Poetry Corner September 2009

Irene Brodsky, Author of Poetry Unplugged (Outskirts Press.2008) celebrates her 63rd birthday on September 11. She wrote this very special new poem to share her thoughts in memory of the World Trade Center and to commemorate her birthday.

SEPTEMBER 11, _______

On September 11, 2001,

the World Trade Center passed away

on my 55th birthday.

But every year, I say a special prayer

To the new World Trade Center in heaven.

May your lights shine brightly

May you stand tall and proud

May you comfort those who were within you

May you know that I miss you

And may we be together again someday

To share my birthday cake.

And sing a merry song or two!

***********************

Simply Complex

The Nectar Of Unity Is Dripping
From The Stars
And Bottled In My Dreams

I Pop The Cork And
Take A Sip Of Appreciation
Calling It A Glowing Reality
A Moment Paints Me In
Multiplicity

Birth Races Towards
A Second As I Color
One Self In Shades Of Timelessness
Another Self In Photosensitivity

It’s The Sun’s Birthday
I Swing From A Ray
And Somersault Into Being
From Nothing But Consciousness

I Sit On A Branch Of Awareness
Drenched In Blue Green Democracy
And Turquoise Responsibility
Expressing Emotions
In Metaphors

Candidly looking For Another Bottle
A Root Of Magnetic Energy
Lifts Me Vibrationally To The Celebration
Of My Simply Complex Realities

Hal Manogue, poet and author
Short Sleeves A Book For Friends
Short Sleeves Insights
www.shortsleeves.net
http://halmanogue.blogspot.com/

*******************************
Granny Was a Dancer

Granny was a dancer; something she was born to do.
Mama danced in her time; and I’m a dancer too.

Every fancy frontier city had its dancing girls.
Granny was not one of them; she lived in a different world.
World of stained glass and steeples; world of hard-wood pews.
World of do-si-do and allemande; world of waltzes too.

Granny was a dancer; something she was born to do.
Mama danced in her time; and I’m a dancer too.

Granny’s world went wild; the Twenties came roaring in.
World of votes for women; world of bathtub gin.
Mama was a flapper; bobbed hair, short skirts, high-heeled shoes.
World of Charleston and schottische; world of polka too.

Mama was a dancer; something she was born to do.
Granny danced in her time; and I’m a dancer too.

I was a sixties hippie; love and peace and ban the bomb.
We wanted them to stop the war, and bring our boys back home.
We were all tie-dye and love beads; we wanted a world that was new.
World of jitterbug and disco; and country line dance too.

I am a dancer; something I was born to do.
Granny danced in her time; Mama was a dancer too.

They called to tell me Granny was gone; she danced the night she died.
I folded my phone and shook my head; I smiled and then I cried.

I want to be like Granny, go dancing all the way.
If I’m gonna dance ‘til the day I die, I have to dance every day.

Granny was a dancer; something she was born to do.
Mama danced in her time; and I’m a dancer too.

Jan Bossing © 2009 Joelton, Tennessee

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Stockpiled Sagas
Overcrowded
Split-spined
Dog-eared
Undercover; hard and soft
Knowledge, history, romance,
Travel through tome
See a new place

Luscious, lazy literature
Some disheveled
Heavy-eyed and sleeping on the job
while others play
London Bridge falling down

Bargain bins
Mounds of mysteries
Piles of prose
Half off how-to’s
Neatly arranged and
some tossed upside facedown

Cover to cover
atop one another
Stacks and stacks of paperbacks
Zigzag towers
Cornered chronicles
Just looking for some space to rent

Lavender Rose is the pen name sometimes used by Yvonne Perry.