Beachanny By The Sea

Rumba-'rotic

2012-02-14T15:33:00.003-06:00

Dark

filigree, I trace its turns,

hold

its pattern on my eyelids;

stamp
you out

in silver that falls

snowshells from a sterling spoon.

smell the salt of you

the dark; my heartbeats rush.

yearning twists like

iron

works on a balcony

high

above the sea.

Waves

kiss the cape; their foam

cuts

into sand and repeats.

Darts

shoot into dark heat,

curve
like the shape of your hips

that

summon me from sleep.
Spray

flies with wings to

core, my need.

feel the urge

center and yet

eyes still closed

hold

a lacework image there.

Your

arms, like breezes cool;

then

passion bursts, crashing red

long my nerves -- when I

wake and pull you into me.

dance as one

you, me

the waves, the sky, the stars

that

flame the galaxies.

Slow

we wait, and fall apart

when

again the pull of moon

sea, you to me and

once

more
you are mine.

JAZZ NIGHTS

2012-01-31T16:56:00.000-06:00

neon nights

glowing signs

shocking messages in pinks

luring in phosphorescent greens

those nightheralded fluid blues

rub against you

rising up from gratings

to grab you.

excite your skin while walking

hear that swish and sssh swinging

in new silky nylons

hear that jazz – you’re dancing

while those vibrations

ham-ham-hammering away

set up a rhythm,

brassy, buzzing stirrings that set you

on a goosepimple slinky edge.

evening’s lost to starlight

fills you with excitement of the night

anxiety fills your body

with the rustles of desire

bouncing sounds of movement

lonesome seeking music

thrill you with adventure

the moment’s so intense

Dreamchasings invented

each day by sunlight,

spent tonight by barlight

as you murmur goodnight,

good night

Images of Vincent's Images

2012-01-19T15:38:00.001-06:00

THE NIGHT CAFE

***

Green pool table holds

The red center that repels

Night dreams to the wall

SELF-PORTRAIT

***

Stranger in the mirror

Attacks me with daylight knives

He slashed my pink ear

FIELD WITH CROWS

****

Dark deep horizon

Crows hang suspended in black

Above sunshine corn.

EDGE OF A WOOD

****

Cypress sentinels

Blocking my enemy's route

Protecting my home

Vincent Van Gogh - Starry Night

STARRY NIGHT

****

Ethereal stars

Whirling lights in the darkness

Promise condolence!

2012

Van Gogh photos of paintings courtesy of ibiblio.org
The majority (if not all) of Van Gogh's paintings are copyright expired and are in the public domain.
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Vincen…

LEAFSPAN

2012-01-12T12:06:00.001-06:00

A wet black bough on cloudy sky
The pressing sun would tear awry
A single knob formed on the limb
At first a tiny burst of green
then spiral emerald strands were seen
and next appeared a ship-like keel
when finally the leaf revealed

There side by side its siblings grew
Their colors changed by light and dew
The breeze encouraged them to play
And as they aged they crossed and waved
then summer sang of light and shade
its music played both night and day
by samba starlight leaves did sway

As flowers drooped, the fruit would fall
One night the wind brought vicious chill
Jaundice yellow and fever red
The limbs became a sickness bed
then weakened leaf with its last strength
beseeched the lightened sky's relief
when snowflakes fell, the leaf lost will

floating free on mountain stream
in death a solo drifting craft
past rocks and rills and damming raft
___ at last consumed by the vast sea

just the two (of us)

2012-01-03T15:11:00.001-06:00

Bill never came
I think because of ones and noughts
Don said it's all ones and noughts
plus and minus
off and on
and so it is

what is beauty?
off and on, plus and minus
1100111
series, random, junctions

what is life?
plus and minus
and integers if you're
chemically attracted

C for carbon so versatile
in its plusses
H for hydrogen so sticky
Nitrogen so ambivalent
Oxygen always looking to hook up
the only sure (numberheads will say)

thing is what you can count on
the only sure way is to find
someone to count on
what is the formula?

who's there? no one?
well of course not
will she last, poor thing,
to fetch and carry another day?
Well she better get the ones
she's caring for all lined up!

Future Slipping

2011-12-31T16:43:00.004-06:00

slip away

stretched out highway

interstate

play

restate the way

home moved

movin’home

away to shiningsea

or up to majesty

Free?

time keeps on, keeps twisting

ribbons and lanes

there…

grains, rainclouds and plains

trucks, cars and

slow freight trains.

tie

sky

fly

by and by

away

look away

hope

To the new

To the land

human

woman

man

must start again

"A happy New Year! Grant that I
May bring no tear to any eye
When this New Year in time shall end
Let it be said I've played the friend,
Have lived and loved and labored here,
And made of it a happy year."
----Edgar Guest

HAPPY NEW YEAR, ALL!

New Year's

2011-12-29T02:23:00.000-06:00

Bubbling wine initiates the year;

dissolving reigns that end winter's drear.

Bright shoes and gleaming glass invite;

designed to cheer time's arc in flight

Sing Auld Lang Syne both old and new

through romance, nostalgia doth renew.

Pleas for absolution

absorbed with cold, determined resolution.

In village soft or by city light

death and birth in one at midnight.

Through art restore creative ration

Inspiration, love and passion--

Shining smart, exploding into words;

your poems, mind-bursting fireworks.

whAt iS inspiRation?

2011-12-27T16:10:00.001-06:00

What is Inspiration? (Thoughts on Life)

My poem FOXTROT has been anthologized with poems written by esteemed poets from around the world, many of whom I count as good friends. I would be grateful if you would check out this e-volume designed for Kindle and other tablets, but available for Mac and PC computers as well!

Edited by Alan Loren @mywordwizard; on sale at Amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B006P5KWMU

Featured poets include:

Amanda Blanchard
Ann Brien
Anna Lovering
Anthony Desmond
Ben Szwediuk
Biljana Petrova
Christopher Reilley
Christine Redderoth-Roderick
Esther Thornburg
Gay Reiser Cannon
John Alwyine-Mosely
Kerry-ann Mansford
Libithina
Lynda Cress
Nicky Marinkovic
Parrish Lantern
Robin Marchesi
Roslyn Loren
Shell Tidings
Steve Thompson

In The Presence of Poets Volume 2

2011-12-15T06:47:00.000-06:00

In The Presence of Poets Volume 2

has a selection of my poems along with those of Claudia Schoenfeld, Brian Miller, Shan Ellis, Adam Dustus and Pete Marshall! Thank you for visiting my blog Beachanny By The Sea!

Duet

2011-12-02T01:58:00.001-06:00

Mockingbird

The grace notes stress the places
Fluttering on staff lines and spaces
Swooping down first on bass, then on treble coo-coo

I noodle first, then scan the lot
Finding familiar quirks of little clocks
A Tyrolian translated bird song coo-coo

Outside, the day's a buzzing stir

Summer streams an air conditioned whir
And I struggle to reproduce the call coo-coo

Rhythm and cadences at last deduced
I progress; I am amused
To play that old world cry coo-coo

Outside where mockingbirds dwell
I’m sure I hear an echo swell
Softly while he changes key coo-coo

Off tune at first and then more closely pure
He waits again for the phrase to recur
He tries again coo-coo

Oh, that familiar mimic made redress
Of common sounds in common dress

In duet with me, he sings coo-coo

This little story is true. I have embedded a youtube video of the song I was playing. Couldn't play for you myself as my piano and I are separated. It's too large to have at the beach house. I miss it though. The piece is Le Coucou by Louis Claude Daquin (July 4, 1694-June 15, 1772) written originally for the harpsichord.

Another version here on harpsichord if you've become enamored with this tune.

Ardent Wishes

2011-12-01T01:31:00.001-06:00

Would that I were not the poet
Witness to your tortured soul;
Warned by a guardian angel’s wings;
Wondering at your absence and your need;
Withering under your taciturn outward calm;
Worried by your internal conflict;
Wishing you pacific balm.

Would that I could stay your fears,
Open those dams and release the truths
Buried beneath your memories.
Would that I could retrieve that
Watery evenness of former waters
Wound through calmer pools,
Woven among dreams and lotus blossoms.

Would that I could take these sapphires
Imitating starlight, mere twinkling reflections
And trade them for almond-shaped burning coals
Or unfold rosebuds, or create new rainbows.
Would you then offer me the diamond
Hidden in the grotto of that chapel
High on the cliff of sea-lashed rocks?

Would that you would champion me—
My prize the feather of a dove.
Holding it aloft in my sight,
The feather would begin to burn
As simple as a sacred flame.
It would transform me and I would turn
Into an empress in a coronet of love.

Would that we could dwell
Beyond the cool and silvered moon?
Partners traversing the Milky Way.
King of hours, Queen of day.
Traveling the arc of time to stay
Like the lights that danced in time for us.
We, in eternal song: I the lyric; you the tune.

We would be caught forever in the feather’s vane,
Changing as the season, a single burnished golden flame.

© Gay Reiser Cannon 2010 All Rights Reserved

FLAMINGO

2011-11-16T22:58:00.001-06:00

A phoenix rising not from ash but grass;
blazing hot pink reflected flash on glass.
Burning! Burning! Lone flamingo
at one with setting sun's last glow.
Waking en pointe, moon grays to dawn's light,
burning Ra then lifts sickled bill in flight.

