tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41270603163556653562024-03-19T20:31:46.151-07:00Memento moria journey of self discovery through art, journaling and poetryVirginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-47621600987781372302013-02-26T14:00:00.001-08:002013-02-26T19:16:20.889-08:00Words ll<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Words ll</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Words at my feet<br />
float-<br />
on rain-soaked sidewalks,<br />
dredged up from the mud.<br />
Weigh heavily,<br />
my disillusioned poet.<br />
<br />
Still-<br />
my breath catches<br />
as words swirl in the tidal pool,<br />
shift and sway.<br />
I gather them gently,<br />
softly in my palm.<br />
<br />
Close my hands-<br />
feel the weight of language,<br />
it's connection to history,<br />
to the universe,<br />
sky and moon.<br />
The sun descends,<br />
stars blink open their eyes,<br />
earth rotates it's wobbly axis.<br />
<br />
All this-<br />
from a handful of words<br />
once at my feet,<br />
now embedded in my skin,<br />
flow through my mind,<br />
telling me a thousand stories<br />
all at once.<br />
<br />Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-60976038028790279582013-01-22T15:19:00.000-08:002013-01-22T15:19:09.739-08:00Dream of Snow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Dream of Snow<br />
<br />
Sitting present<br />
on my lunch break,<br />
I dream of snow,<br />
falling on a silent night,<br />
a distant shore-<br />
Japanese silk painting,<br />
mountains covered in mist,<br />
utter stillness-<br />
White blanket<br />
comforts the landscape.<br />
I close my eyes,<br />
wait for sleep<br />
to overtake me.<br />
I sleep deeply<br />
and dream of snow.<br />
<br />
<br />Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-60274511552209833492013-01-16T11:41:00.001-08:002013-01-16T11:53:11.847-08:00January Morning<br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
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<br />
<b>January Morning</b><b><br /></b><br />
Cold January morning.<br />
Wrap my hands around<br />
warmth of hot coffee,<br />
wrap my mind around Monday.<br />
There is poetry here-<br />
I know this.<br />
It is garbled,<br />
coded,<br />
mixed with<br />
the daily detritus.<br />
Seek words,<br />
unique thoughts,<br />
write them down.<br />
Easy recipe to follow,<br />
tricky to master.<br />
Cold January morning<br />
doing my word sit ups,<br />
stretches,<br />
keep moving<br />
pen to paper.<br />
I still have something to say.<br />
Trees spread long shadows<br />
across the landscape.<br />
Frost decorates windshields.<br />
Wrap my hands around<br />
warmth of blessed coffee,<br />
wrap my mind around Monday,<br />
continue to crack the code,<br />
master the recipe,<br />
find my poetic voice.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-79345144664630267332013-01-08T10:04:00.000-08:002013-01-08T10:04:45.239-08:00Miss NomerMiss Nomer<br />
(misnomer: noun-an error in naming a person, place or thing.)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Secretly,<br />
I know my name is Goddess<br />
who seeks the sun,<br />
brilliant warmth on bare skin.<br />
<br />
Sometimes<br />
my name is Gypsy,<br />
wandering endlessly through<br />
a rigid existence<br />
Grasping desperately,<br />
each creative straw.<br />
<br />
Some days<br />
my name is Nomad,<br />
having no home or fixed position.<br />
<br />
Dark days,<br />
I am Despara,<br />
hopeless for a better outcome,<br />
tucking deeper inside,<br />
waiting for the war to be over<br />
and the rescue that never comes.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow,<br />
I will name myself Minerva,<br />
then change it to Desdemona,<br />
<br />
maybe Emily Energy,<br />
<br />
Mary Fairy...<br />
<br />
possibly Frank.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-3554375194546417242012-12-04T21:18:00.000-08:002012-12-04T21:18:25.542-08:00Final Lament<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
