My work on Hello Poetry

http://hellopoetry.com/sherlene2/

The Dark Blue Felt

Images of calm upon the lake and you

In your jaunty felt hat.  A feather floated

Down.   We would know that feeling

Soon enough.  You brought the boat

Toward the shore.  We came so close

To having made it.  Only God knows

Why we failed.  To see the rocks

In love, how?  We had clung to one another

As we went down.  Into the drink

We spilt our last blood.  With the water

Over our heads we could not make it

To touch finger tips.  Finally, you swam

With me in tow.  These many years

I could not see that it was I floating

Down to a dampened earth and under

You.  With your eyes of love

You searched in vain.  For the feather,

The hat, and I were slipping away

From you.  A cry came out of the throat

Of the muddy shore.  I knew nothing

About the depression that followed.  You

Say, "How could you? the lake is calm,

And I wear my jaunty felt hat."  To the end,

We came so close.  To death

We say, "Here is the feather.  See."

Vancouver

We drove because we saw the top of the mountain covered with snow.

Our desire was to feel its beauty.  As we traveled up and up

The forest encapsulated us with its velvety-richness; and the sound,

My heart pounding and the cascading waterfalls played the music of the Soul

In the forest.  On we drive, up the narrow road until there is no coming down. 

Time Travel

The long years stretched and yawned maws opened wide

Then greedily ate up time which should have been mine.

Or did I hurriedly feed them to the galloping beasts? 

Thirst For Spring

The thirsty bulbs in jars on the windowsill greedily stretch for water;

The little avocado tree, from last season that I potted, droops next to them.

Like me it too is tired of the cold.  I have an aching in my bones.

For spring, for change, for what?

The small sounds of the house, the rock of a cradle of trees nearby

Blend with the cold patter of raindrops which, on the roof evaporate

Into steamy dreams and into the night.

Winter Remembers

The winter sky mimics the summer juices of strawberries and peaches 

Poured across the blue plate of the horizon.  "Ah, Summer," it seems to cry, 

"My dear warm friend," then breathes with an icy sigh "I pay homage 

To your faded flora's once rich colors, until you come back again."

Bigotry

They drink the poison from their own skin,

Licking the toxic, hallucinogenic toad.
They never go beyond the surface;

Marrow is our equalizer.  In their own mouths

The epithelial cells tell true tales.  They are not listening

To the DNA speak true history.  Frenzied and foaming
At the mouth with hate they eat their own flesh.