A phoenix rising not from ash, but love's
blazing return from aching crash. No doves--
this love! this love! burns luminous;
our flamingo fandango passion burns
white hot, melding souls. Our dance turns
this love, a ballet that flies without bounds.

© Gay Reiser * 2011 * All Rights Reserved

Posted for FormForAll - the Stacatto Form
Hosted on 11/17/2011 by Beth Winter at dVersePoets

*NB:
Flamingo - birds in the genus Phoenicopterus (from Greek φοίνικοπτεροςmeaning "Phoenix's wing"), the only genus in the family Phoenicopteridae.
The Egyptians believed Ra sometimes took the form of a flamingo.

Flamingo by beachanny

A Visit to OutPost Texas

2011-11-12T13:47:00.002-06:00

A Tale of OutPost Texas by beachanny

I been thinkin' lately 'bout this l'il town I used to go to, right there on the edge of the Panhandle, jus' a l'il ol piss ant size town but they had some characters there, I'm tellin' you, that even bigger Texas towns couldn't match.

First, this was where my mama's great aunt Eva (her name was Eva but fer some reason they called her Evvy and I was told to call her Aunt Evvy) lived. When I first remember her, she had a husband..a long, tall drink of water he was, and his name was Taylor Attaway. We was told to call him Uncle Tate. My mama had whispered to me in the backseat of my grandparents' car on the way there, that Aunt Evvy wasn't my Aunt at all, but my grandmother's cousin who'd been raised with her and when she's only sixteen she'd run off with this gambler (that'd be my Uncle Tate). Aunt Evvy was the daughter of a circuit rider who was always referred to as Uncle George.

Now Uncle George was big as all hell and half of Texas and was bound to carry the WORD 'round the state at revivals, cometomeetin camps, which gave the little towns an excuse to leave the barrooms, the fields, and cotton gins and come out to hear some real barrel thumpin'. Now what sent Uncle George to the worm farm, I ain't real sure, but he died for sure before his time.

I was real fascinated with Uncle Tate but not much with Aunt Evvy. He played card tricks with me sittin' on his bony knee. The first thing he liked to show everybody was that he could cross his legs and both feet would sit flat on the floor. He would pull nickels out of our ears (that was when the cousins came too) and he'd tell stories about the cowboys he gambled with when he hired out as an extra hand and drove cattle up to Kansas. I knew about Kansas on account of I had been borned in Kansas City and I knew it was a class town.

Later my grandfather said Uncle Tate had been a real hellraiser. He'd go out on gamblin' streaks and win a huge chunk of dough and then he'd buy Aunt Evvy big presents and fancy jewelry; but then he'd hock it (you know, at a pawn shop) and then she'd go lookin for somethin' and it'd be gone and also he would drink back then (I'm guessin a lot) so's anyway sometime before I was born probly and long before Billy Joe got sent to jail for somethin they never told me about, Aunt Evvy put down her tiny foot and said she'd be leavin' if he didn't give up the drink. He never totally gave up the gamblin' though and I reckon' that was right 'cause later she mooned around and talked about him like he was a hero.

I don't remember when poor ole' Uncle Tate died but I know I didn't go to the funeral, I'd 'a remembered that, but die he did, and she took to her bed. I didn't know why and thinkin' back on it now I can't see why she did. She bought herself a load of bed jackets. I cain't even remember havin' seen them in stores but they's frilly little things with ruffles and bows and stuff and she wore one over a gown or robe or something.

Someone had moved her bed to the dining room of her tiny ol' house and there she sat in her bed jacket with the covers pulled up to her waist,and proceeded to entertain guests. I can't even remember eatin' there. I think for dinner we had to go down to the town cafe. I'll tell y'all 'bout that place later. I had occasion to go there a few times by myself.

It was pretty borin' going to see her in later years so I sneaked out her house to see what little town life was like. The lady next door was always tendin' flowers in her yard. She was large and when she bent over her butt looked like two hams in a tow sack. Swear to God, her name was Fanny Pillow. All y'all will think I'm stretchin' the truth, but I ain't, still she was nice, bless her peapickin' heart. Lord, that woman could bake. She brought out cookies and cake and a pitcher of iced sweet tea and we had us a tea party right there in front of God and everybody on her front porch.

'Course it was always hotter 'n hades everytime we's there, seems like and often some Panhandle rain (that's a dust storm for y'all who don't know) blowin' napkins and such around but I had a high old time over at Fanny Pillows. Wasn't long, though, before I went meandering down the street. I mean this town weren't even as big as my portion of paradise in Amarillo so you could see the whole thing in 'bout half an hour. So next...
.........................
This here is only the first installment of this story...there's more characters to meet. Stay tuned for LillyLu, she was loose as ashes and as they said 'round there, yea, she was just natcherly horizontal.

Billy Wills, the pool hall shark, he was so lucky that he was ridin' a gravy train with biscuit wheels.

Big Al, the banker, who was all spread out like a cold supper and as full of wind as a corn-eating horse.

Dan Devonish - he was the mayor and also meaner than a skilletful of rattlesnakes but he was oilier than the oil from 'em too.

And other colorful folks in upcoming episodes.

Thanks y'all for stoppin' by the porch today; now go have yerself a heap of fun!

Posted for Poetics at dVersePoets today to illustrate idiom. Well this here's my idiom! And to hear me read it
in my very own voice, click on the player at the top.

Yellowness

2011-11-03T10:00:00.015-05:00

Yellow roses bloom -
You follow me to the park
Hide behind columns;
We play games of hide and seek.
You award me one plucked rose.

A yellow sundress
Matches my hair in sunlight;
Yellows dazzle you.
Piano practice room, you
Listen as I play Mozart.

Coffee and music--
Day follows night fluidly.
We drink and dance words--
Pile high, curl around fingers
Melodies fill the spaces.

Beads of passion red--
Birthday request, I recall.
Summer ends, new starts,
What a lot of push and pull.
Fall leaves with letters posted.

Ribbons come untied;
Reasons lost in loneliness.
Red wine poetry--
English, French and Latin words
Penned against folk-tuned guitars.

You follow movies
I follow a rhythmic song.
You get lost, me too--
Then we're together again
The world's always faster then.

Repeating patterns
Bright sunny days, cloudy nights
Separate paths weave;
Life lines crossing each other
Like strings of sunflower chains.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 10/30/11* All Rights Reserved

Posted today for Lady Nyo's article on Man'yoshu at dVersePoets. Please click to read, and enjoy!
Reposted for Victoria's color prompt on Poetics 9/5/11 at dVersePoets. Thanks everyone!

The Shade

2011-10-29T22:12:00.001-05:00

I saw a shadow!
I haven't been hiding.
You move so fast
I have to work fast.
But you've been lingering?
That happens sometimes.
Are you only a shadow?
I have many names.
Why have you come?
You know the answer.
Is time nearly up?
It moves one way only.
It seems to stop sometimes.
It seems to stop sometimes
but it doesn't.
Why does it hurt?
It ends the pain.
Why is it sudden?
It is what it is..I am what I am.
Are you it or only the shadow.
I am both..the dread and relief.
Are you here for me?
You know I'm here and everywhere.
But life seems so permanent.
Not feeling that way would be intolerable.
What happens afterwards?
I cannot say, but this will be over, this will be..
Dead?
Finished.

© Gay Reiser Cannon *2011* All Rights Reserved

I saw a shadow move across my bedroom wall while eating supper tonight. It led to this.

Before the End

2011-10-17T14:57:00.002-05:00

Moths in the shape of one moth
hang from the eaves of the porch.
They break pattern at night
then return by day to stay in sight.

The season turns soft late this year,
noticeable only in the darkening
of the dune grasses and bay water.
Pale moon peaks through woolen skeins.

Inside we ignore the pain and failings.
We make each day work as close
as we can to the one before, yet each
ends with fewer words and less breath.

The inner pain burns to ash the recent past.
Yesterday's meals with local news blur to fog.
In the midst of these doldrums, suddenly a passion
fires to a vivid sensate state that lights us.

The day has a moment of remembrance
before falling back to earth yellow, dull gray.
Outside the multi-moth figure waivers
as the light quivers and life begins to fade.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved
Posted for OpenLinkNight @ dVersePoets on 10/18/2011

word up

2011-10-15T16:55:00.000-05:00

Autumn's Beach Song

2011-10-03T23:10:00.002-05:00

The North wind swears and autumn rains fall.
Strangers gone, the locals walk the beach alone.
Markers out to heed a coming squall;
on the shore a broken shell crushed by a stone.

A heart lies beating in the sand
rejected by her one true love.
I leave it where he aband-
oned it in the eddies of a cove.

Autumn looks the same on shore;
yet the heat's cooled, the steam gone.
Perhaps the owner of the heart will pour
herself back on the beach, restored again to one.

The North winds praise and teardrops fall
I walk the beach again alone;
your memory still holds me in its thrall
I remember us and watch the sinking sun.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved

Another poem inspired by Chinese Love Poems

ALL THE WORDS

2011-09-29T15:44:00.000-05:00

All the words that men speak or the tunes that they rhyme
won't change the tick of the clock or the tock of the time.
Writers that tarry, or quick and thoughtless they move,
cast regrets for tomorrow, or themselves they reprove

for not getting done what would ever have changed
all the wrong to the right or the wrongs rearranged.
There are those who spend money, worry, and time
and never sing music or compose any rhyme.

