The Dogwood
In the spring before the green leaves appear
A perfect southern beauty stands near,
Reaching out with slender wooden fingers.
Gloved with white blossoms, their elusive scent lingers.
Those cross-shaped petals, spotted from afar,
From the comfort of my car,
They announce that spring is here.
© Dana Sieben 2005
March the 8th was my second blogiversary and I missed it! I've just been drifting around vaguely, barely getting done what needs to get done and then went and missed a chance to pat myself on the back and blog about how much my blog means to me.
I've been blogging for two years now and it doesn't seem that long at all. No sirree!
So in honor of my belated blogiversary, I am posting a few of my old poems that have been previously published on the web. Enjoy!
Rock Springs
Floating on a tube in cold, clear spring-fed water
I watch the clouds take shape and birds roaming the skies
All the while the fish below are nibbling my toes
watching me, watching birds, watching the clouds above.
Peaceful, lovely, contemplation, dipping my feet
in again and again, never getting enough
of that water so clear and the sun shining bright,
heating up my black tube, warming my back and front,
in again and again, never getting enough
of that water so clear and the sun shining bright,
heating up my black tube, warming my back and front,
tanning my skin with tiny freckles, drifting off
to sleep, dreaming of water and fishes so deep
and of peace and serenity, wishing so much
that I could stay all day and never go away.
to sleep, dreaming of water and fishes so deep
and of peace and serenity, wishing so much
that I could stay all day and never go away.
Night Swim
The southern pines stand at watch and they wait,
Above the water where fireflies mate,
Atop a quarry where deep currents surge,
From the tall pines the intruders emerged.
One man, one woman on the cliff's high ledge,
Once clothed, then naked, they stood on the edge,
Leaving their clothes and their shoes in a heap,
The shining full moon gazed as they leaped.
Laughing gaily, into the water they fell,
Eager for love, they both gave out a yell,
Both bodies fell through the night air with grace,
Alive, free, a smile alighted each face.
They swam and floated in a quarry deep
While the dark county-side lay fast asleep.
New lovers caressed by the evening’s soft mist,
And only the stars witnessed their kiss.
Grandmaw vs. the Snake
The outhouse beckoned to Grandmaw one day,
She eagerly answered its call.
And since the town didn’t have plumbing yet,
It was the outhouse or nothing at all.
She hurried out to the small wooden shack
And opened the lopsided door,
The musty, cool darkness promised relief
As did the toilet paper on the floor.
Grandmaw went on in and tugged down her pants
And hovered right over the seat,
Balancing like all southern women do,
As she stared down at her dusty bare feet.
Then she looked up as she saw something shift
In the shadows above the door,
Grandmaw froze up like a deer on the road,
As a big snake descended to the floor.
Grandmaw, still hovering over the hole,
Yelled at the snake so it would go,
It didn’t care for the tone of her voice
So it hissed and lunged at Grandma’s bare toes.
Grandmaw hollered and ran out of the shack
Pulling up her pants in her haste,
Grandpaw saw the whole thing from the back porch,
Laughing and wiping the tears from his face.
Uncle Jack witnessed Grandmaw’s flight,
He blushed from his feet to his head,
He’d never seen his momma’s bare bottom before
And it made his face turn bright red.
They never let Grandmaw live that one down,
The whole story was passed with glee,
About the day that Grandmaw raced a snake
That prevented her from taking a pee.
Sizzle
July is scorching.
The grass is crusty and brown.
The heat rises
Off the streets in the downtown
Where herds of people
Walk,
And live,
And bake,
And are desperate for autumn,
But in denial of winter.
Then chairs will denote
Parking spaces saved
And plows will
Block the driveways with snow.
For now though,
Summer holds court.
The cicadas are buzzing loudly,
And the highways make
The slow-moving cars
Sizzle.
All poems © Dana Sieben 2007
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