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Mary Scardino
http://maryscardino.purpledream.com
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The Long Visit
05/04/07 |
The heckler wind
got his revenge on time.
Rightly so, it whisked
away winter's damage.
Welcomed, and listened
to for its invisible mime,
the land's enforcer frisked
last season's visage.
The hurried sky
adjusted,— blue, waiting
for clouds to subside,—
peaking through the cover
at this wild guy.
Real sirens sing,
twisting with tide
in a maneuvered hover.
Birds fly lower,
cling tighter,
wings closer.
A leaf imitates,
mimicking soft glide.
Hair flips to the side.
"Just passing through,"
he relates.
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The Night
06/08/07 |
It has a certain ambiance.
The time can be early or late.
Close your eyes and meditate,
Far away from circumstance.
Far away from what's ahead.
Life's sweet adventure realized.
How far away, but still crystallized
Like snow fallen, a light dusting spread.
OK, the secrets out.
Acknowledgment.
I'm not giving my consent.
The beautiful, donut-shaped crescent.
Silently, the heavens form images.
It has snowed. The elements of nature, evident.
Breezes overtake the following day.
The night became cold. Cars glowed.
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All
07/08/07 |
I feel that every day is a holiday.
I know I'm not supposed to feel that way,
but you'd feel that way too,
if you saw things my way.
Today may be a day to you,
but a violet changed my point of view.
Just the way the sky outlines the leaves of the evergreens,
separates me, like miles do.
The road I travel intervenes.
I walk the road, taking in the scenes.
When I go places,
I look at magazines.
I embrace cultures and races.
When a holiday approaches,
anticipation heightens,
and the genuine surfaces.
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Beloved
09/02/07 |
A poem needs to be said,
needs to be heard,
as a scarf to the head,
sheep to the herd.
Life is lived in motion,
with objectives.
Writing is commotion
with all life gives.
A rose is worth a whiff;
the vase, its hand;
worthy of look and sniff,
as glass is sand.
A poem is dressed in breath
with many words,
and it reaches its depth
looking inwards.
From beginning to end,
you understand,
what happens when a blend
of new thoughts band.
And so, when crafted, it
sends a message.
Take a stand while you sit,
write a passage.
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Illusions, Elections
12/01/07 |
Fierce fighting last year during the advance,
Your main task is now civil governance.
How many died during hostilities
Keeping peace at oil refineries?
How many died since "Mission Accomplished"?
Democracy can't be shipped, and packaged.
During police work and guard duties,
Is there open combat by Iraqi's?
Particularly, Iraq is hostile,
With authority, unprovisional.
The Tigris River has a garrison,
As if a river can be a mansion.
If green were the color of sympathy,
I'd have mine set up like a company.
It's going to take a coalition
To scope the daylight using night vision.
From bomb blasts and mortars, gimme shelter.
This is really about helter skelter.
A huge weapons cache does not make a mosque
In a severely radical Iraq.
Here's the quote Secretary Rumsfeld gave:
"You go to war with the army you have."
But how does that help one who's life he gave?
That sounds like a command with expletive.
"Not the army you might want or wish to have."
The question was much more definitive.
He had asked a question about armor,
And he got an answer about power.
Mr. Rumsfeld, "Do you have a Humvee?"
Land mines don't honor a West Point degree.
Man the gunner's hatch, you're vulnerable.
The roads are ripe with risk, none peaceful.
And drive down to patrol another mosque;
Temperature, 85, in Iraq.
For his big bold style, ten gallon hat;
Cited for doing what was important,
George W. Bush was named man of the year.
A cloud of smoke billows up through the air.
The desert is famous for its' illusions;
The United States, for its' elections.
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Christmas At Andrea's
12/20/07
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I baked some cookies and bread,
wrote Santa Claus in lead,
lifted a trundle bed;
go on, read ahead.
I wrote this instead.
Now, go go ahead —
I sent the kids to bed,
washed and scrubbed my poor head.
Oh, how time fled!
Thanksgiving led.
Prayers were said.
Plans soon came to head.
The spirit of Christmas, revisited.
The Christ child, celebrated.
The magic of Christmas spread,
and the presents distributed.
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