johanna_lea

- to my sweetheart -

a brand new life, no conscience where
the hearts and flowers fill the air
the ecstasy a new love brings
ultimately spreads its wings
leaves you to ordinary fare
no castle no more handsome king
that bird has flown and left you there.

and if you will remember me
my open heart, my company
the happiness that we once shared
is just a long-lost memory
no looking back - i am not there

sonnet day before valentine's day 2012

- lament -

- lament -

we play it as it lays - we try
to sooth ourselves, and satisfy
a truth for you that isn't even there.
we cannot gather truth for you,
nor long sing songs that aren't true
as love incarnate, birth and blood
and life and breath and bone.

a woman's nature's unconfined
to nurturing a man unkind -
the suffering silence will not hold
our own soul's path cannot unfold
'til we break free of any mold.
we'll fail to bring the harvest home
you'll harbor winter on your own.

- heart -

is the illusion of love
preferable to love no longer?
even a shriveled heart
dry as a prune
grows plump with tears
for what is not there.

pleiades -

a flock of doves in velvet sky
seven sisters in the crisp night air
these old girls are hot, blue, luminous
ancient constellation between the bull's horns
a parallax of stars.

the sisters are crones at last
huddled together for warmth
their pale aura a dime-store
blueing trick. their wise eyes
wrinkled as elephants, their
expanding memories ascending
the cosmic distance ladder
into oblivion

your steady open gaze
just a blink and the curtain dropped
green eyes turned opaque
i saw a thin white veil through which
i see i'll never pass again

quick as a wink, a thunderclap
quick as an arrow finds its mark
i see i am a ghost
i have been one awhile
i just didnt know it.

come, look into my mirror
tell me what you see?
my cloudy shade slowly fading
so you are a ghost
you have been one awhile
well-concealed
i just didn't catch it.

you hug me tightly
against your heart
you turn and walk away,
i see your shadow
vanishing

for steve 11-11-2011

tucked down in my morning chair
conversation flowing
hot coffee in our hands
the news on public radio

roman history, poetry
stories and geology
these are things you left with me


your scent lingers under the quilts
i'm sleeping on your pillow now
your softest kisses, warm green eyes
your head upon my breast

drawing and democracy
the bible and philosophy
these are things you left with me


love of knowledge, love of earth
contemplating universe
the quilt spread out behind the flowers
the sunset in the west

body heat and loving free
unconditional, you and me
these are things you left with me
these are things you left with me.

hello tomas-

you ask me what our independence day celebration is like.
your country has been divided and fought over for centuries...
america is only an infant by comparison, but we have remained a country,
and we stand as one of the longest democracies in history. on our
4th of july holiday, all over this country, there are some common rituals:
cooking out on the grill, getting together with friends on a hot summer afternoon,
drinking beer, eating watermelon, watching children play tag in impossibly
hot afternoon sunshine.
the fireworks grand finale is always eagerly awaited; impatient kids argue
that it IS dark enough, before dusk .. before sunset.

i went to a 4th july party at my good friends' little house on the river.
a small group, maybe 7-8 friends, and what seemed like 40 kids...
[age 2 to 12] a number really closer to 10 smiling sweaty faces with
blueberry-smeared chins. it seems the blueberries arrive
every year, right on time for this midsummer holiday.

an army of children running everywhere, THIRSTY!! jumping on the big
trampoline and spinning on the rope swing, HUNGRY!, running through the sprinkler,
begging to go down the hill to swim in the river.
JUST ONE MORE TIME PLEEESE!!!
after going swimming twice, in reality watching over little kids swimming,
another grown-up took a turn.
it takes a "village" to watch the children.

there were frozen margaritas for the big people and fresh lemonade for
the littles. pork ribs and chicken, hotdogs and hamburgers on the
grill. coleslaw, corn-on-the-cob, baked beans and 'light' bread
round out the traditional cookout feast.
in a washtub wait two big iced-down watermelons for dessert.
the deck seemed high in the trees; we could watch the river
from far above...in the shade of the treetops, the men drank beer
and talked about politics. the women got the food ready and drank
more than their share of the margaritas.

some of the young adults brought out guns and others, the fireworks.
although they are not technically legal in georgia, no one bothers with
a few on the 4th. the kids loved every bit of it - the pop-pop-pop of
small bloack-cat firecrackers on the ground - the bright sparklers waving
in the humid night air. afterward, a few guitars come out, folks gather
around and old songs echo in the darkness.
'bye bye miss american pie'

these friends built their house themselves, thirty years ago.
i have witnessed a few incarnations in the many years i have
known them. it is on a dirt road, their land slopes down to a flat
sandy area along the riverbank. they have 8 acres. over the years the
lesser trees were cut for firewood; it is now a open, hardwood forest
hillside, with plenty of shrubs, flower and food gardens around the house.
from the hilltop looking down, there is a fine sunset view up-river
from the deck.

you would like this little homestead, i think. my friend is a
carpenter by trade, but truly a jack of all trades. from what you say,
you are the same kind of working man doing all kinds of work.
you probably get together with friends the same way as we do.
it is a fine summer holiday!

so that's my story of the 4th of july.
i have no photos, just my words.

regards, joanne

independence day


9:30 PM Highfalls,Ga.
the locals are shooting
...guns and skyrockets.
pop-pop-popping and echoing
from down the back hill,
a loud booming commences
just up the road, firing such
brilliant bursts of color into the skies
o say can you see?

staccato bursts of semi-automatic fire
punctuate the night
in the good old summertime.

-figs-


summer's unkindest trick

her fruits ripen while we wilt

in brilliant harsh sunlight,

the figs have reached dead ripe

big as hen's eggs, they droop

ripe for the plucking

their wilting leaves a lie

a fig tree's roots run deep

some say they reach to hell

what a funny joke to think

such a story it re-tells



does the succulent sun-kissed fruit

hold the long-forbidden key?

i would eat the sweetest one

i'd not choose another tree

their juice upon my tongue

is a blessing, nothing more

- manic -


suddenly, in the midst of your life

you hardly notice the world around you.

traffic lights changing, horns blowing

the steady roar of the city's heartbeat.

yours is a faster flight of fancy -

your eyes intent

on a vision you can't yet see.

not yet manifest..

as long as you are only yourself.