Season`s Greetings: a poem for the winter season.

Season`s Greetings by Susan E. Harris-Gamard

As the earthy night stretches deep and black

And the clangy sound of engines and brakes

Is silenced under the frozen muffle

Of crystalline randomness,

Billions of lost souls are deposited onto a wasteland,

Without warning

Or imprint.

They just fall.

Huddled together like angels evicted from paradise.

As I rise, my own body anew

In the diurnal sunrise.

I am mirrored on the outside

By presences

Themselves asleep

As I had been.

The prodigal winter raged and gained strength

Regardless

Of who was watching.

I walk out the door to find that the ground

That I knew yesterday

Was made anew, covered with tiny virgins

Purified and caressed by the night and moon`s full light.

A sole set of tracks has vanquished the smooth landscape

Intruder, caught by its own traces.

Like a detective I search for intent

Caution Do Not Cross

The Boundary for fear

Of contaminating the scene

That remains.

I walk forward to mindlessly tread
Onto the horizontal plane of the perfect glittering surface

With my own boot prints

(Held within a database somewhere

Black Sorels Size 8)

Charged with only negligence

And so I deposit my own little angel

Onto the large yellow vehicle

Directed towards his own enlightenment

At the small school

Nestled within the hill.

Hands of Clay

Hands of Clay

Labyrinthine hollows swirling freely through unformed clay

Slithering, slipping , moving down

And tossed away.

Tunneling blindly through the darkness

Searching for that perfect state

Hands against the warm fluid

Disappearing, releasing fate.

Water, an intermediary between this organic bond

This terra incognita slowly folding into a tight mound

I am the alchemist of my own single vision of today

Like an injured pigeon, hands cup clay.

Night comes, the wheel is placed away

Covered neatly to sleep

As your own body`s quiet firmness

Moves against my own vulnerable, moldable form

The complex folds of your languid eyelids relax and drift down

Tears overthrown, shaken away by loving breath, 

blowing warm.

I am quickly reminded that we are but two wholes becoming one

Not like the clay nestled in a potter`s hands

But like the ocean, two rivers 

flowing away from the land.

And I Hear: my latest poem.

And I Hear

A swaying above.

The dank black form of the musty chandelier

Gives off its empty, flickering brilliance.

A blue ghost sweeps into my periphery

Discarding its turbulent vacuum through the din gloom.

I seem to catch it. My mind says yes

As time swallows me whole.

It moves with my heart, and like it, my heart

Carries on without you.

The shadow of your own lengthy form sways against me

As it and time passes.

Your skin burned into my neuronic template

Locked away. Precious.

Lost love plated, inscripted.

Savor your essence on my rough tongue,

Lingering sweetness seeps into me

Like some still remains to be dug up and lifted from the earth

Semi-intact, waiting to be revived.

Through the particles of dust and dirt,

Forgotten pages, and gifts, and glass,

Sounds stolen, possessed, passed.

And I, a grave robber,

Thief of the heart`s lost but hollow beauty

I possess a memory of hair as if washed by strawberry rain

It softly rests upon my shoulder as I observe

Watch it. Embrace it.

But still press through greedily to another moment pillaged.

And move away to crave only the ugliness

Found in a twisted, uncharted future.

Time is

A bleak, faded non-presence

Slipping through gnarled hands

The sweeping of their curling nails

Against the battered old wooden board of time`s fortress

Moving relentlessly, moving away

From moments so frantically captured

Swallowed inside my craving wanton self.

Your and my own verses jut out

Just out of reach but still

There as its own heavy presence between us.

Your verses in timed rhythm with my restless limbs

Longing to push forward

Moving ahead into this gloom

Running from time and its nightmares and desolate visions

Of the fallacy it is.

Vast legs so warm compared to this cold marble

That I caress now.

Like the carvings of the ancients:

Cold, lifeless, dead to all.

Like you:  a vision long lost.

My blue lips nipping the tips of your slender fingers

My teeth ripping your fingerprints away from you

Kept close and safe: your essence.

It is mine for a while.

So I drift

Away

Time cannot consume what I have gained

It utters your name as it passes

And I hear.

