The little eggshell bungalow
sporting the racket-making swing,
pink and blue hydrangeas
big as conch shells
and a woman who knew
a child needed
– to be held — to be fed –
– to be sat in a corner –
– to be let out to dream
in the shade of a sweet-smelling
magnolia –
The little eggshell bungalow
that never moved
that never changed
the child knew
– that however long the wait,
would smell of sweet milk,
sugar, butter, Johnson’s wax,
and lavender sachet –
– big pillowed rockers
and wide, rust-chained swing –
– cuppa-sugar lemonade
to cool a child
got too much sun…
Never, ever, picture a giant
bulldozer laying flat
a little eggshell bungalow
to make room for
anonymous.
– woman a knowing ghost –

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, March, 2008

http://www.authorphyllisjeangreen.com {new!}

Ancestral memories

Held securely within

Primordial archives

Of All-That-Is –

Remnants of lives

Thought long past –

Begin to beat.

Percussive rhythms

Start chakras spinning

And colors whirling;

Earth becomes ecstatic

As shamanic waves

Inundate Alpha-Self

And constellations waltz.

The Alchemist laughs

Transmuting base

To etheric energy

While lovers and poets

Dizzy in hypnotic,

Kaleidoscope sensations –

Spinning, awakening.

Smiling, our Source

Walks the winds

And a new world

Is spontaneously born –

Carefully embossed

With mystical inscriptions,

Like eternal codes,

Not meant to be forgotten.

Within them is a

Divine Promise

That when we sing

Universal Song

And live within

Reverent asanas,

Worlds need not

Die to begin again.

© 2008

A Time Piece

(a haibun)

By a spiteful hand

A stone broke my hourglass…

No time left for dreams

An old man and stray dog, share the shelter of an oak, as a dismal rain steadily falls. The man pats the dog on the head. The dog wags his tail and licks the man’s hand. Both become lost in memories of things…warm homes, affection, love. But both know when the storm passes, they will go their separate ways. They have different paths to travel.

Shards of broken glass

Hidden in the endless sands…

My portrait of life

Life can be fickle at times. It gives little warning to man or beast. Oh, once in a while, you will hear the rumble of distant thunder, or catch the gleam of something sharp in your path. But most of the time, things come and go unexpectedly and they cut to the bone. It’s a long time healing and you always carry the scars.

Suddenly, the sun!

Drunk with sweet understanding

I begin anew

This is the end of my journey. That old man was me. And the dog? He is right here. I went back and got him. We have a lot in common, don’t ya know. I call him Uly. That is short for Ulysses. He and I have passed by our Scylla and Charybdis. What we both have lost, we cannot regain. That’s life. But we have found peace. And that my friends, makes life worth living.

© ewrichardson 2008

Of course, you did.
Your ancestors had on the shackles,
the leg irons,
the ball and chain.
It really wasn’t you that suffered
the pain of crossing the sea
in the hole of a ship
caged like animals.
Separated from families
with nothing to gain.
The villan set them up
on the auction block,
and the master paid his fee.

Amen
by W. Everett Beal
Copyright 2000

There was a widowed woman from Minnesota

Who hadn’t fulfilled her love-life quota

So down to Florida she came

Looking for love and a new last name!

But every thing didn’t work out quite right

Every man she went with turned into a plight

Then she met a man who didn’t seem so intrusive

It was too late when she found him to be abusive

They were both in love head over heels

She liked the way her new love feels

But then one day every thing changed

He went into a rage as though deranged

Then his jealousy began to take hold

Turning her heart hard and cold

For he wouldn’t let her out of his sight

That’s when they started to fight

As time went on the more abusive he became

He started to call her a derogatory name

Then the abuse really started to unfold

She was so scared she did what she was told

But to her surprise her love for him did not cease

In fact at times it seemed to increase

So there she was in an unhealthy relationship

Sometimes as high as a LSD trip

But as her self-esteem began to erode

And her feelings for him began to get cold

When she decided to send him packing

She found that her courage was lacking

It took her months to get out of that mess

And even now it is hard for her to confess

She still loves him despite all their troubles

He made her feel light as a bowl full of bubbles!

Now as she sits in a group counseling room chair

Sharing with others her plight of despair

All she can think of is wouldn’t it be great

If he and she could get together for a date!