Amputated Moon

I sit vigil while the day

creeps forward

along evening’s edge

here is the waste land of color

dampened darkness

duns and grays

lie in wait

in this waste land

I stand facing east

searching for cerulean

my hands raised up

back toward the waste land

my eyes reflect blue

from the horizon

hope lies beyond my sight

will this waste land depart?

the day comes slow

laying waste to blind night

come dawn

come hope

come blue

Pamela Olson, 8/30/09

For One Single Impression’s

prompt, “blue”

the small bird

beneath the hedge

brown as the ground

hidden from the rain

waits

Pamela Olson, 8/28/09

Published at A Handful of Stones, 10/8/09

the rain holds this poem hostage

watery ropes bind its mouth

thunder shouts over its words

even the raindrops

drown its rhythm

all that remains

is a slippery phrase

caught within my fingers

like a quick-silver fish

flashing once

then it’s gone

Pamela Olson, 8/27/09

riot in Marion, Alabama

lands 6 in jail

out-of-control wild-cat melee

fueled by a long-standing family feud

just a pick-up Bball game

the police chief was hit

the mayor knocked to the ground

4 cops not enough to control the crowd

more troopers called in

a pick-up game

there was a litany of weapons

firearms, blades, and bludgeons

the fight was sparked on “The Hill”

weapons at the school

after a pick-up basketball game

folks pulled from cars and

half the town was involved

Marion resident Mr. Johnny said,

“They didn’t get the other side.  That’s not right.”

don’t know what the score was

but it must of have mattered to someone

Pamela Olson, 8/25/09

For Read Write Poem’s prompt #89

“it came from the news”

1.

I step out on this rock

outcropping stripped bare

stone worn smooth by wind

by rain and footsteps

worn grain by grain

rock upon rock

2.

bitter dust on my fingers

acorn and rock entwined

I sit where you sat

your time is mine

your voice comes to me

sliding through oak and pine

3.

this stone is my pillow

my ancient bed

on my cheek is the dust

of the ages

touch my face

your ear to my lips

listen

4.

rock and stone sit in silence

their story contained. . .

confined in their beings

hold the stone in your hand

dip your fingers in the stone bowl

allow the words to seep into you

as you rise and leave

take this story with you

Pamela Olson, 8/24/09

For One Single Impression’s

prompt, “allow”

under the copse of myrtlewoods
I move into a leafy eclipse
layered pungence
leaf on top of leaf
casting out the light

it is the eclipse season
under the trees
where the light
casts shadow bands
along the littered earth

here the umbra
grows ever darker
moving toward totality
nestled in perpetual dusk
even the birds sleep

Pamela Olson, 8/16/09

For One Single Impression's
prompt, "copse"

the juniper
blue-green beauty
needs pruning
the walkway-- buried
under thin stems
under-done berries
umber branches
all covering this footpath
with bitter-scented fruit
bruised between my toes

soon the full moon
will slip over the roof
shall I prune
the juniper?

Pamela Olson, 8/13/09

For Read Write Poem
prompt #87

gravity grows feet
bound to red clay
trees with leaves
bent toward the sky
and roots dug deep

always there is a knowing
where up lies
and down is where you land
after a fall
an innate alignment

this is taken for granted
rooted in science
explained in mathematical proofs
printed in black
on volumes of white paper

but sink into the sea
take a breath
let go
the waves wash over
and you spin

suddenly all that gravity
matters not a bit
there is no up or down
there is only you
and the saltwater

Pamela Olson, 8/9/09

For One Single Impression's
prompt. "ocean"

I speak of stones
you of starlings
while the moon is held within
the branches of a sycamore

outside the window
the starlings roost
black feathers like a curtain
shut out the world

the hollow echo of the stone
dropped from my hand
into the waiting water
encircles the two of us

the rock of conversation
an uneasy fit of stone
on planed wood
we speak of the day gone by

the rustle of feathers
settle in our throats
gentling the memories
softening the end of this day

Pamela Olson, 8/2/09

For One Single Impression's
prompt:  "windows"