great horned christmas caroling owl
crooning to a nearly full cold moon—
aromatic firewood smoke dancing
with chill desert air and winter stars—
people holidaying with indoor trees
oblivious to nature’s nighttime party
—Terri Guillemets
great horned christmas caroling owl
crooning to a nearly full cold moon—
aromatic firewood smoke dancing
with chill desert air and winter stars—
people holidaying with indoor trees
oblivious to nature’s nighttime party
—Terri Guillemets
oh my gosh is that a star
in bright city sky?
nope! police helicopter
—Terri Guillemets
monsoon winds tell tales
lightning dances thunder sings
rain is main event
—Terri Guillemets
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
I look out my office window
working too late, again
The half-moon is round
with a glowing halo —
I know it’s pollution but
my heart sees fairy dust
or the happily ever after
romance of a bedtime story
And next to the bright moon
with its fringe of murky light
soars a large airplane
with its lights flashing
and I can hear its engine
even with my windows closed
(it’s hot outside, otherwise —
you know darn well —
I would open them!)
The plane’s lights —
red, green, white orbs
of unsightly technological safety —
are ruining the beautiful night sky
and distracting me from
my dusty fairy-tale moon
Yet maybe
at last
I realize
what’s been
obscuring
my poetic vision
I always seem to focus
on that beautiful moon
and the romantic dark sky
but ignore the 737 monstrous
hunk of metallic civilization
hurling itself through the night,
followed by a second aircraft
and then a third and fourth,
as if the airport is shooing
all her noisy little children
out of the house to play —
And even though that airplane
is hideous and loud
and aerial anti-serenity —
it’s life.
And what is poetry —
if not life?
Perhaps it carries
newlywed lovers
who were finally married
after COVID cancellations,
leaving on the honeymoon
they saved up years for —
and in that plane
is just as much fairy tale
as that beautiful-ugly
dust veiling the moon.
—Terri Guillemets
Have you ever seen anything more beautiful
than a heavy dark-silver cloud
taking up half the sky
ready to lavish the gift of rain
unto the waiting earth —
than huge wandering clouds
marbled in every subtle shade of gray
bordered with light and hope
shifting and swirling every moment
in a slow dance with the winds?
Have you ever felt anything as beautiful
as the breeze on your face
or that first, fat raindrop
that falls on your head —
as the sun caressing every inch of your flesh
warming and calming you to the core?
Have you ever heard anything more beautiful
than the wind in the palms, the pines,
the cottonwood leaves and tall green trees —
than the sound of merry birds singing
or water trickling through a forest creek —
than soul-shaking booming thunder
filling the width and depth and height
saturating with stunning sound
the infinite and electrified sky?
Have you ever tasted anything as beautiful
as pure, clear, cool water
the essence of earth and life
the most refreshing, primal elixir
a quenching, flowing vitality
the distinct taste in each satisfying sip
of both nothing and everything —
or the raw power of the earth
in the layers of an onion
the fresh energy of vibrant greens —
or the sweetness of the soil
in a dense crunchy colorful carrot
or a perfectly ripe juicy berry
staining your taste buds
and delighting your soul?
Have you ever smelled anything so beautiful
as orange blossoms in the nighttime air
with a perfume more intoxicating
than any other seduction —
as a rejuvenating and serene pine forest
with a thick carpet of aromatic green needles
or the dust-earth smell before the rain comes —
as salty, nourishing scents of the nearby ocean
or invigorating crisp clean air of the mountains
breathing so close to the fresh, free, blue sky —
as the warm, exciting aroma of springtime
giddy and green, flowery and pristine?
—Terri Guillemets
The moon shines
into the dirty desert air
with a rusty opal halo —
Scorpius has lost his way
behind the thin clouds,
city glare, smoke, dust —
His heart shines in some far
better place — but not here
in this smoggy summer.
—Terri Guillemets
i don’t want to be
just a strand of dna
passing through time
or an echo of a face
repeated down the line
just another leaf falling
from the family tree
a bloodline that someday
ends with the end of me —
i want to be the sky
or an eternal poem
wildflowers growing
wherever seeds roam
i want to be the wind
or wandering clouds
or the rain that drifts
or a free soaring bird
or starshine at night —
eternity’s glowing
ethereal light
—Terri Guillemets
Our bodies are meant
for the sun, the rain
the gusty winds
starlight and moon baths
fresh air and seasons —
so why do we trap ourselves
in indoor cages?