(<i>For Dverse poets open link night, I post an old poem I wrote while in the midst of struggling with major life changing events. To fight my panic attacks, I found the idea of metaphoric suicide very cathartic and have always been in love with gothic poetry. This is by no means my state of mind but a mere exploration of an idea. I am working toward finding my current poetic voice but, for now, it remains silent. I didn't want another open link night to pass unanswered) </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Final Lament</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Severed ties to the living,</b><br />
<b>bring me closer to the dead.</b><br />
<b>The pounding of my anxious heart,</b><br />
<b>fills my mind with dread.</b><br />
<b>Luminescent breath of ghosts,</b><br />
<b>obscures the moon above my head.</b><br />
<b>Shadows thrust upon the tomb,</b><br />
<b>where my feet now gently tread.</b><br />
<b>Fiendish sounds, mid-blackest night,</b><br />
<b>a sepulcher for my bed.</b><br />
<b>Will peace now overlook me,</b><br />
<b>for the life that I have led?</b><br />
<b>A razor pricked across my wrists,</b><br />
<b>strange demons now are bled.</b><br />
<b>Eyes fixed upon cold, marble stone,</b><br />
<b>life runs out crimson red. </b>Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-2994952249543407922012-08-21T21:13:00.001-07:002012-08-21T21:13:41.919-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b> </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>I Fall Surrendered</b> </div>
<b><br /></b>
You saved me from drowning<br />
and placed me in your ocean,<br />
<br />
I fall surrendered at your feet.<br />
<br />
Let mercy pour down upon me<br />
wash the mud from my skin,<br />
<br />
I am tattooed with words,<br />
let them be prayers.<br />
<br />
Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-660272942226121892012-05-01T15:17:00.000-07:002012-05-01T15:17:24.434-07:00When I am Dead, My Dearest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I am dead, my dearest,<br />
and gone beneath the ground,<br />
lay me gently in the earth,<br />
so roots can travel down.<br />
<br />
So roots can travel down, my love,<br />
that break the flesh and bone,<br />
my pallid skin, frail porcelain,<br />
beneath the grass and stone.<br />
<br />
When I am dead, my dearest,<br />
and the soil my eternal bed,<br />
when my breath has all expired,<br />
lay no flowers at my head.<br />
<br />
My hair will weave a firmament<br />
of stars as sacred crown,<br />
when I am dead, my dearest,<br />
my love, when I am gone.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-90970717678396802442012-03-27T12:38:00.000-07:002012-03-27T12:38:33.170-07:00Rebirth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHb1QT7u2PpgeQ1HUeIMVHselusHsCI3ZwXLLmSmayCIhAZv9XtWdH3n2ODPPeld_LT4EPvQLJg0m10f5F1u_JIt-N6BC13BAYfOQ1uaspydmouNf0dUs4alwyV1cz92euxhlS3XuuS0A/s1600/P6270075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="299" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHb1QT7u2PpgeQ1HUeIMVHselusHsCI3ZwXLLmSmayCIhAZv9XtWdH3n2ODPPeld_LT4EPvQLJg0m10f5F1u_JIt-N6BC13BAYfOQ1uaspydmouNf0dUs4alwyV1cz92euxhlS3XuuS0A/s400/P6270075.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<i>With the feeling of Spring in the air, my thoughts are about gardening. Tilling the soil, planting the seed, nurturing, hands in the earth. The smell of fresh turned soil brings thoughts of all the possibilities presenting themselves into my life. Hope is abundant, the sun on my face and I am excited by the prospect of new adventures.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Rebirth</b><br />
<br />
Freshly plowed earth<br />
awaits, untapped<br />
