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SLachina
F/Cleveland "All poetry is experimental poetry."--Wallace Stevens / [All poems original and owned by Sona Lachina. All Rights Reserved]
Autumn's keen colors bust out gold-flecked and lucent A fetching masquerade Til one day the facade drops The flaunting stops And we face our transformation -- The body of real things The cleansing verity of snow, yes: We make our cold confessions to it -- Our sooth world unadorned; No high fashion statements No sweet smells from the earth. Just the white truth of being --
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Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 7:34 PM UTC
Autumn's keen colors
In the deep woods near, The trees are poets; They write their rustling Lines against a paper sky -- Invited to their mystic house I am brought to life, Embraced and entwined Like a prodigal child Forgiven everything -- The forest floor is cool and still Yet below, the earth is humming Sweet-scented and loamy Pulling at some memory that Beats ancient in me -- Such tempo'd spells sing Among the ferns here: Beckoning
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Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 8:24 AM UTC
In the deep woods near
Remember June Green enduring Clover growing madly Rose's thorns Gardens lush From feasts of rain Here and gone Leaving water wells behind And drip-drops hugging Heaps of stones and moss -- A thousand smells A thousand dank secrets All of life stretching upward To regard the Sun, who Mightily beats his yellow drum -- Who am I But June's curator, Tending her summer works?
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Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 3:00 PM UTC
Remember June
There is a stirring       when one sees with clarity             what lies ahead -- Edges sharpen, and       the air pressure drops.             Trees rustle where                    there is no breeze; A wind chime tinkles       in a desolate place             and it feels like                   the end of time--
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Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 9:36 AM UTC
There is a stirring
On tiptoes I reach for a scarf And mittens come tumbling down Long forgotten Knitted for my small hands -- I smile, Remembering the first time I pulled them on As if the yarn was moonlight Sending its secret code to me, The answer, And my fingers hummed their gratitude -- They are perfectly two and blue Soft as bird's down Carrying humble memories in a life's broad expanse Yet they are nonetheless Magnificent --
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Jan 20, 2020
Jan 20, 2020 at 1:34 PM UTC
On tiptoes
I -- am with her right now The small girl who lives in my heart's recess And fills that beating palace with hope -- She sits in a patch of grass, just beyond, In my mind's open meadow, Singing to herself and picking blueberries she puts in her pocket. She counts clouds on purple-stained fingers And giggles at the chickadee's song Phoe-be! Phoe-be! Forever six years old -- Sunlight tangles in her hair As she twirls and fans her sundress, plopping to the ground Her laughter filling an innocent sky -- She is luminous The love between us: The deepest kind --
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Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 9:18 AM UTC
I -- am with her right now
Tiny shops hunch in a row On brick and clapboard feet A huddle of windows filled with come-on-in The sun slides behind their flat tops As I wait for you on the bridge -- Clouds push and shove each other Across a dusky sky: I watch you cross the street A thief bearing a single plucked flower Your pockets crammed with promises that won't be kept But I don't care My pulse is launching rockets -- The river beneath flows in irrefutable rhyme Smells of moss and deadwood fill the air Brown geese out for a swim are making social calls As you take my hand Small Into yours And I know When I look into your eyes I must never kiss you As twilight tucks us in And brushes back our hair --
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Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 1:32 PM UTC
Tiny shops hunch in a row
Christmas comes: A juggernaut Lumbering through December Overstuffed Once benevolent Now all razzmatazz And who gets what A free-for-all at the bargain bins; And by the way Peace on Earth --
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Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 9:04 AM UTC
Christmas comes
This dream Unafraid Sits close to me on slumber's bench Our shoulders touch One of us ephemeral One bound to finity Seeking answers in the other Look down Look down The purple crocus sings Here I am --
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Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 8:09 AM UTC
This dream