Amputated Moon

water-soaked paper

cyan paint drips from a brush

soaked by blue rain

Pamela Olson, 6/28/09

For One Single Impression’s prompt

“Blue Rain”

a blessing of clouds
gathers under a white hot sky
a mention of rain not in the forcast

hope is here in this fleeting coolness
in the transparency of the moment
in the gray underbelly of a passing cloud

Pamela Olson, 6/24/09

you would have understood me
had you waited
instead of the backward shuffle
out of the room
trying not to move too fast

you heard my whisper
within the pen scratch
on the roughened paper
the letters forming a cell
where you might languish

you mistook my looks
frightening and fierce
as a cruel captor
luring you toward
the waiting pen and page

the door remains open
an invitation printed on the paper
come and let us speak together
join pen, paper, and hand
until the poem is born

Pamela Olson, 6/23/09

For Carry on Tuesday’s prompt

“You Would Have Understood Me”

by Ernest Dowson

light lies along your side

like a pillar of salt

from some faraway desert

where the sun cuts sharp

here is a land of boundaries

shadows and light locked in place

you stand there unmoving

within a forest of stones

In my dreams I am at your side

part sunlight

part whisper

do you hear me

I will weave myself

between your molecules

of water and salt

of darkness and heat

Differences dissolve

between you and I

let us assimilate

becoming something new

Pamela Olson, 6/21/09

For One Single Impression’s

prompt, “assimilation”

the lantern light throws

its shape-shifter magic

from deeper in the barn

breathing in the darkness

breathing out the light

as night passes away

hay bales change

their shapes

to pyramids or coffins

barrels become

wishing wells

or towers of Babylon

the man and woman

standing in the door

exhaustion hangs

from their faces

like old suits

hanging in an attic

do they see the magic

that has worked tonight

through the lantern’s light

or is all simply an evening

spent in an ordinary barn

tending a mare and her foal

Pamela Olson, 6/16/09

For Carry on Tuesday’s prompt:

“A lantern light from deeper in the barn

Shone on a man and woman in the door”

from The Fear by Robert Frost

this wall of shadows

bricks of light

mortar of darkness

cast upon a dusty ground

inconstant made

engineered by a star’s rising

in the morning

only to fall at night

planted on this orb

constantly spinning

leaning upon its axis

tilting north then south

where shall I lay my head

within these insubstantial walls

where day and night lie

shadowed and lit

bury me within these walls

cool and still in soft shades

rain unfettered and

breeze blowing soft upon me

Pamela Olson, 6/14/09

For One Single Impression’s

prompt, “Walls”

the book was thick and black

covered with dust

like gray moss on a pathway

words frozen in paralysis

bowing and creaking within lines

trapped on the yellowed pages

binding cracking and groaning

refusing to be opened

determined to remain hidden

around a bend in the path

or behind the large oak

heavy with Spanish moss

the whispers twine themselves

through the branches

and the shut pages

their sibilance winding through the binding

sliding along the dusty cover

of the thick black book:          listen

listen to the poetry

that lies within the faint voice

trapped and hidden inside this book

Pamela Olson, 6/9/09

For Carry On Tuesday’s prompt,

 “The book was thick and black

and covered with dust. 

Its boards were bowed and creaking”

from Possession by A.S. Byatt

Magnolias by Meri Arnett Kremian

the petals wait for a brief breath

to lead them into a graceful dance

the rain has gathered in the clouds

hanging heavy in the pewter sky

a drop falls into the pond

another onto the white petal

here is the intersection

of breath, rain, and petal

here within this simple frame

lies the sureness of life

Pamela Olson, 6/6/09

For Poefusion’s prompt, Monday Mural:

Magnolias by Meri Arnett Kremian

For One Single Impression’s prompt:

“Intersections”

there are sleeping dreams

and waking dreams

shadows lie in sleep

shading my day awake

what seems is not always

as it seems when a boding

descends across the grass

and touches the planted stones

weighted down with ballast

stones across my back

ropes cut into flesh

another stone against my heart

anchoring my feet

to the unsteady ground

waves of grass blades

bend in breezes of loss

marbled stones

numbered one by one

rest in the ground

an abacus of death

count them and touch them

tallied and scored

they show the cost

of divisive war

fallen bodies and fallen hearts

touch them and count them

one by one by one

here in this waking dream

Pamela Olson, 6/4/09

For Carry on Tuesday’s prompt:

A Ballad of Boding by Christina Rossetti

“There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams.

What seems is not always as it seems.”