"colette" poems
You took my hand with eyes of fear
Against the fence in mud burried
Your pet... wet colorless...desolate
The lovely bird who sang to you
Who made your day when you were sad
Now still and gone
never to sing
Trying to grasp
What's after life
Leaving the body was too hard
For a toddler to understand
You said " us too ? we also die?
I tried to explain eternity
Your big eyes of woe
Crushed my heart
Colette Anne Naegle
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 3:44 AM UTC
Women bent over in a circle
A quilt is being born
Created with precision
of structure, harmony
Geometrically perfect
wedding band,log cabin.
The men are far away
fishing, hunting bisons
A dying fire, logs glowing
Icy winds wisttle under the door
back out through the chimney flue
Strong women, used to dangers
hunger, incertitude
marauding Indians
hidding out in the woods
Tighten up your circle
warm up your fingers
the quilt must be ready
For the new bride of spring
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2009
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:36 AM UTC
Mutted sounds
The city sleeps... traditional
Rest...closed shutters
Against the heat....skies white
Blinding, implacable
Brurnt, liquid: coupolas baking
Through centuries of glazed splendor
My lover's breath on old fashioned
Sheets: starched, crip...ironed flat
Our bodies recouping
In the cool inner wall... welcomed presence
Nary a sound...inanimate objects
Enrobed in silence
Languid , heavy, waiting for the shadows
Announcing night's fresh enconter.
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2005
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 3:34 AM UTC
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.
I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.
I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.
I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
& make it melt.
I want to tell you
simply that I love you--
though you are "dead"
& I am still "alive."
Suicides & spinsters--
all our kind!
Even decorous Jane Austen
never marrying,
& Sappho leaping,
& Sylvia in the oven,
& Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale,
& pale Virginia floating like Ophelia,
& Emily alone, alone, alone. . . .
But you endure & marry,
go on writing,
lose a husband, gain a husband,
go on writing,
sing & tap dance
& you go on writing,
have a child & still
you go on writing,
love a woman, love a man
& go on writing.
You endure your writing
& your life.
Dear Colette,
I only want to thank you:
for your eyes ringed
with bluest paint like bruises,
for your hair gathering sparks
like brush fire,
for your hands which never willingly
let go,
for your years, your child, your lovers,
all your books. . . .
Dear Colette,
you hold me
to this life.
2.4k
In a deep recess
Cloaked in darkness
Her shinny body
Glowing outside of its opaque deeds
Waiting for a prey
She does not miss a beat
The fact that you are alive
Makes her tremble with hate
Black becomes her
Messenger of death
A she twirls around in her webb
Exposing the red dot
Of her hour glass
Colette Anne Naegle
copy rights 2007
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
Twirling madly with his stars
In Arles
Surrounded by night at the café
Where he drank pastis
Bonding
With his sun illuminated wheat
Taking a walk among
The wind blown cypress trees
His girating irises
His spinning suns
Loosing my eyes
in his self portrait of red hair
intent stare
Of genius
How sad ...they never told you
What a giant you were
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2005
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 9:41 AM UTC
When i was knee high
Could i ever cry for our countries gone under
Because we had to surrender
Shredded by German's plunder
Yet i rejoiced and thanked God
when the sun was shinning
I did a lot of day dreaming
watching the clouds as they went by
The only jewells i saw were the daisies by the road
their perfect little rows
of white petals , center gold
I dreamt of far away lands where people were free
free to speak, free of fear and striffe
America land of my dreams
you were floting in my inner space like a desert's mirage
I clung to it with determination
until the day, it came into action
Young Gi's fresh faced, full of youth
smiled at us from their metal girth
tanks, cannons, guns and the likes
They looked so vulnerable and young
they held my hand " small " in theirs " strong"
in their palms well fed and reassuring
they could be so loving to a little girl
who defied dying
So land of my dreams you will come true
In my heart you grew and grew
till one day, i will see NewYork bay
Land of my dreams you will be mine
Colette Anne Naegle
1945
I wrote it at twelve when America blew down the **** sign in Berlin
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
Navaho...sitting by your tee,pee
Looking far away...
Lost in space and time
Old warrior
Tired and tranquil
Remenbering the old braves of yore
Phantoms that you see
Among the clouds
Old partners of wars
Pow wows... in the night skies
Sleeping on the hard earth
Joined in efforts , tenacily
Wise as serpents
Light as a deer
Running in tall grasses
Your arrows lined together
Above your shoulder
Your name" light foot"
Protected by the canopy
Of the wide Arizona skies
Colette Anne Naegle
copy rights 2005
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:13 AM UTC
You gave wings to my hopes
a chance for my talents
I wear your space like a coat of freedom
Your skies
As a hat of cornucopia
Your mountains
as an echo of love
your plains
as an ample cape of independance
Your oceans
as the children that you gave me
Colette Anne Naegle
copy rights 2006
Thank you America
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
I am a leaf in the winds
Of time
Floating through space
hurridely
Face up, face down
Knocking on walls
of eternity
In an Einsteinian sort of way
I do not belong
to this plane
Going in and out of
Many dimensions...
