screened in porch.
the sky transforms through thin wire and mesh
before my eyes, majesty in a mosaic,
light strikes electric on a summer night over a lake illuminated.
I see millions using water as a trampoline,
bouncing with the sound of childhood fear.
I hold close to a cross hatched bench and clench my mother,
my grandmother near watching my expressions
and on that screened in porch I am safe
watching Nebraska unfold its night sky
while I sit, wrapped in the arms of sublimity.

Coffee Cup Poem no. 46

Trapped Among Temps dePluie

The rain sleeks Parisian cobblestones, as I
Stoic and poised as ever, walk arm and arm
With my love; our hearts cold as the rain
Which grazes light our umbrellas
While we slowly step down avenues
Who call the city of love, dreams, home.
I do not call these streets home,
Not to my love nor to my dreams.
It is time to break the hold of my lover,
Shatter the gray lighted sky,
And find a way before time escapes.
I look into the heart of Paris
And yearn.

Coffee Cup Poem no.45

Inspired by and titled after The Seine at Giverny by Claude Monet

Breeze settles on tips of green,
floating in an eternal sky
reflecting under the pale light
of tranquility.
Water reaches
to the heavens and
touches my being,
resting in a brook
of brushstrokes.
Lines have no meaning
in this serenity…
Air and water course together
connected by my soul.
My eyes rove for boarders
but find none.
I want to listen
listen to a breeze
so strong it erases.
Lost in the river sky
There are no birds today.

Coffee Cup Poem no.42

Impressions of Color

Colour bursts, a swirling memory
the sudden force is halting, a star
searching for a home in my heart
and finding a kaleidoscope soul.

Swirling memory, surreal canvas
blurred edges, intertwined
leaving nothing empty, nothing hole,
my heart dances in a field of lemongrass,
tulips and daisies sketch my soul
as I take a bow at the end of the world.

I step back and search the sky,
another second passed in the continuum of time.

Coffee Cup Poem no.41

Burnt Edges and a Tea bag Heart

I love with burnt edges and a tea bag heart
weaving together orange and lemongrass
with the red poppy adorning my hair
seared with cinnamon, my lover’s heart,
for safe keeping in a pouch of silk
hanging from scented string, swinging
with burnt edges, my lover’s key,
my love for you held in a pouch of silk
locked and latched to my tea bag heart.

Coffee Cup Poem no.40

Word on the street is there may be a snow day approaching… so of course, seeing as weather appears to surface quite often in my poetry, I wrote about it. This poem is much longer than the version on the cup, but the B&N’s cups aren’t always accommodating to longer poems.

Anticipating Snow

A woman sits under a throw of dirty white
which reminds her of those beige
hotel blankets that lay in between
a heavy comforter and itchy sheets.
She thinks abouthow little time it takes
to transform aworld into
The makings offairy tales and myths…
If only they weretrue,
not rattles andhums in the background of hopes and dreams
to be swallowedby doubt,
swept over pilesof coffee stained flakes
mistaken for pixiedust.
This world, shethinks, is such a place.
Where real needsare pipe dreams,
and it is foolishto wish on a star
hoping for morethan winter’s dormant.
Even with fabledhappy endings
the world wouldfind a way to cover its promise,
just as it buriedits own Once upon a time…
with layers of snow stagnant.
And there so shelies, nestled in the in-between
Of weightedcomfort and the tickling under,
Waiting for beigeto surrender white.

Coffee Cup Poem no.39

I love Mary Poppins so I thought I would turn thoughts into verse.

Thoughts on an Unusually Cold and Blustery Day

On such a dreary, gusty day
I feel as though
a pack of nannies may blow away
and be lost to the wind
as one very special woman floats gentle
from the clouds and gloom.
Maybe today I’ll learn how to yield a chimney plume,
or win a carousal race.

but that’s a piecrust promise…
easily made, easily broken

I think the day is simply grey
and the sky simply leaden.
Perhaps tomorrow will better fair
for adventures with crooks with hooks
from children’s storybooks.