They wish and they worry and worry and wish
that their life could be a best-selling dish;
they work and they wonder and never quite know
if the place that they're going is where they want to go.

But some people prepare from the start
where to go, what to do, and perhaps they're just smart
enough to learn from the first that the journeys that wend
from the first to the last, in a continuous stream, end

with rewards that are clear and remarkably seen.
Looking into the future or back through a dream
they find contented hours and rich memories
when accomplished goals unfold in sweet reveries.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved

Art in 5.7.5 - Sestina Variation

2011-09-21T22:52:00.000-05:00

A fold in his mind

where the brain hides lines, faces

retraced, drawn by marks

the work imagines.

As it becomes art itself,

the copying ends.

*ii

Where goals find their ends

in ardors learned by the mind,

eye detects itself

in seas of faces;

colors what he imagines

in shapes that he marks.

*iii

Repression leaves marks

expressed through whatever ends,

Aha! imagined.

Right back of his mind

where filmed masks become faces,

he shapes thought itself.

*iv

Work wrought, by itself,

unlike those others he marked;

read in their faces.

Beginnings to ends--

disconnected from his mind.

Now, they imagine.

What's meant, imagine

how to arrive at itself?

Where's that in one's mind?

The point that he marks

where every achievement ends,

found in their faces!

*vi

In all of their faces,

what lights do they imagine,

when their viewing ends?

Surpassing itself,

moving past color and marks--

to shadows in mind.

In ends and faces

Art's what the mind imagines--

Done, it marks itself.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011* All Rights Reserved

Art in 575 by beachanny

Chuck Close in his studio with self portrait.

Inspired by the conversation about the mind and its inspiration for Art among Chuck Close, Oliver Sacks, Richard Serra, Ann Temkin, Eric Kandel, and Charlie Rose - The Charlie Rose Show, PBS, 9/5/2011

TRAINS TODAY

2011-09-17T16:38:00.001-05:00

Trains today run

red and cold;

long, brown boxed

oiled black and yellow

bellow over strips of steel.

Masters once of power,

now not so bold.

Slow cross land

strain and whine

riverside

ride once rich country

stripped down in such short time.

Octopus lines, its tentacles cut

hauls the freight

“too expensive”, says the man,

“to cater to the folks,

they flies now.”

Once so much a master,

now you are the slave,

you, who once inspired the blues

can sing them

Slowowowow

and mournful--

down the line.

Amtrak is in business in the US, but trains don't move people here as they once did; the country is vast. We either drive or fly now. They say there are plans to change that. Time will tell. Some of us go to Europe just to ride the trains (and enjoy their stations!)

OK...Natasha's poem made me decide to post this. I love it. This makes me shed a little tear too..what a sap!

Blue Butterfly

2011-09-08T11:50:00.001-05:00

I am led to a pool by a blue butterfly.
The path there runs uphill through struggle and sorrow.
At the pool I seek answers within its deep sky;
I am given a sword which I'll only borrow.

The path next continues through struggle and sorrow.
With a blue butterfly to lead me and guide me,
I carry the sword gift which I'll only borrow;
in its blade lies the truth shining bright here beside me.

With a blue butterfly to lead me, it guides me
to the halls of Tuatha de Danann, magically lit
by the truth of this blade unsheathed here beside me.
In the glade of the moon Dúnedain again sit.

From the halls of Tuatha de Danann, magically lit
to the woods of warlords dried dark with spilled blood.
By the glade of the moon Dúnedain again sit
while invoking the spell to cleanse sin with a flood.

In washed woods of warlords dried dark with spilled blood,
rain would flow to blue pools that reflect the deep sky,
peace invoked by a spell that cleansed sin with a flood;
I return with the sword and the blue butterfly.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011* All Rights Reserved

Blue Butterfly by beachanny

Posted for Pantoum at dVersePoets FormForAll on Thursday 9/7/2011

Join us there for a discussion and challenge of a Pantoum

Fade To White

2011-09-06T11:35:00.004-05:00

2010 © Miguel Tinizaray

Skadi rides the nor'easter to his door.
Wearing winter, she waits, before blowing it down.

She drops her baskets of icy pain on the table,
crazes his windows with her breath.

Arcing the room, she stretches
his mind with vacant cold, freezing his blood

through silver eyes flaked with dread.
"Is this what you asked for?"

Wind arrests the mountains;
the moon stalks frosted clouds.

The wolf marks the perimeter,
his mate echoes the hoary valley.

Spinning disaster drifts higher.
His eyes gaze skyward.

He can't resist her
as purple heartbeats fall;

when the cougar growls,
his grasp slips away.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved * 2011

Posted today 9/6/2011 for dVersePoets hosted by Joy Jones - the Hedgewitch
Welcoming the poets at the pub to Beachanny By The Sea

Free Spirit

2011-08-27T17:18:00.004-05:00

His death

An accident or fate?

Substance became surreal.

No wind

Time stopped awhile, somewhere I heard a bell peal

Bereavement surrounds me, all seemed distant and late.

A loud clamor

The window lay

Unbroken on the kitchen tile

Had a phantom blown it

Out of its frame?

My thoughts confused and afraid

Overpowering my doubts

Unplanned words took form

I heard:

"Goodbye

I came back to say, ...No tears,

Keep faith, stay strong, and with

Courage endure the events of

Approaching years.

Don't forget me

Or the times we shared.

I couldn't leave

Without telling you I cared."

The stillness left the room

With an incandescent glare.

Outside the breeze took shape and direction.

I put the window back in its frame

And signed the relief of benediction.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved

This was written about someone who died while
we were dating long ago; it is a true account.
I was alone, and the evening was still, hot, humid.

MISSIVES

2011-08-20T17:25:00.015-05:00

I'm putting this up for Luke's Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft because I like this little poem and think
it has the potential to be very good. I changed the name from Entrusted because there were many comments about the title; although I think when we send a work out for someone to read, we are actually entrusting it to the reader. But I like what "Missives" as a title does too. I'd like any suggestions to make it better; don't hesitate to say you don't think it's worthy either as I'd like to know if that is true for you.

My words sail, silk calligraphs slide
across a page breathing spirits.

They find you drowsing in the leaves.
I unfurl a scarf of ideas and ship to you

revealing the essence of my gift.
Diffused as ether, they cloud then

distill in your waters of contemplation.
See how I'm sentenced to scatter

emotion-petals fragrant with allusions,
cartographs that draw you into me.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011
All Rights Reserved

LAST YEAR'S ROME

2011-08-18T13:28:00.003-05:00

Piazza Navona - My photo: October 2010

Arched colossal antiquity

Piazza burgeons business

Pouring cappuccino smiles

Abuzz under cloudless skies

Peacock-preened men in silk suits and ties

Coutured women skirting tourists

Gelato cools corners

Espresso reflects dappled trees

Leaves drift in historic disorder

Fountains spray myths

Near saintly displays

Michelangelo melds melodies

Postcard kiosks where Fellini mocks

Locals shirk as tourists stop

Crossroads of look and shop

Through global skies

Empirical icons sent home

All flights leave from Rome

Posted on dVersepoets for Meeting the Bar:Critique and Craft

8/18/ & 8/19 2011 with Luke Prater

Mona's Song

2011-08-16T11:39:00.003-05:00

Housing Project - Common Domain

Remembering her life unplanned
A window that was her dreamland
She left a bleak and cruel life
To build on rock instead of sand.

She walked through streets of hate and strife
Where words cut deeper than a knife.
She kept her thoughts as straight as pins
From child to mom; from girl to wife.

To learn! The key to those big wins
With judgment keen and sharp as fins.
Then truth was poured into her soul
It washed away her stinging sins.

Her life had been an empty bowl,
Though failures took a grievous toll,
Each year she gains more self control;

Her faith renewed now makes her whole.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved

Posted for dVersePoets OpenLinkNight 8/16/2011

Mona's Song by beachanny

Ad Astra Per Aspera

2011-08-11T11:20:00.002-05:00

Source: Hubblesite.org

A wispy breeze, sweet autumn's song;
A birth in summer starts with hope.

An accidental meeting here;
A modest smile, perhaps there's hope?

A fright'ning voice that threatens doom
In darkest lent a psalm of hope.

A broken bridge; land lost in fog
With fearful foot, forced will finds hope.

A weakened heart, a greatful mind
Holds on to hopeful promises.

The wave begins to coil off land
A hemisphere away men hope.

The season burns the throat, the land.
I wait in drought with nought but hope.

* ad astra per aspera - to the stars through difficulties
My Latin teacher said it was a kind of idiom for "hope".

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * August 2011
All Rights Reserved

Submitted for Ghazal on FormForAll at dVersepoets
on Thursday August 11, 2011
Hosted by John Alwyine-Mosley (AKA @bookdreamer)

A Winter Sunset

2011-08-09T13:57:00.002-05:00

Clouds freeze the winter sky

bare-bones bark crisscross it,

soul haunting as a woman’s cry.

The aging house sags against

its ghostly garden in shredded rags

of summer’s last silhouette.

Sullen wind shrieks through shadows

whipping loosened boards leaving

frost to veil the timeworn windows.