potential of seed.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-79360423733684975352012-03-09T08:59:00.000-08:002012-03-09T08:59:39.987-08:00Sense of Place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkbnvaAzbMDJNvm5FacDlT0Tc5xFm2qY7CXqE7SWb8a9SbF5v7YxxkapWp67OC8819sLQtlz3EEDKD3gGX1DJ6dxQQNbC5tj7JY9hwjO_t5aKNL_4feMlGjXZfd1lfUMOJwjjoWBGODk/s1600/P8230038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmkbnvaAzbMDJNvm5FacDlT0Tc5xFm2qY7CXqE7SWb8a9SbF5v7YxxkapWp67OC8819sLQtlz3EEDKD3gGX1DJ6dxQQNbC5tj7JY9hwjO_t5aKNL_4feMlGjXZfd1lfUMOJwjjoWBGODk/s400/P8230038.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Stagnant dead space within,<br />
darkened hollows between,<br />
where the concrete wears thin,<br />
leaves us nothing for dreams.<br />
<br />
Darkened hollows between,<br />
dusty wallpapered rooms,<br />
leaves us nothing for dreams,<br />
frail debris now entombed.<br />
<br />
Dusty wallpapered rooms,<br />
what remains can't be taken,<br />
frail debris now entombed,<br />
brittle bones left forsaken.<br />
<br />
What remains can't be taken,<br />
sung prayers sweetly taunt,<br />
brittle bones left forsaken,<br />
hearth and stone echoes haunt.<br />
<br />
Sung prayers sweetly taunt,<br />
where the concrete wears thin,<br />
hearth and stone echoes haunt,<br />
stagnant dead space within.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-31539520562338968002012-02-29T09:15:00.000-08:002012-02-29T09:15:47.886-08:00Thoughts of rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5urmG8F0Q5XXqotZ4_gjT83MmMXMXP5KLC6_Dg9vW9oQJcpApcp0gMLmkxyqvEt2kRVeJSZdJrsRxLWGLoe4VU_SMARNQ_d4oojwRfhYv-KyeDB_nnNQzdBByu-i1mol68_pdf7eUcs/s1600/P3190007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5urmG8F0Q5XXqotZ4_gjT83MmMXMXP5KLC6_Dg9vW9oQJcpApcp0gMLmkxyqvEt2kRVeJSZdJrsRxLWGLoe4VU_SMARNQ_d4oojwRfhYv-KyeDB_nnNQzdBByu-i1mol68_pdf7eUcs/s320/P3190007.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Pale lavender, orange sunrise,<br />
breaking through cloud cover,<br />
surfaces wet with last night's rain.<br />
I breathe in moisture,<br />
smell of earth and creosote,<br />
raindrops collect and slowly gather,<br />
rolling down the terracotta roof tiles<br />
dropping to the ground-<br />
plunk!<br />
plunk!<br />
Breaks the silence of<br />
this crisp winter morning,<br />
chill snaps me awake,<br />
aware of my surroundings,<br />
this present moment,<br />
my surreal existence of late.<br />
Getting used to unfamiliar surroundings<br />
and constant disorientation,<br />
the word "temporary"<br />
travels through thoughts,<br />
all things temporary,<br />
makes me question<br />
what creates meaning<br />
as material things fall away,<br />
surroundings change,<br />
aware of how this winter<br />
sunrise smells,<br />
how the air <br />
snaps me awake,<br />
aware of the raindrops<br />
slowly rolling<br />
down terracotta tiles<br />
to the earth under my feet.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-10897149707402799002012-01-31T22:20:00.000-08:002012-02-01T08:28:17.131-08:00The Ruins of My Temple<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxboLPxmCi_RM6u32p5Hnpo35ZamewAJY4fZM3OnLa0G46RWvQoN3ZrpjNhuv56tzVOkqjJoWJABdaHicbzODfCjo9uFBuU66S5b2qqN-Io7s0eJ3Nv_ccKzsVziTEapwJEUBLnQsHOik/s1600/P7230098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxboLPxmCi_RM6u32p5Hnpo35ZamewAJY4fZM3OnLa0G46RWvQoN3ZrpjNhuv56tzVOkqjJoWJABdaHicbzODfCjo9uFBuU66S5b2qqN-Io7s0eJ3Nv_ccKzsVziTEapwJEUBLnQsHOik/s320/P7230098.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Despite it's condition,<br />
the ruins of my temple,<br />
still sacred,<br />
soul's trappings,<br />
entangled in the brambles,<br />
fixing my position,<br />
grabbing hold,<br />
thorns break the surface,<br />
nuances change my trajectory,<br />
growing out,<br />
pulling in,<br />
dragging down,<br />
underground,<br />
learning to adapt,<br />
contort limbs,<br />
ligature marks burned<br />
across brittle wrists,<br />
earthbound dwelling<br />
crumbles,<br />
fumbles against gravity,<br />
brevity,<br />
as the soul<br />
