They were solid-
sunlight and energy
wrapped up in liquid
until tiny flames
burning an orange
putting out fuel-
You visit me when the rains come.
Sliding in through the rising torrents
beating my windows, in the water
swirling around my ankles.
You can’t help yourself.
There’s something about crushing
waves that are a part of you which make
her eat sand
another’s eyes red from stinging salt water
one more her heart aching from being crashed into again and again.
Your wake leaves behind brown tide
lines with dirty foam, crushed shells,
sand dollars in pieces.
She stood— fingertips tracing the years clinging to her face as her heart fluttered memories of crimson passions now dormant under layers of white. Autumn had come and stripped everything away while winter blustered in with ice and freezing sleet. She felt the chill and pulled her mother’s warmth around her shoulders—a crocheted shield against the biting cold. What was next? She mused—thoughts tumbling about her mind like snowballs rolled carefully by the boys outside her window.
Could they feel it? The seasons slipping past, one by one, as winter melted into spring and spring blossomed into summer and summer gleamed into fall then it all began again.
Did they sense the awakening little by little or did they one day just wake up and everything was different, changed and they couldn’t go back no matter how much they wanted or tried? Elusive childhood as a bouncing red ball they had once caught and held now bumping its way into another child’s hands further up the road leaving behind whys, puzzlement, and questions. Adulthood pressing in and not waiting for an invitation—churning minds into dollar signs, the future, and seriousness. Concerns trying to crease young brows, yet unlined— still pink from an impromptu baseball scrimmage, damp from last summer’s lake water, and cooled by the dappled sunlight in tree forts. She stood—fingertips trailing the lace hem of her Sunday dress as age crinkled around her eyes and settled into laugh lines. She felt it all—and she wondered.
she once thought his face
brought her home to sun
speckled shadows that
cooled her and white-hot
blazes that burned within
one glance and her lungs
began drowning in moist
humidity gasping for
the slightest whisp of breeze
coming off the Atlantic
she looked away her home
wasn’t just stifling heat and
scorching sunshine it was
also diving into cerulean and
inhaling freshly cut emeralds
her home welcomed her
his face turned her out
her home comforted her
his face was vacant a
sign that read For Rent
© Pamela Rossow
Her arms gathered sunrises close
to her, luring in welcomed heat
and searing passions, crimson clouds
Her arms swept galaxies close
to her, drawing in crescent moons
and silver shadows, indigo skies
Her arms cajoled him move close
to me, beguiling with silken skin
and trailing fingers, entwined in
© Pamela Rossow
This poem was inspired by the photograph below of a person who happens to be an artist, dreamer, photographer, blogger, motivator and friend. Her self-photo has a golden quality to it and this poem is the result. Now check our her blog at Dangerous Linda. Go on, skeddadle.
she was not content to live in
as pearls do hidden
away until their luminescent
she was light so much so that
could not surround her
one flaxen glance and it blazed
she bathed in brilliance arms wide to
the ritual cascade golden rivulets of
honey and shining flecks of
she even dreamt in goldenrod while
of harvest trailed her heart’s flights
keeping the dark at
© Pamela Rossow