I Am Back

photo credit: billphelps.com

I am back.  What else does one write after being away from their poor, neglected  blog for almost 6 months?  It seems that I come back here during times of turbulent emotions: those times when I do not feel as if I am floating on tranquil waters.  When the waves start to crash on my shores, and I struggle to find footing again, but realize that I should just let go, let the waves take me away somewhere new and uncharted.  A place to call my own, gained through both struggle and self-defeat, from being faced with feelings of sadness and the kind reactions of reassurance of so many beautiful others in my life. I have quite a few poems written now and am thinking about publishing them.  I will write maybe two more and will then be ready. I believe that this is where these waves are taking me. A fresh start is in the distance.  A new sort of me. Six months of self-assessment and self discovery have brought me back to myself, if that is possible.  My ever-changing, evolving self anyway.  From my sensing of a misplaced fear of solitude to the realization that I have not been allowing myself to find true solace from within, I have escaped from life`s grasp and have returned. A bit bruised, but never shaken, and never beaten.

There is no need to adjust my sails any more.  I have come home.  I am free to release and just let go. 

Clarissa and Rino--the story continues

The party pad is holding things together well. Richard sees me and screams, “The sculptor is here! Woot woot!”  He calls me “the sculptor” even though he knows full well that I am just a mason.  Richard refuses to accept that people can be so mundane and ordinary. The way I see it, I put the pieces together, instead of taking them apart.  Unlike Richard, who insists on rummaging through one’s life like a child looking for his lost stuffed dog.  His own life has been coming apart at the seams for years.  He remains on the fence of alcoholism, tempting fate, while all the while Clarissa spends her life trying to fix what he has dismantled.  I fear that he has started to unhinge her to the point where she is losing herself, but I will make my best attempt at talking to her further in order to foresee the truth.  I am glad that they never married, but, on the other hand, at least she would then be heir to his “kingdom” when he inevitably fades away.  Clarissa is in the kitchen, so I pass through the crowd politely, accepting the requisite introductions, and head there to help out if I can.

“May I help you at all, Clarissa?”  She is frantically trying to put together a plate of olives, when I come upon her from behind.  She is evidently nervous about something.  Her shoulders seem tense, and her hands are just not steady.  “Oh Rino, thank you. I can always count on you.  But, if I have to explain to you what I need to do, it could already be done.  You can keep me company though. And give me something to look at.”  She giggles that adorable little laugh that I clearly remember. I notice the bouquet I had given her has already been arranged caringly in a porcelain vase.  It does not surprise me.  Clarissa always had a way with sentiment. “Clarissa, you said you wanted to ask me something.  What was it?  Or did you decide against it.”  She stops momentarily, and a frown dims her face. "I spoke hastily." She carries the tray to the living room and returns.  She looks exhausted already.  "How about we share a nice glass of wine.  You look like you could use one."  I find an impressive bottle on the counter and proceed to open it.
"Clarissa, you should know that you could never speak hastily to me.  If you are feeling something, anything, you know you can confide in me.  Truth is never spoken in haste, don't you agree?"  She starts to say something, but it comes out in a jumble of words. Even with my strong accent, I feel easier to understand at this point. She composes herself, "I'm sorry.  I just miss you.  How long has it been? Three years?  No, I think it has been four. I've had so much to tell you for so long, the words are not even recognizable any more.   I feel them , but cannot express them.  I am so sorry for everything.  Things became so confused.  I needed to separate myself.  When I first saw you coming up the steps outside, it all came back.  The times we had, the talks, the intense, yet comfortable connection.  It was simply you.  No masks.  I felt happy again, free .  Now, I realize it was just a mirage." I hand her a glass of wine, and we toast lightly, reluctantly.  Is it the best time to toast?  I am intent to make it a perfect time.  At the very least, I will try.
"I can stay, you know. For good. I shouldn't have let you be by yourself.  I see now I should have been stronger. For you. Someone should."  As I speak, Richard is heard guffawing and jumping around.  Soon, there is a loud crash and a rush of people. Our stolen moment has now passed into Richard's solipsistic oblivion. And Clarissa and I look at each other with the longing and sadness that two people are only capable of feeling when held prisoner by fate for much too long.     