bears it's body.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-58501625248434618102012-01-18T06:37:00.000-08:002012-01-18T06:37:26.599-08:00By Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7w9GaygwDLVRGLBY5fvneBeZN0JJHu2lvDDgmq4cf58IgTX38Z4AXZ1eokxu33AuqNJdKXcxsP06zIfsk0Xx-nlJLAOUHqQ6mHAnh1y4SN-LO85dkvPxWqHHfF2rF5oVMokwllYeMIXM/s1600/P8130067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7w9GaygwDLVRGLBY5fvneBeZN0JJHu2lvDDgmq4cf58IgTX38Z4AXZ1eokxu33AuqNJdKXcxsP06zIfsk0Xx-nlJLAOUHqQ6mHAnh1y4SN-LO85dkvPxWqHHfF2rF5oVMokwllYeMIXM/s320/P8130067.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<b>By Sunday</b><br />
<br />
By Sunday,<br />
a thin veneer,<br />
all that remains<br />
of my shell<br />
I built,<br />
to protect myself<br />
from the world.<br />
<br />
By Sunday,<br />
it has worn<br />
membrane thin,<br />
scraped away in layers<br />
by life's daily upheaval,<br />
dark forces<br />
without and within.<br />
<br />
By Sunday,<br />
I feel bumped,<br />
bruised,<br />
rushed, pushed,<br />
pummeled, abraded,<br />
irritated,<br />
discouraged, heavy,<br />
I drag chains,<br />
my hope wanes.<br />
<br />
By Sunday,<br />
I long to wander<br />
deep in the woods,<br />
get lost completely,<br />
swallowed by the trees,<br />
breathe pure,<br />
be alone,<br />
meditate, center,<br />
rebuild my soul,<br />
shore up walls,<br />
that wear down,<br />
membrane thin,<br />
by Sunday.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-84321256724417978142012-01-10T19:44:00.000-08:002012-01-10T19:44:29.291-08:00The Gift My Friend Gave Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwy_Kf_lg1k55_XNg6jqdn7HJ9NUqNKkkxTi-68Q4w6upNuBSBizewNycfLuy4Lh6oxpVxVK3_Nyg4jINlm8L4jha9BxJYGJ3lzHsiVvRf-WqOzavld4763ooGtcf1VEWXhpVWNp8GWZE/s1600/3892050292_6495e960ee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwy_Kf_lg1k55_XNg6jqdn7HJ9NUqNKkkxTi-68Q4w6upNuBSBizewNycfLuy4Lh6oxpVxVK3_Nyg4jINlm8L4jha9BxJYGJ3lzHsiVvRf-WqOzavld4763ooGtcf1VEWXhpVWNp8GWZE/s320/3892050292_6495e960ee.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>The Gift My Friend Gave Me</b><br />
<br />
In a cafe',<br />
sipping coffee,<br />
my friend would read to me,<br />
Persian poetry, in Farsi,<br />
his native tongue.<br />
The paper he held,<br />
covered in exotic symbols,<br />
graceful curves and dots<br />
on the blue-lined paper,<br />
like notes of music,<br />
played right to left.<br />
As he read them,<br />
my eyes would close,<br />
to hear the poem breathing,<br />
feel it's pulse,<br />
lose myself in the caress of each<br />
beautiful, melodic sound,<br />
rolling into the wave of the next,<br />
feeling each end rhyme.<br />
It felt so familiar,<br />
a primal recognition<br />
of our ancient voice,<br />
a soothing lullaby sung by a mother, <br />
rocking vibrations felt<br />
deeply in the body,<br />
comforting the soul.<br />
In an instant,<br />
my mind fell wide open,<br />
I understood, that poetry<br />
transcends language,<br />
it's meaning secondary,<br />
to the repetition of sounds,<br />
the meter and cadence,<br />
the universal sound<br />
of our own heartbeat,<br />
our first inhale of breath<br />
into newborn lungs.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-44819877614275751202012-01-03T21:14:00.000-08:002012-01-06T21:40:08.355-08:00Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqHdN876wJ2DfHR1_lUCsC7w6Js-60Iuls_jO6aPUBbsmmMXg6YPn_kZ9a24836_QsYQSFZtauT7168QsgGXGKcwgqGotkvmtAEoJZliRTp24KbSF2T-SzPqjTCKuIUGeSrtB1V1GF560/s1600/P3230118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="299" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqHdN876wJ2DfHR1_lUCsC7w6Js-60Iuls_jO6aPUBbsmmMXg6YPn_kZ9a24836_QsYQSFZtauT7168QsgGXGKcwgqGotkvmtAEoJZliRTp24KbSF2T-SzPqjTCKuIUGeSrtB1V1GF560/s400/P3230118.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Words,<br />
wallow<br />
at my feet,<br />
fractured,<br />
disjointed,<br />
anointed?<br />
fragments of gold,<br />
delusions of grandeur?<br />
<br />
Unable<br />
to piece together<br />
the puzzle.<br />
Can I proclaim myself<br />
"poet"<br />
or charlatan?<br />
focus my energy<br />
on a practical trade,<br />
nine to five,<br />
benefits,<br />
retirement plan.<br />
<br />
Still,<br />
the words<br />
remain<br />
stubbornly silent,<br />
gathered up,<br />
tucked<br />
in my pocket,<br />
spoiled children,<br />
demanding<br />
constant attention.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-28627313519390374022011-12-27T20:15:00.000-08:002011-12-27T20:15:27.679-08:00When I am Gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2A8JwuOEFZs-GgHOrYfsPyCym7qBjfSt6x_ODNksuKe78I7VtZ2UprXnjYBEuTTen9XNSaga5vzxFKorv_4z-qqo3eNXIKM1VOl0F-N2Z2JfQsV7OWO6dZ59AmsuS6tt1LgKc6k9w88/s1600/872.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2A8JwuOEFZs-GgHOrYfsPyCym7qBjfSt6x_ODNksuKe78I7VtZ2UprXnjYBEuTTen9XNSaga5vzxFKorv_4z-qqo3eNXIKM1VOl0F-N2Z2JfQsV7OWO6dZ59AmsuS6tt1LgKc6k9w88/s320/872.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>When I am Gone</b><br />
<br />
When I am gone, my life bereft,<br />
lying eternal in the ground,<br />
will my bones be all that's left,<br />
beneath the stone and earthen mound?<br />
<br />
Lying eternal in the ground,<br />
at last, to shed my human skin,<br />
beneath the stone and earthen mound,<br />
I dwell the forest, deep within.<br />
<br />
At last, to shed my human skin,<br />
covered by the scattered leaves,<br />
I dwell the forest, deep within<br />
the arms of grand and mighty trees.<br />
<br />
Covered by the scattered leaves,<br />
my eyes, now glimpse your pallid face,<br />
in the arms of grand and mighty trees,<br />
entwined, my love, in your embrace.<br />
<br />
My eyes, now glimpse your pallid face,<br />
will my bones be all that's left?<br />
Entwined, my love, in your embrace,<br />
when I am gone, my life bereft.<br />
<br />
(<i>trying my hand at another pantoum for dversepoets.com open link night</i>)Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-47471442948554747812011-12-22T14:39:00.000-08:002011-12-22T14:43:08.278-08:00Luxury of Morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIGGC5xHp3LXV7C8KD-yUr9MPL2wGZ5rC5n4MQ4PZIL6U8AI6sfIzC5luqhzorPcqEk1ZEVt6SYmq-NCj4_9wwVH9LD0wIFL_m2IWJrRqu-iaWIkB5nz_oK9zHP3n4P90HmXptAdIPt3Q/s1600/P9220114_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIGGC5xHp3LXV7C8KD-yUr9MPL2wGZ5rC5n4MQ4PZIL6U8AI6sfIzC5luqhzorPcqEk1ZEVt6SYmq-NCj4_9wwVH9LD0wIFL_m2IWJrRqu-iaWIkB5nz_oK9zHP3n4P90HmXptAdIPt3Q/s320/P9220114_2.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<b>Luxury of Morning</b><br />
<br />
Savoring<br />
rich luxury of morning,<br />
no scheduled place of arrival-<br />
Lingering<br />
over a hot cup of tea<br />
and some poetry books,<br />
these moments richer than gold-<br />
Sacred<br />
like church on Sunday,<br />
without it's dogmatic droning,<br />
what is truly spiritual?<br />
Appreciation<br />
of the present moment,<br />
keenly aware<br />
it too shall pass,<br />
as afternoon, again,<br />
becomes evening.<br />
<br />
(Posted for dversepoets.com poetry prompt "contrast")Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-46090446243196391452011-12-13T23:26:00.000-08:002011-12-13T23:26:57.444-08:00She Woke up Naked by the Sea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOTaAHXMIopptEZxEh569l8tVHprm4ef-kEs-_lu_khALwXv3U9t8__XVFxMQH3Jp9vACl9Bhyphenhyphenln4HrUUb0UwhR6N5nVmrvr6ca0r9Hjn2gzXnO9tZANbiarODFFv8FxnVrOhUUzZhgE/s1600/441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOTaAHXMIopptEZxEh569l8tVHprm4ef-kEs-_lu_khALwXv3U9t8__XVFxMQH3Jp9vACl9Bhyphenhyphenln4HrUUb0UwhR6N5nVmrvr6ca0r9Hjn2gzXnO9tZANbiarODFFv8FxnVrOhUUzZhgE/s320/441.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>She Woke up Naked by the Sea</b><br />
<br />
She woke up naked by the sea,<br />
to cast her shadow in the water,<br />
gathered small shells for memories,<br />
dreams that led her to the slaughter.<br />
<br />
To cast her shadow in the water,<br />
lured by the distant piercing call,<br />
dreams that led her to the slaughter,<br />
lulled by sorrow, drown them all.<br />
<br />
Lured by the distant piercing call,<br />
a distant storm, dark clouds descend,<br />
lulled by sorrow, drown them all,<br />
the breath in which her life depends.<br />
<br />
A distant storm, dark clouds descend,<br />
oblivion holds no clemency,<br />
the breath in which her life depends,<br />
foreshadowed sense of urgency.<br />
<br />
Oblivion holds no clemency,<br />
gathered small shells for memories,<br />
foreshadowed sense of urgency,<br />
she woke up naked by the sea.<br />
<br />
(<i>Trying my hand at another Pantoum for dversepoets.com open link night</i>)Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-67766260782690268912011-12-08T17:52:00.000-08:002011-12-08T17:52:37.809-08:00Emergence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_V0g5xEvDoCn8ptHYJPs4u5Mvaujc9BCotO2bTbzZEjqwLCRLyrzuGpgMREk_N3LxznqxRT0r3bU0ATkf_aTvmHAbptJ7Kme1e1I90d676cfTkMFecOJzc4hb3mC39zqOWoA1sQ3J_28/s1600/1434905035_cf635524f4%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_V0g5xEvDoCn8ptHYJPs4u5Mvaujc9BCotO2bTbzZEjqwLCRLyrzuGpgMREk_N3LxznqxRT0r3bU0ATkf_aTvmHAbptJ7Kme1e1I90d676cfTkMFecOJzc4hb3mC39zqOWoA1sQ3J_28/s320/1434905035_cf635524f4%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>Emergence</b><br />
<br />
Does the butterfly remember the caterpillar,<br />
at the moment of emergence from the chrysalis?<br />
Spreading brilliant wings-<br />
I walk around this house, still and cold,<br />
a museum for the dead.<br />
Framed photographs of a young couple,<br />
smiling for the camera, preserved,<br />
I don't recognize her face, my face,<br />
looking like me, frozen in time,<br />
surrounded by souvenirs, mementos,<br />
objects collected on shelves,<br />
collecting dust, my personal effects.<br />
All wrapped in spun, silken thread,<br />
awaiting metamorphosis.<br />
Apparitions stir in the odd corners<br />
as I try to remember the caterpillar.<br />
My wings unfold, test their strength,<br />
the chrysalis discarded,<br />
the sky calls me home,<br />
flapping against the panes of glass.<br />
Now, how do I tell him?<br />
How do I tell him I am leaving?Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-82560210223805331892011-12-06T13:00:00.000-08:002011-12-06T17:55:13.587-08:00'round and 'round<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfXCUSXIQrEbo_KTmzJooFS3J90VpqbVF2vqpLaWYWM7xzAb_gfKF8CJGY_ph2XjbCuj244yN62RpTl9wDxxJMuvCUbLQ-h7KGEo59VBEufhuqu4qmKHKKjI802jcNoS7dpOQzi-AP4E/s1600/PC080096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfXCUSXIQrEbo_KTmzJooFS3J90VpqbVF2vqpLaWYWM7xzAb_gfKF8CJGY_ph2XjbCuj244yN62RpTl9wDxxJMuvCUbLQ-h7KGEo59VBEufhuqu4qmKHKKjI802jcNoS7dpOQzi-AP4E/s320/PC080096.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<b>'round and 'round</b><br />
<br />
'round and 'round the tumbled page,<br />
all broken glass and subtle rage,<br />
in throughout the night begins,<br />
the plot unfolds, my thickened skin,<br />
<br />
the peace I seek, in dark of night,<br />
endless woods with moonlit bright,<br />
I dreamt a path I could not go,<br />
I woke to find the answers though,<br />
<br />
most things you find behind the veil,<br />
the sins and monsters hiding there,<br />
leave the brightest cheek turned pale,<br />
a ghost to haunt the shadowed trail.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-36481865348854818152011-11-29T21:26:00.000-08:002012-01-06T21:55:41.274-08:00Now, It Is Done<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Nfqy9gv53apP8kb5X65UEKkKdp2MBVjbtBURJUReMgiB4DJPDSbwHdnELneqpGwopI5byuRfW70smv-0Q844HoXThsGytulboD38H1H4fFKEur8HTwuh7PVPMiWeqUSmrIo535Kfu9E/s1600/PC080067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Nfqy9gv53apP8kb5X65UEKkKdp2MBVjbtBURJUReMgiB4DJPDSbwHdnELneqpGwopI5byuRfW70smv-0Q844HoXThsGytulboD38H1H4fFKEur8HTwuh7PVPMiWeqUSmrIo535Kfu9E/s320/PC080067.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<b>Now, It Is Done</b><br />