An aperture to sky opens and

a single ray of light, delicate as a thread,

reveals a dried and broken chrysalis.

What butterfly has fled?

Revenant

2011-07-28T13:47:00.018-05:00

Low monstrous howls disturb our woods tonight;
the sea breaks ghosts in waves against the rocks.
Their echoes shriek within the house where light
and shadows shift in patterns on old clocks.

The hours toss on hollow, dark tick tocks
The mirror oscillates with movement too
I'm shocked! Its silver casts the shape of you.

I jump as closet doors now creak, floors squeak.
The clouds outrace the moon to sheath the stars.
The room is cloaked in gloom and all seems bleak.

My mind plays tricks, I hear your bass guitar;
those ostinato beats resound afar.

In rhythmic drones they fade to solo song;
a sad oboe's atonement from beyond.

Poem (c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011

I broke the two 7 line stanzas (a b a b b c c) two ways to show the "dversity" of the form. The first a quatrain and a tercet; the second a terza rima and two couplets. I didn't have to break them but I broke and indented them for effect and to show the structure.

A study for Rime Royal at dVersepoets today 7/28/11 starting at 3 p.m. Eastern, 9 p.m. UK

Join me there, please!

Lullabye

2011-07-26T12:13:00.004-05:00

Rest

Rest as the songbirds trill

Hear them in the evening unstill

The moon's begun to croon, the breeze to moan

Don’t fret for the leaves that dance to the song

Beginnings and endings ever unfold

Brilliant as starlight when stories are told

Sleep,

Sleep at the end of the day

Your toys so tired after hours of play

Mealtime is over; the dolls tiptoed away

Those soft feathered wings have now taken flight

Let the new smells, sounds, colors and sights

Wake you tomorrow with their bright new delights

or since I can't make up my mind consider this as a second stanza:

Sleep,

Sleep at the end of the day

Your toys so tired after hours of play

Mealtime is over; the dolls tiptoed away

Those soft feathered wings have now taken flight

Through a twilight that paints a bright-ribboned sky

May you wake tomorrow to fresh new delights.

The Mystery Box

2011-07-18T00:02:00.006-05:00

In the closet of nearly every woman
Hides a beautiful pair of high heeled red shoes.
She never forgets they're there. Sometimes
she gets them out and puts them on in
her cleaning clothes or in her gown.
She may have worn them once or twice.
They tempted her more than chocolate.
Her resistance to them is manifest
but she needs to know she can access them.

They're like a symbol old, prehistoric
yet palpable. An apple, glittering in
the sunshine. An orb so perfect, so pungent,
so pregnant with possibilities that she would
sacrifice anything for one bite of it. She
understands that allure; she can't articulate it.
If she could, she'd deny it. Shame dances
around that symbol and guilt too.

She keeps them in an ordinary shoebox.
No one suspects the shoes mean anything.
But sometimes as she is choosing a shirt,
or a dress for church her eyes fasten on the
box and it seems to be made of gold, set with
jewels. She quickly smirks away her smile.
The box could be made of glass. She
sees the shoes, their curves, their feel,
the way they hold her foot, they lift her
to the fullness of womanhood.

The gods gave a beautiful box to Pandora;
bestowing on her beauty, grace, intelligence too.
She couldn't contain the accessory of her curiosity.
She may have thought the box held a pair of red shoes.
She may have dreamed of an entrance,
stopping the show, dancing red in marble halls.
She opened the jeweled box releasing evil,
all evils, on the world.
She expected death.
She found hope.

Every woman who owns a box of red shoes
instinctively knows that.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon - 2011

Posted for Form Monday @onestoppoetry
And for the OPENING CELEBRATION @ dVersepoets

a b c building blox

2011-07-16T13:17:00.003-05:00

see
you've found
letter blocks
stack them higher
someone knocks them down.
lay all the letters out
someone rearranges them
then comes magic: letters make words
words bring knowledge and new worlds
discover in each one
ways of expression
learn to write
flying
free

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 7.16.11

Welcome everyone to the open house for dVersepoets today 7.16 at 2 p.m. Hope you like the atmosphere. I will be hosting every other week with FormForAll a continuation of the discussions about poetry, prosody, and forms of poetry. I want it to be an open forum with plenty of room for free discussion and how you approach forms and writing poetry. I will share the spot with Luke Prater's Meeting the Bar: Friday Crit. where we can have discussions about how to improve our poetry. Hope you will join us as often as possible. And thanks for coming by today! Gay

Bokeh

2011-07-11T01:20:00.002-05:00

When you wrote, your words bloomed delicious
You baked them in vibrant colors
Exquisite ingredients
Freshly picked images
Artfully arranged
I took a bite
From each one
And knew
Truth

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011

My dear friends, it is with the deepest regret that I, too, must announce that I am leaving
One Stop Poetry. I value the time and the articles here and want to thank everyone who founded
the site for inviting me in to work on it. I learned a great deal and it gave me great joy to share my love of poetry with all of you. I wish it could have gone on forever, but it seems the fair had to come to an end. Next week is my last planned Form Monday. Thanks to all of you who supported it and me. You have my undying gratitude. Gay

THE METAPHORIC BLUES

2011-07-02T15:10:00.003-05:00

GOT NO SIMILES HONEY, THE “LIKES” AND “AS” ARE GONE
GOT NO SIMILES ANYMORE, JUST “HOW’S” IS ALL THAT COME;
CAN’T FIND NO BETTER WAY THAN JUST TO SAY I’M DONE.

GOT THE METAPHORIC BLUES, WAILIN’ THE IMAGES AWAY,
GOT THE METAPHORIC BLUES, BEGGIN’ FOR A GOOD WAY TO SAY,
THAT I'VE BEEN LEFT SPEECHLESS; DO YOU FEEL THE SAME?

I KNOW SOME CAN FIND ADJECTIVES THAT ARE VITAL AND NEW,
ALL I FIND'S OLD CLICHES—VERY TRIED, HARDLY TRUE.
LOOKIN’ EVER' DAY FOR A BRIGHT THOUGHT; CONTEMPLATIN’ NAVY BLUE.

GOT THE METAPHORIC BLUES, MY SYMBOLS ALL TORN DOWN,
GOT THE METAPHORIC BLUES—CRACKED ALLUSIONS ON THE GROUND
ALL MY WORDS BROKEN TROPES THAT’S BEEN STREWN AROUND.

I GOT NO MUSE & NO THOUGHT'S WORTH A DIME
IDEAS OF RUBBER NOT EVEN A PLASTIC SHINE,

EVERY SONG I SING'S MADE OF FORCED & BROKEN RHYMES

GOT THE METAPHORIC BLUES, I’D LIKE TO FIND A TREASURE STORE
OF UNUSED SOUNDS THAT WOULD ECHO MORE
THAN THOSE THE SMART FOLKS SPENT BEFORE I WAS BORN.

(YEAH, THOSE POETS SPENT MY WORDS AND THEY JUST LEFT ME POOR,
IF I DON’T FIND MY VOICE, I CAN’T SING NO MORE.)

Metaphoric Blues by beachanny

Dans Le Jardin

2011-06-28T16:01:00.008-05:00

Nearing twilight
by the balustrade
I behold the gravel path below
carved crystal cylinders sing
carnations and chrysanthemums
crimson hues cry gold-
en leaves from trees.

Fountains spray rain-
bows on violets and jasmine
a cockatiel squeals
trilling a procession of marble queens
royalty attired not so fine as peacocks'

plumage nor so much as sparkling jewels.

I see you in the shadow of the maze
you're not alone and although I can't see
her, your body croons so much
beseeching her with madrigal feats.

Our little girl in a golden swing winds
wide and wider circles with her feet
while she warbles words of a king named
Kubla Khan with silver notes swayed sweet.

In Xanadu did he betray a wife's rhapsody
And fall for the romance of a courtesan's
lay?

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved

My photos from Les Jardins du Luxembourg - Paris - 2009

Dans Le Jardin by beachanny

Sleep Adventures

2011-06-26T23:11:00.002-05:00

fog horns and train whistles fill the night
their calls signal dreams from nestling
instincts wrapped in homespun schemes
soft feather falls and quiet fails
to quell the yearning need to leave
faint images dissolve to exotic scenes
conjured from celluloid fantasies
drifting between the sea of sheets
and the ocean breeze fog blown
into Shanghai or rounding Africa's Cape
those bacon breakfast smells submerge
in sleep as a market in Algiers when
shadows shift and from the dark a station
black and shiny points emerge in mist
as above rail tracks a ladder entices
to the wagon-lit where whistles blare
east out of some wayside gare
where clocks appear out of nowhere
and the clatter gets faster as
tunnels give way to mottled light
and with a shrill scream today
wakes to the sameness of yesterday

CRANE

2011-06-19T23:10:00.000-05:00

i am walking by
she's hanging out
the window
now she's standing
on the frame
she catches me
i don't smile at her
she lifts her leg
in a rude gesture
casts down
aspersions
with her eyes
i turn my head yet
i see her reflection
in the glass
across the street
her face smeared
with smug
i look back at her
she's still standing on
one leg
her head is bent too
then she seems to rise
like a bird about to fly
her neck arches
she lifts a pointed foot
to the sky
as she turns
her hair
falls
and
she's
gone

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon *2011* All Rights Reserved

MEDIA CIRCUS

2011-06-12T23:53:00.003-05:00

you on that taut wire where
balance is required to achieve
success; yet today the net
won’t save your neck but
might serve to break it

the righteous pole that
once served your estate
and held you high above
adoring mobs now seems
so
degraded
that you have to
forsake your highflying
thrill act above them
and join in the
fracas below

since the wire’s gone
slack, and the flic-flac*
has lost its wow, it’s all
deception and trickery now
while the bully Australian
ringmaster
cracks the whip and once again
you take a dive
but not before
sex dazzles the crowd when
the man and woman on the flying
trapeze screen us from
all impending disasters

*flic-flac = A back handspring.
from Circopedia.com

Wishin' On A Star

2011-06-06T12:36:00.015-05:00

A dream unhindered. Riding a wish
floating in stardust on a kite with a tail
little bitty with large eyes full of
a sky sparkling with promises
glittering with answers
questions dazzling in curiosity,
misty as dew shining in sunbeams
I'm a dancing princess in ballgowns
carriages golder than harvest moons
drawn by flying winged horses taken
to castles, festivals in faerie tale worlds.

First star bright at twilight prompts
secret thoughts wished into being
-- that cute boy across the aisle I fancy--
us in some shangri-la, he'll wave
to me across the green. I'll be wearing white
and my hair shiny as the night.

A star falls, I make a birthday wish
I'd like a diamond, a gift from my dad
if he were here to, it might drop twinkling
from this sky, atop a centerless moon circling my finger,
gift-wrapped in luminous love. He'd come back,
we'd return to live in a house with stairs,
a window seat by a tree, pillows, and books
invitations to parties, later proms, then colleges
stacked by letters, and postcards from friends.
.
The sky, my old companion glows
pale, the tiny points of light blur
ghostly in a milky dark night
chance meetings with first outs brings a smile
few wishes spring to mind, a will for vigor stirs,
now my heart seeks peace, health, and joy
fulfillment for the ones I love.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011* All Rights Reserved

THE DARK SIDE

2011-05-31T11:56:00.038-05:00

on the dark side of heaven

decays a cratered orb

water's dirty; broken roads

you see cracked houses and rusted cars

you hear babes bawling where weeds grow tall
there hidden carbines and furtive wars

nothing's mended yet life creeps on

oil seeping, insects crawl

the rain burns acid, apollo turns cold

this side of heaven the world grows old

on the dark side of town

drunken music blares

you can't hear the tune only rasping bass
cupid sucks a straw from a cardboard glass
an unemptied quiver on the stairs
men fight at any dare; bored, girls stare

in the neon lights there's an eerie glare

crushed lives lie in despair after the nightly rites

darkness looms beyond lurid neon lights

on the dark side of the beach

not far from the swells but still out of reach

you can't hear the yells

you can't hear the pleas

overwhelmed by the rolling roar of the swirling sea

where is venus now, turning grey and green

pointing down on mist sick and mean

where the dancing fish scale the big machine

all the broken shells all the eaten dreams

gone beneath the waves of the swirling sea

The Rose

2011-05-24T14:29:00.005-05:00

Galaxy as seen from the Hubble Telescope courtesy of NASA

That shape of stars blue hot born slow of gas

then cooled, space-swept to turn in galaxies.

A golden chain of order still so vast

it cannot yet explain the mysteries

that flourish in exotic rarities.

Revealed through pure celestial looking glass

reduced to microcosms, all disclose

the universal symbol as a rose.

II.

A line that seems a never ending mass

of unexpected curled simplicities,

the fragrance delicate as breezes through the leaves,

the taste as acrid as a blade of grass.

The texture lush as velvet; ecstasies

through essence, colors, fragrance, spiral stance

Within it wound in sensual dark folds,

the universal symbol of the rose.

OCTAINS - HIGH AND LOW

2011-05-19T23:30:00.032-05:00


Photograph for One Shoot Sunday courtesy of Walter Parada

GONE WITH THE GYPSIES

For thrills she watched the blackbirds fly
With clutched ragdoll she hoped for spring.
The gypsy caravan's rolling.
The stars change fate moving in flight,
at only four her life found more--
flowers, fortunes, ribbons flew bright.
A child to woman grown she clings
To wanderlust as songbirds fly.

She sings with joy as new birds fly;
plumage and foliage mix each spring
where gypsy caravan's rolling.
They navigate by pole star sight.
Suitors implore her vacant door --
the road, her beacon, shines its light.
For the womanchild, travel flings
its wanderlust as all birds fly.

Silhouettes superimposed over magnetized iron filings

MAGNETISM

Brown eyes found mine; worlds fell apart.

Jupiter spun out of orbit;
fire rained, lakes burned, our souls forfeit.

Skin strained, eyes streamed, blood pumped my heart.
I reached for you-- cold stars streaked blue.
Consumed with lust, at last we'd start!

You turned away, the spell had split.
Brown eyes left mine; worlds fell apart.

An octain written for Form Monday where the

rhyme scheme is A-b-b| a-c/c-a| b-A

Saying Goodbye

2011-05-17T13:15:00.000-05:00


Sam on his Ottoman Throne at the beach

Beautiful
hungry for the world,
you ate it
and you preened.
Admired, you craved attention;
we gave it to you.

No grooming,
that was left to us;
after all
why exert,
that is why you had servants;
we did the job well.

You grew large
threatening anyone
who'd challenge
your presence.
When you looked in the mirror
you saw a lion.

Yet loyal,
always friendly;
discerning,
no fear for
anything much but loud noises--
observant, serene.

Not twenty,
almost that many
years of life--

you shared the
music, beauty, trips and food
of our ways, our time.

You're with me
in my heart and mind.
Not a pet
not just friend--
a solace, a confidant--
my own, my dear Sam.

NO COVER

2011-05-15T01:31:00.002-05:00

You left behind a dark imprint.
Made marks I couldn't wash away;
tattooed upon my mind, they stay.

A book of you indelibly inked
in blood red dye; words made me cry.
I never mistook your real intent.

I read the letters every day -
a frontispiece, a dark imprint.

An octain written for Form Monday where the

rhyme scheme is A-b-b| a-c/c-a| b-A

The Miser

2011-05-10T13:27:00.001-05:00


Death and the Miser by Jan Provost 1465-1529 Flemish

you crab about your health

decide, based on what's good for you

you plant grains of doubt

about those who care or would

deliver you to joy or wealth

such friends who bring you love

you betray by hoarding your soul

turning them out

counting on yourself

TIDINGS

2011-05-08T21:22:00.004-05:00

Photo Courtesy of Cabo Sails

The waves wound through an ocean arch

A portal to a land of sky.

The clouds above were swept to match

The look that lay beyond the lee.

It seemed that in their white and grey

Across the spans of time they'd come;

And we as travelers who'd stay

Swam out to meet the greeting clouds.

The sun then drifted toward the sea

And touched the rocks with flecks of gold;

We floated there in worlds blue-green

The glade of light poured all around.

We thought we'd live in that glass ball

Where we were touched by sea and sand;

Yet days in paradise befall

Before our lives are blown by wind.

We turn again to early plains

Where wheat-like grains grow gold, then brown;

We feel the cold, awaiting rain

And sense our lives turn grey and old.

Surreal Night Out

2011-05-02T01:51:00.010-05:00

Composite of Images in WikiCommons

I walked into a loft one night last week

and rode the elevator to a stop.
I saw up there a man and woman float

above the floor. The man appeared to be
asleep, the lady held two large balloons.
A peaceful scene there and then the room

began to change; a hologram would flash
and stay before my eyes. I saw a bird
in a cosmic sea; Andy Warhol looked real.

He turned a television on and I
began to speak to me about the joys
Of Disney World, a flying, floating place

where I could return to innocence.
The party guests began to come in twos
and ones and threes although the couple's feet

did not fall down regardless of how much
they drank and drank; they drank and then they slept.
A swimming pool arrived quite late. It was

a gift from David Hockney's brush it seems.
Refreshing as could be; I couldn't stay.
Damien Hirst took my arm to leave.

L'homme et La Mort

2011-04-28T01:32:00.004-05:00

The young man waits, windows in his head.
In walks the woman wearing a yellow dress.
She smokes his mirrors and fills his veins;
she dances his floor and thrills him with danger.
She creates dark spaces within him.
Her essence marks him unique
He leaves sunshine following
her dress into the night.
When the last scrap
of her hem disappears into darkness,
all he sees are rope and shadows.
He's left to scream alone,
to claw his way back to daylight.

The old man sits in a darkened room
faces splatter his memory, pastels on mist
the memory of a yellow dress fills his mind
dancing through white columns
a day dazzles marble bright
buds edge heart green leaves
again she weaves through the glare
waving at him; he struggles to stand
to follow her once more
at last he can reach the darkness.
by Gay Reiser Cannon

Published by Willow Tree Press 12-2011
In The Presence of Poets
© Willow Tree Press 2011

⌐ Reference sake: Le jeune homme et la mort
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0ND-ByStgM&playnext=1&list=PLABED514BA92EEFC4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFEtpDzpcTU&playnext=1&list=PLABED514BA92EEFC4

Lost In A Sea Of Words

2011-04-19T20:57:00.002-05:00

The Great Wave of Kanagawa - Hokusai

She drank an ocean of English words

Filling herself up with each one, drop by drop.

Their heritage wide and wild as the world.

She packed them into her Ox-bridge-loving

soul along with her favorite sweater,

her sorority cap and sweatshirt to

take to an island nation

so she could blow them

out like iridescent bubbles

to little Japanese children.

How could she know they would flow

with the tide and rolling back

overtake her

as she tried to escape on her bicycle,

a huge wave of words in the vast sea

returned to capture her forever.

In Memoriam and in honor of Taylor Anderson

SANCTUARY

2011-04-16T16:53:00.002-05:00

In shadows
we hear mission bells.
Angelus
rings three times;
even in cars they bow heads,
we all need angels.

The church wall
hides us from killers;
keeps us safe.
I hold you,
even the day keeps secrets,
the old magic fails.

Your white dress
Quinceanera
now tattered
blood splattered;
lying shattered, in honor
broken tiara.

We wait here
victims of terror
your beauty
their scapegoat.
As they exert their power,
we call on angels.

Picking Up The Pieces

2011-04-11T23:39:00.002-05:00

These shards of a mirror
once hung above our mantle.
We dwelled there intermittently
until stepping through, you
broke it.

Cracked parts of faces passing by,
flashbacks of us, standing.
Abstract shades in impressionist colors;
expressions, shapes of noses, arms
toes entering shoes, the back of
your neck, pieces of our lives--
us, nude or dressed for the theater;
ready for work, closing the door.

The cats played through its time and space
not marring the smiles and smirks and jeers
of visitors who spoke their history in past tenses,
posing such absurd pretenses. Our knowing
smiles became an archway to possibilities.

Days of bright, glittering ambitions;
last checks before work and meetings.
Reflected nights by glimmering votives
when silvered sheets shrouded burning need,
in the mirror passions cooled to glass.

Broken objects now, never aging,
still as the disconnected stereo.
A shelf of cracked memories,
now distorted cubist pieces, just
memories in a gilded frame.

Throwing out the shattered bits
forces recognition of change;
The broken likenesses alter our
reality as well as all my dreams.

Wherever She Goes

2011-04-09T12:35:00.004-05:00

Lady Grey created a stir

rode in on a windy steed.

In silver bag she carried ideas

greater than oaks

but smaller than seeds.

Lady Grey blew into town with

frenzied and furied creations.

The metaphors thundered

The words awoke

The similies sighed

sweet alliterations.

High up in the calligraphed sky

clouds formed stanzas.

and as she rode cobbles,

verses jangled saddle tied,

ancient rimes worn to cliches

reformed themselves

in rhythmic strides.

Lady Grey came to town

riding a windy steed

for nothing she noticed

went without heed.

From her fingers,

sometimes her toes,

song and poetry

wrapped her like clothes.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011

A play on the nursery rime:

Ride a cock horse

To Banbury Cross

To see a great woman

Upon a white horse

With rings on her fingers

And bells on her toes

She shall have music

Wherever she goes.

Study in Blue and Brown

2011-04-05T02:49:00.001-05:00

Through these prisms—

azure blue and amber brown

we see the world in endless hues

somewhere therein.

We weigh ideas of movement,

space, and time by

waves, lapping lace edged

the Atlantic’s rock strewn shore.

In dark receding eddies

where this cerulean illusion

overlaps reality in wood-grained angles

of sepia yesterdays and indigo tomorrows,

we draw invisibly with pencils of memory

upon a brushwork of dreams.

We each disappear, then return through

washes of earth, sky and water

changed by tide, clouds, and sky.

Behold that magnificent light

as it plays through the trees onto

bark bare ground--

summer clouds, snow, eiderdown.

Above blue, beneath brown.

Diana

2011-03-28T10:49:00.006-05:00


My Photo taken at Caesar's Palace - Las Vegas

She walked in sacred groves of oaks,
An earthly goddess of the night.
Both calm and wise she would alight,
And there she charmed the woodland folks.

She needed neither spell nor hoax
Her soul deflected any slight;
She walked in sacred groves of oaks
An earthly goddess of the night.

She trod a world of dust and smoke
Fearing excess would bring a blight.
Her quiver armed with arrows bright;
She traveled night with speed, uncloaked.
Alone, she walked in groves of oaks.

In Memory of Diana Guthrie Frazier

Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved

This was posted for One Stop Poetry Form Monday.
I am honored to be a colleague and part of
One Stop Poetry which I believe is a place
where poetry, art, and artists share their work in ways
not experienced before; building a community that
may allow more readership and viewership than
print media ever offered and at the same time
affording that attraction of talent to talent that
inspires by association, competition, and aspiration.
We have those who are part of and support this
community to thank for our
winning the 3rd annual Shorty award in Art
and for making this a new way of seeing what we all do
available as we go forward into the future.
Gay

Garden of Earthly Delights

2011-03-22T22:22:00.003-05:00


Hieronymous Bosch from the Triptych Garden of Earthly Delights

Wanton desires fulfilled
Your pallid face I now renounce.
I drink deep from you and fuse you to me--
Blood cell for blood cell.

Flame; heat; seething urge
Explored in a tropic of desire.
Burning with vice
I refuse to be captured by fire

An actor on the stage you built
I live life's eternal farce;
Feeling those heated bodies
Smother me, I cry,

"I am in heaven or hell
Doubt becomes my nemesis--
Love is my demon;
Lust, the fire.

"Burning demons circle me
Charming creatures
Enticing, debauching me.
What sweetness can this be?

"Jesus and Satan alike,
Two heads on one coin."
"Set it in gyre
Two faces of beauty."

And you begin to dance
An affected movement
At once basic and condemning
Suggesting rhythmic redemption.

You bestow on me your celestial thread
Then I watch you dizzyingly fall.
I reach out my spirit for you
Greedier than my hands.

Complacent that if you're lost
Or you burst to pieces
That I have feasted
Securing all I need.

Knowing depravity
I cast it off
And watch nature's fire
Burn as brilliant as the sun.

Luscious honey thick
The summer hangs thick as pears
Richly dripping--
A torpidity of death.

I closet in coolness
Stripped of my innocence
Terrified of life
Afraid to love death.

Procured in towering gloom
And pricked by grief's ivory rose,
I retrieve your shadow
Cast by an icy moon.

Ruined, I'm left to wait
In darkened woods
By silent stones near tarnished pools
While lightning strikes the night.

And I dream again
That I perish in a fruitless land
I slash myself
Piercing my side; drinking my blood.

Becoming neither phantom nor sylph
Believing in water
I implore you, my Lord
Just one cool drop.

I devour what I need
Flaming tongues quench my thirst
I now sense no vertigo
Nor ascent to grace.

From you came the hermetic root,
Its source; I feel the rush of wings
And am saved by a sacred essence
In angel's dreams.

I know your joy
I found your shame.
I consumed your love
I changed your name.

In Mephistophelian frenzy
I spin exultantly
Adoring the furor
In my flight to Paradise.

Impressionist Wake

2011-03-21T19:41:00.002-05:00

Monet's A View of the Seine

In dreams I walk where time contracts
along the Seine, alone with you.
A wavy lily pond green view
reflects us there, where light refracts
your changing face; and then subtracts
that impish grin, calm eyes I knew.
In dreams I walk where time contracts
along the Seine, alone with you.

Awake I walk where time attacks
and robs both desire and sinew.
My thoughts dissolve to Paris blues.
On mornings there I can't extract
those dreams. I walk where time contracts

along the Seine, alone with you.

Gone the Songs of Orpheus

2011-03-08T13:08:00.003-06:00

Photo of Midori Harima's Paper Carousel

On the eve of another season

Nature steps out,

Dances a tarantella

Dressed in iridescent disguise.

You seize my hand

Terror rises up inside;

Madness screams, “Go the other way.

Fate commands, “Come!”

Reason counsels, “Behave.”

We hear another song

Somewhere in the distance

A merry-go-round spins

A neon emptiness

The fading ponies promise

Solace for our fear and pain.

We each choose a partner for the ride

As the tempo hastens toward

An early end.

“Leave and try another.”

whispers Temptation.

You turn toward the leaf-like flame

And change. Then I,

With a quickstepping heart,

Wrap my glamour

In a radiance of counterfeit currency

And my tongue is lost.

In silence

We lift our eyes.

Our prayers for rejuvenation

Reparation and restoration

Wing toward heaven.

Here, we await our fate.

Nocturne Opus II

2011-02-21T22:51:00.002-06:00

Attic red-figure - Dinos Painter 'meanad' stamnos
Naples, Museo Nazionale Archeologico

Beyond the crest of orchid twilight's wave

Awaits a darkened ocean filled with night.

I sleep while clouds reveal the truth as bright

As daylight casting shapes in Plato's cave;

The clouds conceal the burning stars which pave

A spiral route to space in streams of light.

In dreams I leave the earth and scan the night

To search for meaning in an altar nave.

I hear the music winding down the years

The pipes of pan reveal inspired designs.

Toccatas thread through empires lost and won.

The lyre, the drum that strum both time and tears

And through each song weave a capella lines

That etch a unique answer sun to sun.
by Gay Reiser Cannon

Published 12-2011
by Willow Tree Press
© Willow Tree Press * 2011

ANGELFIRE

2011-02-14T10:21:00.001-06:00

Red Cannas by Georgia O’Keefe
Happy Valentine's Day! Wishing all of you love -
This is just about my only love poem so I present it here for this week

               Keep me as I leave you
                      In the chamber of your love.
                                Smell my sleep that penetrates
The fibers of your sheets.
                  Taste my mouth as invisible
                       The memory lingers on yours.
                              Hear my song as my rhythms
                                       Take up syncopation with your heart.
                      See me framed in your mind
                           Spinning in the sunlight.
                                    Remember me–
                                           Our intrinsic words
                                                   Our inherent hearts
                                            Our intuitive eyes.
                                     And know wherever
                              I am
                                 You swell within me
                                        I quake with expectant desire
                                     And I want you.
                                                        Not just yourself
                           but the music
   in your body
                                    And the fire
deep inside
           your
            soul.

© Gay Reiser Cannon 2010 All Rights Reserved

REBELLION

2011-02-06T15:59:00.003-06:00

Boris Berezovsky playing Chopin's Revolutionary Etude.
If you have time listen on as he plays the Godowsky left hand only variation.

Only last year the loss was huge.
The change seemed gentle at first
Soothing, though cold, as the rain began.
They sensed the severity soon though
As the deeper cold raced in
To trap them in its icy sheaths.
Then that false beauty, snow, began to stick
While the ice traps allowed no movement.
It claimed their wary independent spirits;
They, who'd survived scores of vacillating winters,
Began to bend, stretching their limbs toward
Something warm, hoping for friction, for freedom.
Caught, those who resisted snapped and broke in two.

This year, it seems, they were ready.
As the rain came, they began to make a clamor
Howling in the wind, scraping against themselves
Shaking the sleet as it fell - empty glass bullets
Shattering on the ground and as the cold
Pushed in with no sympathy bringing that same misery
This time, sap up, their sheilds ready
The snow found no invitation
And slipped from each branch.
This time each sentinel held his ground
And earned their victory.

For OneShotWednesday @onestoppoetry. Post your own, and read others here

Fish Flight - Not Quite A Sestina

2011-01-29T14:10:00.006-06:00

My not-quite a sestina: - I chose my end words and used them throughout; however I did NOTuse them in the designated order, but rather as random throughout each stanza as I got them to fit what I wanted to say; I'm afraid that doesn't quite cut the mustard. Secondly I didn't use all 6 words in the envoy but instead used only the three end words and they are also not in the prescribed order.

I haven't checked lately but I believe it is in iambic pentameter. I think it makes perfect sense which isn't easy when one is forcing sentences to particular word endings. And it is the correct number of lines. So it's very flawed, but a decent first attempt made some time ago. I will have another go but just as you will find, this is a puzzle that takes some time to figure out and play with. (And I haven't had much of that lately.) Have fun!

*******

I walk with memories of pale cool shells

The night awash with brilliant streams of fish

That glint and flash like darting moonlight streaks.

I watch in awe the curling water move.

I sense the knife that cuts below the rocks

Then bathes that buried wound with briny dreams

The arching water foams around the rocks

And forms designs reminding me of shells.

My mind reflects in little darting streaks

Upon the constant of the busy fish

Now like a diary of all my dreams

That flurried rush shows me how lives will move,

Will eddy into silent coves near rocks

Then wait beyond a generation's dreams

Before the currents' flow sweeps both the fish

And wreckage onto other streams in streaks.

Most life evolves and leaves to chance its shells

In broken segments wearing smooth. Fish move.

With goals inscribed by both their needs and dreams

They lose their coven brothers as they streak

Through avenues of sand past broken rocks.

The rush of water and of time will move

Each one away from every other fish

Who left time's fragments shining like lost shells.

It seems my friends can disappear in streaks

As quick as tiny lights that swim through rocks.

I dread events that force our lives to move

And urge us to determine like the fish

Just when to leave the safety of our shells

And risk the swim by dark to half-formed dreams.

Embedded melancholy in those dreams

Is not considered when they leave their shells.

Adventure doesn't count on threatening rocks.

The thirst for newness forces all such fish

To course through enigmatic depths in streaks

Sometimes discerning ruin by such a move.

My hands stretch out to capture time and fish
That streak away before my arms can move.
I ponder loss withdrawing to my shell.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon

LUNA

2011-01-18T03:53:00.000-06:00

The valleys of the moon will shine sublime
And stream across a crystalline lament.
In limelight spirits dance upon a shrine
Translucent moving through the monument.
          These thoughts transmit organic elements,
          Kinetic visions weaving through the line,
          Behold in flux the face and form defined
          Once more disguised as fair by space and time.
Each spirit rises turns and bows in fine
Intrinsic rhythms which the dancers find
Through touch--to feel the rhyme inside–
Essential when their bodies intertwine.
          Their moves are bolder as the globes divide,
          They tap the stairway coiling by design;
          Mere shades, they seem to quiver with delight
          As slipping past that coil their souls take flight.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved 2011

THE STRANGER

2011-01-09T19:59:00.003-06:00

He came to us

Out of the mountains

Of evergreens and vines

Laurel, rhododendron,

And hardwood trees.

He was brown and sang the oldest songs,

Ancient airs re-tuned

To praise the sounds of hidden streams

Clicking insects

Whispering leaves.

Walking across these prairies

He came seeming faceless in the distance

Straining to see him

A wavering figure

Moving across these treeless plains.

How we laughed at the stranger!

The men called him names.

A man from the mountains

A hillbilly

They called this man "Country".

He told us jokes and anecdotes

Yet stood alone

When the young boys came

To ask him how to...

He'd take the time

To show them all he knew.

He found me one day

Hunting

We talked near the edge of a pond.

I asked him if he found beauty

In our wilderness.

He pointed toward the sunset

Saying, "Behold beauty."

And turning me back to him

Looked in my face

Saying he'd not known one before like me.

After that I saw him often

And he told me many things

How to plow, plant, and grow

Standing in the snow when he touched me,

The moonlight shone all 'round.

By the light he started the fire,

And on that winter night

He gave me the seeds.

The next day when I went to find him,

The men told me

He had gone away.

HEARTS AND FLOWERS

2011-01-03T12:23:00.006-06:00

                      Love,
                      We're valentines of blood.
                      Lying like the hearts of blackbirds
                      Dropped in the snow.

                      Your frozen desire unwinding
                      Beyond the winter,
                      Erect as bluebonnets;
                      A blue nude by a stone.

                      Indifferent objector resisting
                      My repressed passion. This
                      Sealed desire in mysterious facets;
                      An odalisque hot as red petals
                      On the flowers of despair.

                      Surrounded by greedy creepers.
                      Tenacious jasmine belles
                      Yearning for their season,
                      Girls releasing crimson agonies.
                With their ivory fingers
                      Cruel desire ruptured
                In spurts of yellow juice.

                      These invitations to destruction
                      Are transferred through thoughts of
                      Sapphire and topaz, and become
                    Splinters of fractured rubies
                      Thrown to the black night sky--
                      Bleeding stars of tortured doubts.

                      © Gay Reiser Cannon All Rights Reserved

TEXTURE AND IMAGE

2010-12-28T20:07:00.003-06:00

rough hewn
gnawn from roots
or tree carved

affixed at right angles
stood aright
where roads intersect

at the centers of towns
above places of prayer
making maps of sky

pointing through woods to
coasts piled with sand
shells and rocks

worn round the necks of
virgins and lumberjacks
as tokens, as troths of faith

chiseled from hard quarried beliefs
lashed to the souls of believers
their inner voices shaped

by seers and dowsers
treading tortuous furrows
digging planting kneading

to evince from earth
something more clear than
the melted snow streams

flowing down exalted mountains
where finite life waits
on this tiny satellite

of a small burning white star
at the edge of an unnoticed galaxy
on the left side of the great god's

galloping universe where he sent
some attachment of himself once
who couldn't avoid the pitfalls

of men's foibles though he left
tablets of his love on every surface
he himself expired on that cross

of cultures he was sent to bridge

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved

THE PROMISE

2010-12-20T22:17:00.004-06:00

I came
from the unknown
as a baby first wrapped
in promise to a world in need
then wrapped in swaddling cloths
greeted by men
with love

I learned
as I became
changing, finding, growing
a rebel in the tribe of time
struck by visions of truth
that showed me why
love burned

Matured
I worked through dust
adhering to the law
as I cleared the clouds of chaos
refining my methods
I then prepared
for love

Espoused
the covenant
beyond new horizons
metamorphosed I transcended
escaping excuses
you will find me
through love

THE ARBITER OF CRAB POETRY

2010-12-11T21:07:00.003-06:00

He who decides what crawls sideways best

Can deliver judgment on the rest

Will not betray the contest or the quest.

No one destructs the meaningless

Or deconstructs the effortless

Display of new ideas,

Like one who can plant

Brilliant dreams

Sardonic twists

Unusual sex

He finds through closer reading of the texts.

There is no arbiter of poetry good or bad

As he who can de-shell the crab.

