i am growing old —
many leaves of my memory
have yellow’d and fallen —
so that i am beginning to have
many secrets from myself —
—Terri Guillemets
popular
Lapse
At 2 pm, doves coo
an afternoon lullaby —
drowsy ticking
drowns out work —
the clock’s face
and leaden hands
fall napping into
the hour’s warm lap —
minutes nod off and
sleepy seconds snore
digesting noon away —
time teeters —
its breathing slows
weighed down by
heavy parts of day —
—Terri Guillemets
Whirlwind
bee-buzzed blooms
wilt white into winter —
hellish heavy heat
silently softens to snow —
lovely lustrous leaves
fall freckled in frost —
senescent slanting sun
solstices southward —
the young year yules
dizzily debarks december
—Terri Guillemets
Release
the wisdom of age
takes root to blossom
in crevices of the brain
emptied by letting go
—Terri Guillemets
Ravish
it is raining!
no, not water
from clouds
but dead leaves
from july trees
scorched by
a brutal heat
too sunburnt
to evergreen
falling, fallen
brittle brown
leafy teardrops
raining down
the dry warm
forlorn face of
mother earth
—Terri Guillemets
Writing up a storm
phoenix monsoon storm
haboob isn’t dirty word
it is dusty though
—Terri Guillemets
Inflame
the world we abuse
roasting us like marshmallows
in a fire we lit
—Terri Guillemets
Accelerant
our apocalypse
once in ultra slow motion
now on fast forward
—Terri Guillemets
One step forward…
—LIFE magazine, 1922 February 23rd, digitized by Google, books.google.com
Oh, we see it
“Who so blind as not to see that a great change has come over the leaders of that party, and the representatives of that party on this floor?”
—David Wilmot (1814–1868), U.S. House of Representatives, speech,
A turn for the better
October has finally broken its scorching summer fever
turning the hesitant desert autumn into a true believer!
—Terri Guillemets
September backyard
sprightly little yellow butterflies
flitter their aërial dance in pairs
through tireless mud dauber paths
and webs sway vacant in the breeze
of poor spiders caught unawares
—Terri Guillemets
Stay the night
The moon is always
running away from me
as if she thinks that time
is just a cyclical game
of hide & seek —
She runs and runs
then keeps on running
leaving me to the mystery
of why the nights run short
and the days even shorter
Please, Moon —
just for one night
can’t you sit still
and stay a while
We can have
a midnight tea —
just you and me
we’ll talk all night
and bask in the glow
of your regal beauty
—Terri Guillemets