<br />
Now, it is done.<br />
The sun's warmth heals<br />
my battle-worn body,<br />
soothes deep wounds,<br />
penetrating my skin, my bones,<br />
my connective tissue,<br />
stitching together my disconnect.<br />
The final stand made,<br />
I will endure all consequences.<br />
<br />
Now buried,<br />
left for dead,<br />
I shovel the last wet soil<br />
upon my sepulcher.<br />
Lungs fill <br />
with the smell of raw earth,<br />
time for lamenting has passed,<br />
all the mourners gone home.<br />
<br />
Now risen<br />
with the misted moon<br />
and blackened sky,<br />
linger, until morning lifts<br />
the diaphanous veil of night<br />
from my eyes,<br />
breathe deeply, <br />
the light of dawn.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-24718164569567483562011-11-27T10:45:00.000-08:002011-11-27T10:45:25.357-08:00Take Me Now<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWIR8GiOhNOojqs-t74zqnHMGE3E7yNOXp9cyCSwR9vXOjPwmfSZbbWIj3620K1trBrJq69E7a2vqL_PBLfDmtEXf-oD7Vd4zkv3i-H0DzkwsElqVpJZrdKxNjtzLYsOd3fya4vPUTVgY/s1600/P6120136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWIR8GiOhNOojqs-t74zqnHMGE3E7yNOXp9cyCSwR9vXOjPwmfSZbbWIj3620K1trBrJq69E7a2vqL_PBLfDmtEXf-oD7Vd4zkv3i-H0DzkwsElqVpJZrdKxNjtzLYsOd3fya4vPUTVgY/s320/P6120136.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<b>Take Me Now</b><br />
<br />
Take me now-<br />
my blue-eyed lion,<br />
devour my flesh,<br />
for when the goddess awoke,<br />
the seductress woke with her,<br />
filled with an insatiable hunger,<br />
an unquenchable thirst.<br />
<br />
Take me now-<br />
my blue-eyed lion,<br />
I offer you my throat,<br />
I offer you my wrists,<br />
for my heart pounds inside these veins,<br />
life's blood pulses wild,<br />
devour this fire, <br />
that threatens to consume me,<br />
reduce my body to embers.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>(Offered up for the poetry prompt "Wild" over at Dversepoets.com)</i>Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-38608043578708403622011-11-22T13:47:00.000-08:002011-11-22T13:47:08.541-08:00wind howling, concrete morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzTI44LQa7SSd8csLKxNOcp8KK6QPh16XYfngdrQVDeTPb-BsanZaD5G_PLLv9gNOumyCadnyulc7ckuUT1a2BFGoCA0SIQRBPnZVbuDra6SubAN600DBYhmc8VuD8tTmkl300gVBsreQ/s1600/439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzTI44LQa7SSd8csLKxNOcp8KK6QPh16XYfngdrQVDeTPb-BsanZaD5G_PLLv9gNOumyCadnyulc7ckuUT1a2BFGoCA0SIQRBPnZVbuDra6SubAN600DBYhmc8VuD8tTmkl300gVBsreQ/s320/439.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>wind howling, concrete morning</b><br />
<br />
wind howling<br />
concrete morning<br />
pushed from sleep<br />
jar of dreams<br />
collected, sifted<br />
bellowing smoke<br />
ashen concrete<br />
tepid coffee<br />
weak in the knees<br />
trying to fight sleep<br />
on subway cars<br />
stay awake<br />
pushing dreams<br />
and the urge<br />
to stay upright<br />
fresh graffiti<br />
seated beside me<br />
strange markings<br />
primitive art<br />
from underground tribes<br />
marking territory<br />
drumming rhythms<br />
<i>clackety-clack, clackety-clack</i><br />
in distant tunnels<br />
pushing dreams<br />
down my throat<br />
<i>clackety-clack, clackety-clack</i><br />
forced to look<br />
through the darkness<br />
what is seen and unseen<br />
<i>clackety-clack, clackety-clack</i><br />
unreal, unkempt<br />
disheveled, unknown<br />
<i>clackety-clack, clackety-clack</i><br />
mechanized blood<br />
speeding through man-made veins<br />
<i>clackety-clack, clackety-clack</i><br />
we are mere illusions, illusive<br />
ego-driven, driven crazy<br />
<i>clackety-clack, clackety-clack</i><br />
dreams kick in<br />
pushed from sleep<br />
sitting on subway cars<br />
fighting the urge<br />
to stay upright<br />
sipping tepid coffee<br />
wind howling <br />
concrete morning<br />
<br />