If we can’t hear birds sing
or feel invigorating breezes —
how are we to be refreshed
to heal, to know the world
beyond the borders
of our bodies?
—Terri Guillemets
there is a big hospital nearby
there are several, fairly nearby
fortunately, I don’t need one
right now —
but I’m grateful to be close to them,
that they’re close to me, just in case
so are the firefighters
and the grocery stores
and post offices
and best of all, libraries!
and
a whole lot of people —
for better or worse
all because I live in a big city
it’s convenient —
and it’s annoying
It’s 4:47 a.m.
three hours ago, the windows vibrated
under a circling police helicopter
a few minutes ago
the clattering A/C
that needs to be fixed
jolted me awake
I dozed back off —
this time it was a stray cat
there are so many of them;
I know them all by name —
Old Lived-In Orange Tom
Marked-Ear Kitten Gone Fat
Dirty-White Tuxedo Guy —
some of them like to jump up
on the sill, be loud, cause trouble
this morning, interrupting my dream,
it was Scraggly White Gray-Heart-Nose
yowling, prowling, howling, meowing
That’s it! just can’t get back to sleep
may as well get up, even though I’ve only
had maybe 5 hours — five disturbed hours.
it’s still dark out, and for the first time
in several months it’s noticeably cooler
outside than inside, even with the air on
and the just-past-full moon is up
she’s bright and snuggling with Mars —
Venus, Sirius, Orion, all shining for everyone
and for no one in particular
I step out of my front door, lock it,
and am not even out of my own driveway
before a car speeds by, knocking me over
with its noxious old-car gas fumes
and buck-the-system black exhaust
I look up at the sky, what I can see of it —
nearly every house has bright lights on
shining directly into my eyes, and the
street lights — piercing, glaring, persistent
I’ve made it almost next door
someone is out smoking, I can’t see them
but I smell the strong nasty smoke
and cover my nose with the COVID mask
from my pocket — odd, in my youth
I used to love breathing in the scent
of cigarette smoke — thought it was sexy
now it chokes, it offends, it irks
onto the next block, another smoker,
invisible too — do tobacco lovers hide
in the shadows on purpose?
my grandmother used to do that;
after she told everyone that she quit
we accidentally caught her smoking
on the dark side of the house, but
we didn’t let on — it’s hard to let go of
our addictions — shadows let us hold on
second house in on the second block
a big way-louder-than-legal motorcycle
leaving its driveway, its rider doesn’t see me;
I stand aside and wait as it roars out & away
it’s not even freakin’ 5 a.m., folks. on Saturday!
I came out here for quiet, fresh air, skygazing,
a pleasant walk in cool early-morning “solitude”
but the air stinks, there are so many lights —
oh, and did I not mention all the irritating
sensor lights that pop on unexpectedly
into my face, just when I think I’ve found
a nice dark-house reprieve — bam! — they’re like
the damn ads and email newsletter pleadings
on nearly every modern web site —
catching you unawares, blocking the
entire screen, at the cursor’s slightest
sign of movement — blinding us
like all the sensor lights, blocking
our enjoyment of whatever else it is
that we were trying to do
third house in, second block
the rooster. someone’s backyard city-rooster:
I look at my watch, a 5:00 crow on the dot.
I try to stop being annoyed
try hard to focus on the positive
try to figure out which dim little star
is above Venus, it must be one in Leo —
that’s my husband’s sign
my husband, still sleeping. heavy sleeper.
sleeping 8–9 hours straight through
nearly every night, it’s his superpower
I kinda hate him for it —
if I get more than 5 to 6 hours, and
waking several times at that, it’s a
miracle. light, light sleeper, I am.
I want to sleep, I try to sleep. I can’t.
my husband, who even though he’s sleeping
I already know exactly what he would say
about my quandary, my HSP city annoyances:
— Sleep in later.
— Just stay indoors.
— Join a gym and walk on the treadmill.
he just doesn’t get it. never has.
Flash! another sensor light in my face —
Screw it. for the first time ever,
I’ve given up on my morning walk.
it’s only been a few minutes
and the weather is gorgeous!
but I am going back inside.
