monsoon winds tell tales
lightning dances thunder sings
rain is main event
—Terri Guillemets
monsoon winds tell tales
lightning dances thunder sings
rain is main event
—Terri Guillemets
boom rustle tip tap
tippity clink rumble crack
whoosh whish shhh fade black
—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
green & light shimmering
dancing in the sunlight
little red fuzzy flames
burn quietly in the breeze
mottled blue patches
of serene springtime sky
blaze beautifully behind
a lively bejeweled scene
medallions of shade and color
twinkle in the afternoon
a mama hummingbird hovers
with wings so fast, silence
is no longer golden — she is
the sounds of the winds
overtake my soul and
carry it far off into the skies
—Terri Guillemets
snuggled into a warm cozy bed
weather wakes this sleepyhead
with a blustery December night
white clouds reflecting city light
cold drops fall fast and furious
a clattering house, mysterious
midwinter storms in and wails
frigid rain and whipping gales
—Terri Guillemets
We have now entered the birds-chirping-all-night season.
—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
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
In a hospital
it’s difficult to listen
to sad, scary sounds
“code blue” on intercoms
wailing, grieving families
beep-beep-beep of machines —
But if you listen
more carefully
you can hear
the sound of hope
of healing, love, and support
caring, confident voices
of nurses and doctors and staff
the din and melodies of
our imperfect and indispensable
healthcare plexus at work
—Terri Guillemets
Spring: the music of open windows.
—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
A clock is ticking
in my living room —
I never even noticed
that it makes noise —
my mind is ticking,
my heart is ticking.
Everything quiet
is audible at 3 a.m.
—Terri Guillemets
If you can’t get quiet enough to hear yourself, your life is too loud.
—Terri Guillemets