(Posted for open link night at dversepoets.com)Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-43850546529238130432011-11-19T20:19:00.000-08:002011-11-19T20:19:49.028-08:00Shattered<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5e9cP18KCygOIlFS6F23xjDZ7i3sIQ4xC1cggYCqalV-VPzajVyRSFpQ_ERM8WpC92RzZwiofIZOVkyCjEYKwZ02Hf3k8rcPWvhQokQ9cHuwY-bvtwR5Xv0KFPVjMfloucXUwPPE1vU/s1600/PA170003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5e9cP18KCygOIlFS6F23xjDZ7i3sIQ4xC1cggYCqalV-VPzajVyRSFpQ_ERM8WpC92RzZwiofIZOVkyCjEYKwZ02Hf3k8rcPWvhQokQ9cHuwY-bvtwR5Xv0KFPVjMfloucXUwPPE1vU/s320/PA170003.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>Shattered</b><br />
<br />
Lethal injection,<br />
to stop a beating heart,<br />
shattered mine like glass.<br />
<br />
My decision-<br />
to end the life<br />
of my sweet friend.<br />
<br />
I hold myself accountable.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Word of the Day:</i> heart-rending. (adj) causing much grief or mental anguish.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-57790638645602526392011-11-18T09:39:00.000-08:002011-11-18T09:39:33.471-08:00Silence the Voices<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIH4zWTQQJukhTHtiCxWyUI8TIkMq0ItYnakpG4Z20OllWxuy1O3tgjfo6PyMUiz-MvbmSvhRrb6LATG1Kn7VUy3hNcP5Dt7Kh7bJiFzPJ7jdeKfukRyhNLARRF2w4FlmffYTcOHp1ePA/s1600/P6250054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIH4zWTQQJukhTHtiCxWyUI8TIkMq0ItYnakpG4Z20OllWxuy1O3tgjfo6PyMUiz-MvbmSvhRrb6LATG1Kn7VUy3hNcP5Dt7Kh7bJiFzPJ7jdeKfukRyhNLARRF2w4FlmffYTcOHp1ePA/s320/P6250054.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<i>(This is my attempt at Staccato form poetry for dversepoets.com<br />
I only was able to complete the first stanza. I decided to post it anyway. This was not an easy form for me, but I'm always willing to try new ideas.)</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Silence the Voices</b><br />
<br />
Silence the voices, uproarious crowd,<br />
shout to be heard, I abhor noise this loud.<br />
Be still! Be still! Quiet the din,<br />
whispered through the glorious wind.<br />
Sent the crowds home early, dispersed, dismissed.<br />
Be still! Breathe in silent, soft morning mist.Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4127060316355665356.post-51252540854743056272011-11-15T14:53:00.000-08:002011-11-15T14:55:35.614-08:00Called Myself Jezebel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7Subx_F369JTkPGSRTnZETdWLwb6AJ69CVSEfViv5R0FKs_LJM8-kKXZZYmDEH2rRq3wGZTr58-2g_3CXVegpg5x8GDMNATVme7Mt_1dUAS0Cxla-IwFUp-2qipXpfZiGpksfUf9CT0/s1600/PC080080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="239" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7Subx_F369JTkPGSRTnZETdWLwb6AJ69CVSEfViv5R0FKs_LJM8-kKXZZYmDEH2rRq3wGZTr58-2g_3CXVegpg5x8GDMNATVme7Mt_1dUAS0Cxla-IwFUp-2qipXpfZiGpksfUf9CT0/s320/PC080080.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<b>Called Myself Jezebel</b><br />
<br />
"Called myself Jezebel",<br />
words from a song<br />
caused a head-on collision,<br />
anger and sorrow,<br />
a sledgehammer to the sternum,<br />
struck an opposing force<br />
that yielded before me,<br />
losing my balance,teetering,<br />
p l u m m e t i n g...<br />
<br />
"Called myself Jezebel",<br />
I carved deeply, <br />
the letter on my chest,<br />
each slow, deliberate cut,<br />
scarlet rivulets of pain,<br />
keening as crimson rivers ran,<br />
my self-imposed punishment.<br />
<br />
"Called myself Jezebel",<br />
on my knees, asked forgiveness,<br />
for all the hurt I've caused,<br />
l a m e n t i n g ...<br />
Now, ripped wide open,<br />
raw and bleeding,<br />
r e v e a l i n g ...<br />
first seeds of hope,<br />
planted long before winter<br />
held the ground suspended.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>(10,000 Maniacs, "Our Time In Eden", song "Jezebel": a beautiful poem/lyrics, referenced in my poem)</i>Virginia Roberthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05218422913028849395noreply@blogger.com12