How can people live like this?
with so much constant noise
and so many bright obscuring lights
and so damned much artificial stink
heading back around the corner to my house, I hear
the mini-siren warning bloop of a mile-away ambulance —
did I mention that I live close to a hospital?
—Terri Guillemets
Standing in a silent still-dark February morning
Cool dewy grass grazes half-bare sandaled feet
Lo! Saturn arrives as Jupiter saddles Sagittarius
Mars burns red near the glowing crescent moon
Serpens slithers against a vaporous galaxy border
Antares winks green and gold, crimson and rust
As Scorpius swings its tail at the southern horizon
Libra starboard and upward of the crowded scene
Balancing askew over the poor impaled lone wolf
Ophiuchus a bystander in the busy celestial show
—Terri Guillemets
sand-dust with cream
intensely mauve’d rust
velvety blue-grey-indigo —
layers of early winter’s
desert dawn horizon
—Terri Guillemets
Moonlight is a beautiful and comforting reminder that the sun is still out there somewhere.
—Terri Guillemets
A flock of honking geese
just flew over my city backyard
goosebumps, I got goosebumps
never, ever have I seen this
beautiful feat of nature from
my own little speck I call home
for an awesome morning moment
all my human burdens forgotten
—Terri Guillemets
swirls of light
as morning blazed alive
the darkness left
—Terri Guillemets
blackout poetry created from Maud Casey, The Man Who Walked Away, 2014
early summer, late at night
pleasant sweet-smelling air
clouds veiling a half-lit moon
Scorpius crawling up the sky
tree-hid birds awake chirping
lone dog barking in its yard
startled stray cats darting
crickets playing insistent songs
quiet of people gone to bed
mellow breezes gently stirring
damp-grass lawns subtly cooling
street lights too brightly illuming
saguaro blooms softly glowing
—Terri Guillemets
dancing in the rain
at nature’s cloudy party
—Terri Guillemets
—Anonymous, The Queries Magazine, 1890
Why do I love clouds? You can’t save a cloud as you can save a leaf or a flower or a rock — clouds are now! Clouds are the carpe diem of nature.
—Terri Guillemets
Springtime is a poet —
the blue sky its blank page
so vibrant green in rhyme
a different metre for every clime
birds chirping to keep the time
wildflowers yellow, red, purple divine
words dancing on tall blades of grasses
sparkling in the morning dews
no commas the flow keeps buzzing
vernal dashes & blossoming branches
on newly greening verdant trees
refrains whispering in each breeze
butterflies — floating apostrophes
ladybugs dot floral question marks
blissful bees stray stanza to stanza
seeds disperse from verse to verse
continuing a poem that’s never ended
and into summer’s colors is blended
—Terri Guillemets
snowflakes fall from the sky
in peppermint perfection —
i kiss you with quivering lips
but cold is not the reason —
you set my winter heart on fire
and keep me warm all season
—Terri Guillemets
Every dawn relights my soul.
—Terri Guillemets
late June, monsoon — kaboom!
patter, splatter, fat drops gather
splats, taps, windowpane raps
wind whips, swish, whish —
summer’s rumbling thunder
flash, crash, lightning dash
plash, splash, sky unlashed!
—Terri Guillemets
foggy heavy-gray teary-eyed low-hanging
snow-stuffed melancholy winter clouds
impulsive wayward turbulent thick-swift-dark
tempestuous hail-angered storm clouds
sprinkling lighthearted fanciful breeze-drifted
rainbow-nestled April-hued springtime clouds
enormous white-fluffy fairydust-fringed
frolicsome sun-illumed carefree summer clouds
thunderous intense restless rain-soaked
lightning-streaked July-dyed monsoon clouds
azure-skylit sunglow-slanted edge-gleaming
white-silver billowy contemplative autumn clouds
vivid vibrant blissful dawn-lit joy-beamed
daybreak-florid sunrise-tinted morning clouds
aimless airy midday-lazy wandering listless
mountaintop-floating leisurely afternoon clouds
amber-ablaze day’s-end-pink ephemeral-amethyst
evening-welcome smoky-embered sunset clouds
lambent star-flanked luminous moon-halo’d
glowing shadow-painted skygazers’ night clouds
—Terri Guillemets