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Upon Waking by Annette Kalandros

I am honored to be featured on Masticadoresusa.wordpress.com

Gabriela Marie Milton's avatarMasticadoresUsa // Editor: Barbara Leonhard //

Upon Walking
by Annette Kalandros
[author’s site]

Linger here
In this vibrancy of opalescent color,
This swirling silken scent,
Hide the realities away
For they intrude too much
Upon this, this sweetness of longing—
Let me wake, reaching out a hand
tracing air as if following the curves of her
warm skin in memory

@Annette Kalandros

ABOUT US

Welcome to MasticadoresUSA.

MasticadoresUSA was founded byJuan Re Crivello as part ofGobblers/Masticadoresin 2021. Its current editor isGabriela Marie Milton.

MasticadoresUSA features talented writers of poetry and short prose. We primarily publish writers who write in English, and are based in the USA. However, while the publication language remains English, we also welcome the work of our fellow writers from all over the world.

What do we want to bring to our readers? Edgar Allan Poe once wrote:Poetryis the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.This…

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Fractured Twilight

Image is my own

https://amanpan.com/2021/07/01/eugis-weekly-prompt-twilight-july-1-2021/

Walking in fractured twilight

Is the smoothest time of light and mind–

A wish made–

To braid reality, this curve of light, with sweetest memory

Thus, so entwined

One begins to hope,

Believing in miracles once again

To spite all fractures made of years.

Heaven?

Image courtesy of istock

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge June 15, 2021 | Go Dog Go Café (godoggocafe.com)

 

Have I seen Heaven in her eyes?  You ask.

Can anyone see heaven in the eyes of another

Is what I must ask.

 

I have seen love, the soft one,

Take a seat and

Settle comfortably

In the eyes of others.

 

I have seen hatred, the snake,

Uncoil and dance,

Spitting venom at everything and everyone,

From the eyes of others.

 

Too often, I have seen death, the thief,

Steal all the treasures from the eyes

Of those I loved,

Leaving them hollow and emptied out.

 

I have seen other things

In the eyes of others

Along these long years

But heaven—

I don’t really think so.

 

I may be too old to see such a wonder

Or too young yet to know it

When I see it.

 

So, to answer,

I would have to say, no.

No, I have not seen

Heaven in her eyes.

 

The Words Rebel

I had an argument with all my words today. 

For they would not stay 

in their delightfully organized spots.

Seems, if you will, 

they wanted to jump around and play, 

ignoring the sense of my color coded dots.



I must admit I lost my patience, yelling, 

“We will never accomplish 

anything useful if you play 

In this most rambunctious way.”



To this, they in unison whined,  

“Why must we be serious all the damn time?”



And to that, I could not provide argument.

Thus, we decided to play

And took a vacation today.

Washed

At the Beach – Image by KL Caley

https://new2writing.wordpress.com/2021/06/03/writephoto-beach/#like-5743

( An older poem written in 2015 while in Provincetown, MA.  Revised for this week’s writephoto challenge.)

At sunrise over water,

        Remembering as if in a dream  

The child and you and me

As we stood by a sea

Half a world away.

Both of you now baptized differently by my tears.

 

And for and from you,

I am left with things neither given

Nor felt in years,

 Linked by all the fears

To form over a decade of a life

Lived like a stranger

In my own shrinking skin.

 

I have stood

Since the dawn

At this ocean’s edge

Waiting, waiting.

And now at noon

The rain begins.

Fierce pelting blows

Washing me clean

Of all I know

Or dare to dream.

 

For living continues

Within my own skin

 

Lingering

 

 

The silk of waking

To dreams yet dreamed

Linger in the sky

Adrift in gray clouds

Carrying visions of possibilities

That yet may be

The Great Heron

Image is my own

I greeted the Great Heron

With a hello.

Then asked for some wisdom

Or some secrets of the earth.

 

But the Great Heron

Didn’t bother with a no.

Just a fluff of feathers

Before turning away

Without being troubled

To even look at me.

The red wing black birds

Chittered away in laughter

As the gentle doves

Cooed soothingly.

 

The crows cawed,

Rather obnoxiously,

About time running down.

I said I knew

And was aware of the beauty

In lessons along the way.

Even in the lessons so painful

You thought they might

Break your soul in two

Held a beauty in the end.

 

The crows disliked what I said,

And they couldn’t disagree,

So, screaming out a caw,

Flew away.

 

Turning his eyes to me,

The Great Heron shifted on his log,

Before opening his wings

And flying away,

Letting me know

He had nothing to say.

 

 

	


	
	






	
	

		
Music of Hope
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Pxhere.com










Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Dance – April 22, 2021 – Eugi’s Causerie (amanpan.com)










My dance was escape





From the always too much vine





You are, crawling over the souls of others,





Choking them with tendrils of your love.





My dance, too strong for such tendrils,





Stepping the swirl patterns





Of aloneness,





Finds joy.





My dance, leaving colors of spring





In the wake of its rhythms,





Paints new life into me.





My dance, following no one,





Discovers love in its patterns,





Creating new steps of invitation





To be followed by my soul.





My dance, flaming and firing in warmth,





Burns away the coldness meant to kill.






	


	
	






	
	

		
The Work of Spring
	


	

		

image courtesy of anoregoncottage.com

















I clipped away dead branches





From the living shrubs today.





Not an easy thing,





But a thing that must be done.





Strange it is how dead things





Will cling so tightly to the living





As if to squeeze





The last remaining bits of life away





And thus, have company in death and dying.  





 





There is yet more to do





So only the living things are left





To flourish in the spring sun.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Decision on a Birdfeeder
	


	

		

image courtesy of publicdomainpictures.net




 


I hesitate in remembrance


as if the fates would choose


a day of gray and leave me there,


as if a blossoming could be had upon


a second visitation to any day.


 


The creamer clouds disperse and swirl


in my extra strong coffee


like memories of things I wanted–


never had, never attained


all those years ago.


 


Stirring the coffee still,


I stare out the kitchen window.


Decide against a bird feeder


filled with black oil sunflower seeds.


I do not want cardinals here.


People say cardinals are spirits


of those you’ve lost come to visit you—


No.  I want no cardinals here.


No spirits of the lost to visit or say hello.


No twittering or chittering away.


No vibrancy of color outside this window.


No.  Not here.  Not in this place.


 


I’d rather this be a spiritless place,


A virgin place, void of spirits, void of touch—


 


At least for a time