Encapsulation

come and go with me out of me 
and along the bank of catch and release
searching the searchlight amongst this swallow of sound
in fact and deed no greed just need
bleed in throughout to hunt and shout
my name today and pray someway
for a day out
and into this
tiny seed
holding 
me.

Clarissa and Rino's Story

Bright lights from the villa lie reaching across the hills like tendrils as I approach from below. Voices heard, a rippling of laughter, a swift flash of flesh, my party-ready footsteps on the pavers sound more reminiscent of slippers on grass. A door opens to release the roar of the party, an unquiet guest or, could it be the inhabitant?  My sensibility flutters, as I observe that it is she. There on the terrace. Clarissa.  In a flowing red dress, she is even more stunning than I remember. And, even better, more unassuming than anyone I have ever known.  She, the “she” inside of her, is a phenomenon, magical.  If she weren’t so real to me, I would think she had escaped from a different realm.  I wave to her, she responds excitedly coming towards me as I walk up the steps armed with an immensely satisfying hug and some wildflowers to give to one of the people I most cherish in all the universe.

“Rino.”  She pauses to observe me and what I think is my expression.  “How good it is to finally see you.” She brushes my cheek softly with her lips as I touch her full, essential hip with my hand. A modicum of restraint allows me to pull away as I again hear the terrace door burst open to let out the chaos upstairs.  I momentarily reflect on this unsuitable commotion among the quiet repose outside as Richard leans over the wall to greet me, only partially concealed by a grey silk shirt unbuttoned down to his navel.  “Rino!! What are you waiting for? Come up, come up.  Clarissa, get him a drink would ya’? Pronto.  Hahaha” His basic, booming voice echoes against the rocky earth in the distance as he rushes back inside to close the door, sealing the silence, leaving us once again to ourselves.  There is a silence, but it is not at all uncomfortable.  She smiles, and I reflect with my own.  We quickly complete the ascent arm-in-arm, with one state of mind, one sense of being.  “It was a long time ago.” “Yes, it was.” Some more silence as we stand to face each other on the final terrace.

“I’m different now, in some sense, you know,” she says.  “I’m not sure if you will recognize me from the lady that you once knew so well.  But I am a better version of myself.  Stronger and, more able to take a joke. More at ease with my life, and my decisions. You look beautiful by the way.  You simply glow in this lighting, Rino.  I’ve missed you.” She hugs me again.  This time closer and harder.  I almost lose my balance on the vicarious step I am on.  “We better head in and face everyone at last.  Richard has been looking forward to seeing you again as well.  From what I understand, he has some things to tell you.  But that’s Richard.  It might just be a new cocktail recipe.  Or his latest ideas on curing hangovers, which I’m not sure will work.  His life is one long, everlasting hangover.  Different story entirely though.” She laughs.  “Wait.” I stop, still hanging onto the step for dear life. “Before we go in, I want to ask you something.” “OK, no problem. Go ahead,” with a questionable tone to my voice.  I quickly remember that whenever we are together she somehow manages to speak much more than me, rendering my usual swift and streaming eloquence mute.  I find this strange because she always appeared to me as someone who preferred to be left alone.  I am privileged to know that this is far from the truth.

“Rino.”  We are in shadow now, so it is hard for me to see her face precisely.  She may think I glow, but in the dim shadows of her villa, she exudes a sinuous sort of darkness.  A curious sense of unknowingness.  I see exactly what she means.  She is not the same woman.

“I still think of you.” She grabs my hand. “Still so rough.  Unlike your insides.”  She brings my hand up to kiss it, and says, “You are still a part of me." She places my hand on her heart, pauses, then quickly regains composure.  "But, let us proceed, shall we?”  I realize that she did not ask me anything, as she proposed.  She sprains the door handle, as she reluctantly allows us access to her home.  A home that I can see is not and will never be her haven, her nest.  Not at all.  Not in the least.

For more of Clarissa's story, click here