Allison Rose

Allison Rose Oct 2013

There was a world at the end of that road,
Made of red and white and gold.
You told me a story about the first time you took a photograph.
Looking through a sparkling wine glass is how I found out what you see.

We took a shortcut home because you said you knew the way.
It didn’t matter because we could see well enough where we came from.
And the sky was a hundred different shades of orange and purple and gold.
Walking across an open grass field is where I found out where you once lived.

On the side of the road is where I really got to know you.
Climbing up the hill to the crown of Europe.
Illuminated by the passing of headlights,
Walking along the cracked asphalt is where I found out what you love.

I’m not sure how we came to find ourselves alone on a road away from nowhere.
I had to take a photograph because I couldn’t believe the color of the sky.
Until we left the bottle on the table, I felt insecure.
It was then that the darkness fell and I found out who I am.

Allison Rose Oct 2013

two trains passing in opposite directions

the flap of wings exploding into flight
the silence of a black and foggy night

Allison Rose Sep 2013

Two Cats

Two cats were sitting in a box
One sitting next to the other
One said to the other, “What is behind this wall, brother?”
And the other said, “You’ll just have to see.”
The first cat said, “I can’t go alone, brother.”
And he replied, “You’re not alone, you’re with me.”

Two cats were sitting in a box
One was blind and the other could see.
One said, “What is behind this wall, brother?”
And his brother said, “Just follow me.”
One said, “What is behind this wall, brother?”
But it was the other brother who couldn’t see.

Two cats were sitting a box
One was blind and the other could see.
One brother was afraid of the world,
And the other had no reason to be.
Everything that could have scared him,
Was as black as the faraway sea.

Two cats were sitting in a box,
And both of them wanted to see.
One said, “I can’t go alone, brother.”
And the other said, “You’re with me.”
But only one brother jumped,
And guess which one was he.

One cat was sitting in a box
And his brother was sitting alone.
The cat who could see sitting inside
And the blind cat outside on his own.
The blind cat said, “Brother, you coming?”
And the other said, “I want to stay home.”

So one cat stayed inside the box
And the other explored everything.
Then, one day he returned to the box,
To tell his brother everywhere he had been,
But he had no sight to see the world
So he couldn’t explain what he’d seen.

One cat was inside a box
The box was the only thing he’d seen
And one cat was outside of the box
But couldn’t see anywhere he had been.
Said the inside cat, “What is behind this wall, brother?”
And his brother said, “Don’t listen to me.”

“You’d know what is outside the box, brother.
If only you’d just come and see.”
But his brother stayed inside the box.
Too afraid of leaving was he.
So one stayed inside and the other outside,
And the great world remained a mystery.

Allison Rose Sep 2013

Walking Past A Stone

One day I am walking, walking past a stone
I see a painted pattern undiscerned.
A marbled sort of mess, in shades of grey and brown,
the mass before me wears a cloak unlearned.

But upon closer inspection, I am surprised to find
a stone more tightly packed than first imagined.
The  large  and  solid  mass, from  distance looking  pure
Brought to light is seen to be deception.
The pattern I first saw, of messy marbled streaks
reveals to be of more compound complexion.

When I with curious eyes delight to look more closely
I  can  see  the tiny  bits  of  rock  and bone,
sand  and  shining  mica, and shards  of  shell infused
bits  and  pieces  fused  in  solid  form.
I recall the recent past, when only grey had cloaked this rock,
A spot that from a distance yawned a monochrome,
And I see this spot is parcel of a hundred tiny pieces–
An unapparent universe in stone.

The closer that I draw to this planetary exterior
The I more I see each particle discrete.
I think that if I took a hammer, and blasted it apart
Each sediment could be a stone complete.
If I am solid body, who is there to say
That I'm not so composite underneath?
A thousand microchosms, from the inside out;
My solid form is only the relief.

