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LJW Feb 2014
In the shadow of the volcano,
fresh from the dark sands of Siberia,
the brown steppe eagle circles and waits,
watching for weakness, searching
for carrion, leg feathers bristling,
shoulders hunched like a hunting wolf.

Exultant, it swoops down
on a yellow wagtail,
barks like a crow as it revels
in the taste of blood. I see
the bright buttery feathers
sticking to its wet tongue.
Not my poem, but I love her imagery and detail. The flight in her poem, the length of her lines and how pact they are with colors, shapes, and objects.  How full her lines are!

Eveline Pye lectured in statistics at Glasgow Caledonian University in Scotland for more than twenty years. Before that, she worked as an operational research analyst in the Zambian copper industry. Her poems about Africa and mathematics have been widely published in literary magazines, newspapers, and anthologies in the U.K.

Her statistical poetry was featured in Significance, the joint magazine of the British Royal Statistical Society and the American Statistical Association, in September 2011 as part of its Life in Statistics series. A selection of her statistical poems appears in the Bridges (Enschede) Anthology, edited by Sarah Glaz (Tessellations Publishing, 2013).
LJW Feb 2014
what matters more than
hot springs bubbling over
boulders fallen before men wanted
to sit among-st the steam?

details.

Empty rooms angry with patience
broken planks of olden wood flooring
wet with cat **** and rain.

This house held hope
until the town voted it
down. Ruined, useful only to
corrupt our stainless American children.

Where can I find our majesty in
the streets and towns of this country?!
The young hate the old. They laugh at us while we die.
By  the time we finally muster our gumption to live
they chase us from our homes by stealing our jobs and
not caring who they hurt.

young. take your time to wonder what you are doing.

winter winds blow fast
through desperate alleyways
chapping lips bright red.

nature mattered once.
Oak leaves rotting in autumn rain.
c. lisajeaninewinett 2014
LJW Feb 2014
nothing to say with nothing to do
on a day when all that i've heard
reminds me of lies told to me in my youth.

Rocks fall into our laps without
tearing one thread of our lives or futures,
money will fall and grow from trees

Men love larger women and thin ladies
struggle more than we are told.

Beauty is more than skin deep and different than in the eyes of the beholders,
although beauty has no consistency and anything can be beautiful.

Risks and amazing lives wait for us all, waiting for us to open the door, call our agent,
answer a casting call, play our drums.

Do anything you like, it will be the right turn,
all I've heard today were echos of lies.
c. lisajeaninewinett 2014
LJW Oct 2013
Tonight I wander through yellowing pines
through days of autumn while I
am twenty nine dancing drunk on northern Cali
wine, cold, wet, between an angry coast and
the moss on ancient tree groves.

Dancing like a Dervish in my crinkled cotton
gauze skirt tickling at my naked ankles and
washing my dirt covered feet.  

Hair wet from misty air, curling and dripping
he stares at me, mesmerized by some magic
that does not exist. It is only me 'neath the moon.

He wants to be in love with a freedom that has no
place near me.  I mean entrapment, commitment,
ownership, caged.  

If he holds me, I'll want him there forever and ever,
that will never change.  He should not want to leave if
he walks through my door.  Keep walking if you're only going to
walk out.

He does, he smiles, laughs, drinks, then, as I'm turning
one more spiral, he falls into the dark and walks on
to a woman who will let him love her for only a
fraction of a lifetime.
copywrite 2013 Lisa Jeanine Winett
LJW Sep 2013
Our front porch is covered in chairs
waiting for visitors
We offer you hot tea or cold
Yoga at ten
and prayer flags if you need.

Far Away there are Yogis standing in
Mountain Pose...
Where is my peace guru?

My path is riddled without a person
holding my hand or
offering me an invitation
to pray the way I want to pray.

I can only imagine the room
hot and charged with mantras
and faith where followers
devote their hours to adherence.  

There lives are busy
moments of honesty,
contentment,
fervent compassion,
sweat, and balance.

Here we sit drinking,
waiting in our chairs,
while our posture
is a hope rather than
a deed.
copywrite lisajeaninewinett
LJW Sep 2013
Sigh for relief it is a day of mine,
I have work, I have coffee,
I have a week to live through.
c. lisajeaninewinett
LJW Aug 2013
where arrrrrrre you in all your world?
tonight i wonder if you remember what
i have falllen for you

drunk into deeper wishes for your love
Jesus,  with him it
matters.

dreams and dreamers we all
live,
she is in your reach
i wish you would grab her
or grab me
which ever you wish.
copywright Lisa Winett 2013
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