Like the spirit that i became
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights 2008
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 3:59 AM UTC
When i was knee high
Could i ever cry for our countries gone under
Because we had to surrender
Shredded by German's plunder
Yet i rejoiced and thanked God
when the sun was shinning
I did a lot of day dreaming
watching the clouds as they went by
The only jewells i saw were the daisies by the road
their perfect little rows
of white petals , center gold
I dreamt of far away lands where people were free
free to talk, free of fear and striffe
America land of my dreams
you were floting in my inner space like a desert's mirage
I clung to it with determination
until the day, it came into action
Young Gi's fresh faced, full of youth
smiled at us from their metal girth
tanks, cannons, guns and the likes
They looked so vulnerable and young
they held my hand " small " in theirs " strong"
in their palms well fed and reassuring
they could be so loving to a little girl
who defied dying
So land of my dreams you will come true
In my heart you grew and grew
till one day, i will see NewYork bay
Land of my dreams you will be mine
Colette Anne Naegle
1945
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 4:17 AM UTC
Fronds of grass
Struggling toward the sun
Cutting through the earth
With their sharp green shoots
Sun streaming through the branches
A perfect breeze for a perfect day
The world is still
Near the bark of a fallen tree
Lies a young man in repose...
His skin is fair,
The wind plays in his hair
Almost a child
With tender spots of pink
Around his ears, the nape of his neck
A young soldier wearing his uniform
Golden buttons adorn his chest
Right above his heart
A clean round hole
The war came by
He is gone
Colette Anne Naegle
Copyrights 2005
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 3:46 AM UTC
Wisper, because time
passes so quickly.
Wisper for fear the clock strikes
one too many
The hours like sighs
rob us of our moments
the good, the bad, the indiffrernt
I try to hold you .
Like the seive holds water
Through my fingers you glisten
you glimmer, you disappear
Time, time, my elusive one
You make my life appear
like a dream I hardly dreamt
You are going, you are gone
Of all the sunsets of my days
I'll remember but a few....time so dear
So unpalpable
You are gone
Colette Anne Naegle
copyrights
2006
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 4:29 AM UTC
Kandinsky was smoking ***
when Picasso came over to
sell him some hash: Wassily
said sure, O, Mondrian wants
an 8th; sure said Pablo, tell
him to swing by my place;
Picasso didn't go straight
home; stopping at the cafe for
a coffee; Mondrian was in
a corner booth making out w/
Colette & didn't see Picasso,
but Pablo saw them & said
nothing, not wanting to bother
Piet, who didn't get it all that
often; Colette a nice married
girl whom everybody 'knew'
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 5:41 PM UTC
she plots your course but let's you plot your coarse
and mavericks stammer in the haze-what? of her misadventures...
save those who plus.
if you must know, then you are obsolete... you may repeat the same **** questions
and flee elite. you may squander your whimsy
in shunt courts, and bind your Thoom !
you may chum the waters, some sharks shun
in favor of clear doom
of stayed
tongue.
you may this all, or remain
or remain,
young.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
I’d seen her wander along the street
A number of times, or more,
And know I should have approached her then
But she might have said, ‘what for?’
I could have asked for a date, but then
I left it much too late,
And saw her then with a guy called Ben,
But he looked like spider bait.
He had a straggly beard and hair
That stood up straight in spikes,
I don’t know what she could see in him
For my first response was ‘Yikes!’
His frame was thin and all caving in
And his clothes were contrabands,
But he clutched at her with a bony paw,
With hair on the back of his hands.
She went to stay at his cottage, which
Was set at the edge of the wood,
More of a tumbledown shack, I thought,
Not right for that neighbourhood,
It lay half-hidden between the trees
With their foliage hanging down,
You had to push past the bushes that
Enclosed the whole surround.
She’d sit out on the verandah with
The sun about to set,
While I would creep in around there
For a glimpse of her, Colette.
I thought, perhaps if she saw me there
She might come out to see,
And once I’d managed to talk to her
She’d fall in love with me.
But Ben would never let go of her
Nor let her out of his sight,
He kept her there by the spiders that
Would weave their webs each night,
From every dangling branch there hung
An orb web in the breeze,
And in each centre a spider that
Would make Colette’s blood freeze.
I think he must have been breeding them
He seemed to take delight,
In pointing out how the thousands seemed
To weave there every night,
Then she began to withdraw from him
And refuse his coarse demands,
Whenever he went to reach for her
With his scrawny, hairy hands.
The webs ballooned and they hit the roof
Formed a blanket from the trees,
They covered the little cottage and
I heard her frightened pleas,
She couldn’t leave the verandah though
She said she’d have to go,
He said that he was a spider man,
And that’s when I heard his ‘No!’
She didn’t come out again for days
And I heard her cry at night,
‘I hate this place, and I hate your face,’
But he said, ‘You’re my delight.’
A week went by and I heard her sigh,
The last sound that she made,
So I burst through all the gossamer webs
With an old and rusty blade.
He was knelt beside her form supine
In the corner of the room,
While she was wrapped in gossamer fine
And looked like a large cocoon,
I lashed out with the rusty blade
And cut off his evil head,
When thousands of spiders scurried out
From his neck, and over the bed.
I cut her out of the tight cocoon
And peeled it back from her face,
She hugged me in the gathering gloom
And said, ‘Let’s leave this place.’
I’d like to say that she went with me
But I’d left my run too late,
‘I’ll never look at a man again
Since he made me spider bait.’
David Lewis Paget
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 4:45 AM UTC
I think the real reason, Colette,
The reason for why you haven't left yet
Well, you're afraid of taking that next step
And admitting you deserve to do your best.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC