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Joan Reese Jul 2016
Red rooster strut your stuff!
Puff up your chest,
Fill the room with your allure.
Capture an audience with your grace.

All the little chickies gather ‘around,
Admiring your strong calls,
Sharp claw feet,
Beautiful red face,

Like a stop sign to ward off intruders.
Little chickies now feel safe.
Are you, are you a red rooster?
Standing firm in your space,
No one dares to give you chase!

Are you one of the little chickies
or Red rooster strutting his stuff?
Admiring chickies or strong rooster?
****-a-doodle-doo!  Who are you?
Joan Reese Jul 2016
Blue Baby Blue
Blue baby blue,
lift up your head and kiss your troubles adieu!
Blue baby blue,
be happy you grew.
Blue baby blue,
bury the dead; they were only passing through.
Eyes wide-open, view everything anew.
Blue baby blue,
spin around, and shout, "yes, I love you!"
Blue baby blue,
dance around in gold sequins on silk venetian red.
Blue baby blue,
how unique are you?!
Forget people who never knew.
Blue baby blue,
Blue baby blue,
no more singing the blues!
Joan Reese Sep 2015
Jukebox rocks, two dozen hard?working dusty men,
Bent elbows lean, Gold liquid flows
Glass rises, lit cigarettes talk.

She poses on a white piano bar,
******* clad; slow moving, bending,
grinding, shaking, gyrating.

She blows kisses
to admiring eyes
with lustful wishes.

Cleo's little girl dream
of being rescued
fades with each midnight hour.

She spins around, steel?scissors held high.
Scissors reflect mirrored walls;
penetrates smoky beer air.

The scissor flashes down
cutting a hole above her heart.
Cleo offers the red satin circle,

Keepsake for the trucker who watches.
He believes, "She dances for me."
He offers up a dead President.

She cuts a hole here
cuts a hole there.
Soon she can start her own government.

It's hard to know where
first hole began or
last hole ends.
Joan Reese Aug 2015
My home away from home
My seaside place,
Twice the size of my everyday space.

No Clutter, white walls;
Perfumed soap gift wrapped
Waiting for my return.

Sliding glass doors
Overlooking  Atlantic ocean.
Sounds of the sea rock me asleep.

Ten blocks away, neon Casino lights.
My secret place; self- contained:
Restaurant, pool, movie theatre, gym.

I brought a lover once
His presence is long gone
Room 803, by the sea, is meant for me.

From my balcony I see a grand old  brick mansion.
Three stories high, freshly painted wooden shutters,
Stain glass,wrap around balconies. Water-less fountain.

I spy the windows for signs of life.
A man enters a side door, only to leave soon after;
One out-side light burns all night.

I imagine a gray- haired lady lives there alone.
Her grandson checks on her everyday.
She knows Atlantic City in its hayday.

I want to drink a cup of tea with her and listen to her memories.
Did her family build the boardwalk; the steel pier?
Who was the love of her life? Is she happy still being here?

The gift of living long.
A treasure trove: landmark moments.
It only takes a listening ear to bring them back to life.

My grandmother Eva, born in Atlantic City, 1920.
Great grand parents, Banford, left England, settled by the sea.
Atlantic Avenue where they lived, I walked by in wonderment.

I imagine a gray- haired lady who lives alone in the mansion
Holds the keys to my family’s past.
If only we could have a cup of tea.
Joan Reese Aug 2015
Prana flows through me like springtime,
Prussian blue glass jewels the coral sand.
I discover a life to claim as mine,
In a space of grace beyond time.

I bathe in Dead Sea salt and Spanish lime,
By candlelight Amadeus plays a baby grand.
In a space of grace beyond time,
I discover a life to claim as mine.

Crystal stairs illuminate the climb,
Old souls are close at hand.
I discover a life to claim as mine,
In a space of grace beyond time.

Dreams conceived in my prime,
Strong in faith, I stand.
In a space of grace beyond time,
I discover a life to claim as mine.
Poem written after and meditation session.

— The End —