That I would find companion in this ordinary stone
Is destiny of day quite unforeseen
Discovered by surprise, in boredom’s hefty hour,
Tracing over simple path routine.
But more surprising still, while comparing flesh to earth,
I can’t decide if it more likely seems seems
That stones resemble bodies, pieces of a whole,
Or if bodies help us view the Earth extreme.

I think I may be too up close to see.
So I am walking past this stone to let it be.

Allison Rose Sep 2013

Walking Past A Stone

One day I am walking, walking past a stone
I see a painted pattern undiscerned.
A marbled sort of mess, in shades of grey and brown,
the mass before me wears a cloak unlearned.

And to pass it by I am so apathetically inclined…

But upon closer inspection, I am surprised to find
a stone more tightly packed than first imagined.
The  large  and  solid  mass, from  distance looking  pure
Brought to light is seen to be deception.
The pattern I first saw, of messy marbled streaks
reveals to be of more compound complexion.

I feel the want to approach it closer…

When I with curious eyes delight to look more closely
I  can  see  the tiny  bits  of  rock  and bone,
sand  and  shining  mica, and shards  of  shell infused
bits and pieces all combined to  solid  form.
I recall the recent past, when only grey had cloaked this rock,
A spot that from a distance yawned a monochrome,
And I see this spot is parcel of a hundred tiny pieces–
An unapparent universe in stone.

I am now a nose’s length from this sight superior...

The closer that I draw to this planetary exterior
The I more I see each particle discrete.
I think that if I took a hammer, and blasted it apart
Each sediment could be a stone complete.
If I am solid body, what is to say
That I could not be so composite underneath?
I could be a thousand microchosms, from the inside out;
My solid form is only the relief.

And yet that I would find companion in this ordinary stone
Is destiny of day quite unforeseen
Discovered by surprise, while in this boredom’s hefty hour,
Retracing over simple path routine.
But more surprising still, while I’m comparing flesh to earth,
I can’t decide if it more likely seems seems
That stones resemble bodies, pieces making up a whole,
Or if bodies help us view the Earth extreme.

I think I may be too up close to see.
I am walking past this stone to let it be.

Allison Rose Sep 2013

You Don't Know Where We Are (And Neither Do I)

Nobody knows why,
          on the quietest of days,
          we decided to walk into the forest.
But the wind wasn't blowing,
          And the rain wasn't falling,
          And the castle was silent as stone.

With knives in our hands,
          And room in our baskets,
          We looked toward the ground with tenuous step.
Searching in brambles,
          Though we hadn't much practice,
          Looking for life where dead things had fell.

There wasn't much on the ground that day,
But the dog's playing fetch and the baby is laughing.
Just climb up the hill and we'll find our way back;
Whatever you are looking for is just on the other side.

Soon we are wandering,
          Without saying a word.
          You don't know where we are, and neither do I.
It takes getting lost
          To know what it feels like
          For the crunching of leaves to remind you of home.

We hadn't been here before,
          But it all looks the same now.
          The trees are still green and their bark is still brown.
We couldn't quite see him
          For all of the trees here,
          But we followed the sound of the baby's cries.

There wasn't much on the ground that day,
But the dog's playing fetch and the baby is laughing.
Just climb up the hill and we'll find our way back;
Whatever you are looking for is just on the other side.

I don't know what we've found here,
          But my basket is heavy.
          I think that it's time that we start heading home.
The path doesn't fork here,
          You just make a new one.
          Just follow the sound of the baby's cries.

Allison Rose Apr 2013

If spring is daylight dawning on the night

[attempts at Shakespearean sonnet form]

If spring is daylight dawning on the night,
Then you are March's unforgiving snow;
When time of year has come for evenings bright,
You are the clouded sky which eastward blows.
With rolling thund’rous clouds you come to rest
Upon the blameless springtime of my heart;
And wither baby blossoms in my chest,
Unwelcomed winter snowing ‘gainst its part.
Caught in the wake of unforetold advance,
I’m naked and defenseless with you there;
Prepared for longer days of spring romance,
I'm burned by icy tempest of your air.
But snow knows not what time of year he falls,
It is but chance of when the weather calls.