ForeverBlue

2010-12-11T19:20:00.004-06:00

This was my very first Oneshotwednesday post. I posted it on the tumblr site and got some very kind comments on it. I've always liked it for sentimental...clearly...reasons. I am posting again in an effort to have all my oneshot posts in one place for my own reference. The pity is I don't remember what I posted on the two or three weeks after this before I moved to a new blog.

you fade only slightly with time
not like blue jeans
turning soft and
then threadbare
you fade only slightly in intensity
and then you POP back like polyester
lasting longer than the universe
bright-- catching the sun
cheap-- sometimes tacky

but forever

Little shiny spots show wear

but overall you stay the same
in memory as you always were

I’d like to give you to Goodwill
but I don’t think it’s possible
you’re too difficult to repair and resell
they wouldn’t know
what to do with you
either

© Gay Reiser Cannon All Rights Reserved

TRINITY

2010-12-04T18:14:00.009-06:00

Interacting Galaxies -ARP 147 shot from the Hubble Telescope

In two sets of three, in three-quarter time, the universe He composed.
Form and space, void and time distilled, arranged, defined and rhymed;
Eternal melodies ascend to descend. By fermata, He reposed.

In fugal progressions, He resumes by Personification.
The elemental Idea amplifies His passion logically note on note;
Then fades, dies, resurrects, and soars in harmonic resolution.

His ardent melody with zealous harmonies scale the fiery throng,
To create unique rhapsodies resounding with grace, rhythm, technique.
Now free to improvise, deviate, complicate, and return to the initial song.

Three in One
One in Three
All in One.

The Stage of Life

2010-11-27T21:38:00.005-06:00

The Globe - London...At Merchant of Venice

We stand upon a stage so large
As actors artists   taking charge
Of roles of destiny of fate
Of philosophies too grand to state
So rather then we make them shrink
To a macrocosm where we think
We let them see the players pass
Like Tyndall projections in a glass
We dance We see through
Circumstance and think through trance
We dance We play and set our wits to wing
We find the source we lose the thing and
Still we sing We sing until we lose our voice
We feel the need to vent our choice We
Hear the chord   the steady prance
Of heartbeat   offbeat chance we twist
As we climb   We dance
We live we know stars will attest
To time and space we did exist
We seize with dauntless will
A measure of the stuff that separates all life
From that which never breathes   we rarefy our time
Before the curtain falls in ways bizarre   unique
Because    we live

© Gay Reiser Cannon All Rights Reserved

THANKSGIVING

2010-11-20T10:22:00.002-06:00

Glory Window in Chapel of Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Square, Dallas, Texas

At the end of color
when trees stand
exposed bare to bark
a man feels a stark
need to replenish
going home

To seek with kith and kin
reunion once again
to search old cupboards
for secrets left therein
to ruminate in thoughts
once put aside
for things he thought to hide

To settle into introspection,
or seek lost images
in reflection
listening to
conversations
without
understanding
or concentration

His eye
explores each room
each shelf
where love stored
in things so small as
the details of a dishtowel
and wonders how
designs so simple
and so old
can illuminate
the borders
of his soul

INTERSTATE ANXIETY

2010-11-15T22:48:00.000-06:00

I talk aloud
to traffic
driving down
the rainy highway
my history runs
like a movie
in the back of my mind
I know this road
spray fans from mudflaps
in front of me
I sense my grown children
as toddlers seeking
freedom from
their restraining belts
my neck tightens
with tension
I pass roadside
restaurants
where we ate
as a family
they waver
at various ages
like the passing cars
blurring through rain drops
views of us swipe by
with each pass of the wipers
while my eyes seek the center lines
and scan the rear view mirror
for approaching danger

Another November

2010-11-05T17:26:00.008-05:00

Another November

Crisp autumn leaves change
turn vivid in light's bright rays
brilliant year-end days

Born to the season
the number five burnished gold
November unfolds

Your life unravels
while time dances pirouettes
overlapping itself

Ends meet beginnings
the future lies in mirrors
the past, jacket close

A flash behind eyes
memories like darting birds
time like leaves shredded

Debris of spent years
caught in the cracks and corners
now treasured relics

Measured clarity
when wisdom surmounts passion
yet flows to the sea

Words spilled from our cups
linger through changing seasons
define you and me

Since Grade School

2010-10-26T16:03:00.004-05:00

Stained Glass Window - Photo taken in St. Mary's Church, Schulenberg, TX

In a dark cracked mirror

My stained glass face reflected

Universal piety in an empty choir loft.

Visions appeared before me

Vaults of goodness

Chambers of quiet

Gifts of saintly insight.

Pretending a wimple

I beheld piercing eyes

That preached responsibility.

I saw a Mother Superior there

Learning and making rules her order

At that moment I rebelled against myself.

Balancing carefully

Each choice its own precipice

I dared nature, faith and fate.

With every glance in that mirror

I decided to break the rules.

FOXTROT

2010-10-18T00:56:00.005-05:00

Sailing on a caravan of dreams she moves

Slick as silken notes and satin seams, and leans

Into muffled muted notes that box her dreams

Of furs and pearls and steamy nights.

His steps designed as accents bright

Seem stolen from the mirrored light,

Exposing looks that bounce, reflect and glance

Off languid partners as they dance.

Turns and twists and passing rolls

Indiscretions now unfold in movements

Both elegant and controlled.

The mixing scents of flowers and rare spice

Jazzy secrets unwrapped in indigo and teal

Transform the dance in form and feel,

Until it seems they glide

Upon a measured turning wheel—

Where dreams are spun into a moment real.

An End To Flags

2010-10-17T11:55:00.005-05:00

A haiku from Claudia's photo prompt:

Fall's furled cannas fade

a rolled up flag put away

no time for borders.

For One Shoot Sunday

THE MAGICIAN

2010-10-11T11:42:00.005-05:00

Now I take my turn

Again on the Wheel of Fate

Which those same monkeys

Still manipulate

Can they see

Can they hear

Can they

Yes

They can and

WILL

Will make this trip

Hang for me

Upside down

On the tree

Where the barker cries

"Come see the side-show man"

And every go round

I hear the crowd cry

Do it again

You

Mr. Magician, with

The deck in your hand

Mr. Magician

You

Who control more

Than the elements

Count me four--

Four corners

Four turns

Four humours

Four cards

Shuffle through the possibilities

Turn the trick for me

Will it work

Will I heal

Will I learn

Will I see

Mr. Magician man

Pour the wine

From cup to cup

And pour the water into wine

Slice the bread

With your gilded sword

Suspend your staff

Above the door

Let no monkeys imitate

Prestidigitate

Take all the coins

From dead men's eyes

Pocket them in your disguise

Then all I see

Are charmed displays

Mr. Magician forcing

Four winds four ways

Out rich fire

Out cold rain

Out thick air

Gone damp clay

A wave of your hand

A hocus-pocus shout

A chorus of a hymn

Then they all reappear

In a porcelain ring

There seems no end

To this spinning

And no beginning as I fall

Just these constant

Turnings and windings

Of the ball.

AMAZING GRACE

2010-10-04T15:51:00.002-05:00

She knows dumpster food

And dying from two stories up.

Everyday she sees death

In the faces of people and in the trees.

She’s haunted by love and death

and by slow disease,

Every lost case, kitten and child.

Makes her fear she’s dying

Sleepily with drugs,

Like granny wasting away,

Or quick

Blood running down her neck.

She’d like to use drugs

To remember or forget.

She’d like to use

Sex like a drug to keep

Fear at a distance

But there’s disease in blood heat.

It’s safer to ache.

It’s a war and there’s

Only so much pain she will

Bear on the street.

So she sleeps

And again her brother falls

To his death

Wrapped and waiting for the morgue

In white sheets.

She cries

And pleads

How much goodness is required,

How much magic

Can she manage to

Survive this ordeal—

Another day?

Wineglass

2010-09-27T15:36:00.007-05:00

As morning wakes me and I shake

The tangles out and turn my head

Last night's wineglass glimmers

On the table by my bed.

That constant tick will sound the clock

Will ring days and nights beyond

You'll rise and shower, smile and

In a morning's sigh be gone.

I roll 'round to face you

Sleeping softly by my side

And stretching out my hand

I could touch you if I tried.

A numbness creeps out of my toes

Up into my mind and in my ear,

The pounding words repeat,

Fool, he isn't really here.

Today becomes one more

In a series of goodbyes

Waking to this hollow room

Remembering all the lies.

I want to hold the moment

To ask why you can't care

But the starkness of the light renews

This morning's sharp despair.

It seems like holding out my hand

And begging for someone

Who would keep me from the lonely

Is all I've ever done.

Now we have spent our hours

We've filled up gentle nights

Unfolding the dimensions of our minds

And groping for the heights.

The wineglass on the table

Trails its shadow on the shelf

And I lie here while you're sleeping

Empty as the glass that's left.

TRIO

2010-09-20T13:17:00.008-05:00

Three soloists

met by chance

in the shimmer of the aspen.

Our unique songs

woven together like a fugue

accompanied by

shadows of clouds on mountains

and light through leaves.

Breaks highlighted each face,

three lives from three coasts,

chords formed from

single truths.

Our lives merged into

one history.

When orchestrated the

patterns of three sets

of single yesterdays

converged.

When we parted,

the melodies remained.

Among our scores

of memories--

her pacific voice,

my lament in counterpoint,

his voice shaded

like bowed strings