Category Archives: Poetry/Prose Mine

Pyrotechnics

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July 4th elements
ignited.

Black powder launched
sky high.

Fuses lit while flash powder
exploded.

Silent trails of raining
stars.

~Pamela Rossow

 

 

 

Photo by Tyler Lastovich on Unsplash

Lingüística

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Quieres
mas.

Necesito noche floreciendo
jazmín y
pelo de
sal marina y
palabras en mis
senos marcandome con
deseo.

~Pamela Rossow

 

 

 

 

Photo by Chua Bing Quan on Unsplash

 

Answers

You didn’t ask but you should know:

My eyes turn green after they rain.
I, too, have shadows.
I choose light.

My heart dives depths into feeling.
It, too, has scars.
I choose love.

My mind sparks neurons in intriguing convos.
It, too, has doubts.
I choose trust.

My soul craves freedom in belief.
It, too, feels abandonment.
I choose openness.

~Pamela Rossow

Flashover

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You weren’t diminutive in your  
sparking. Your flames lit matchsticks 
within me one by one.  
Each flare blazed  
uncontrolled. Charred scars and splinters  
ignited in my stratosphere. 
It was a pleasure to be burned.  
 
~Pamela Rossow 

Under Construction

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They breathed, moved, played, chewed on
knubby edged pencils while poring over
homework within the fractures.

The splinters rained down during
playdates or dinner time or when it was their
turn to load the dishwasher.

The little daggers wedged themselves into
afterschool club meetings and early releases.

They buried into forgotten PE clothes and
missing uniform belts and non-existent
jackets when the weather turned chilly.

Every he said or she said blah blah blah rooted into
easily penetrated epidermis and psyches.

Chainsaws and heavy machinery tearing,
ripping,
smashing,
flattening,
deafening.

Underestimated, ignored and ridiculed, yet
resurrection.

And hammers.
And skill saws.
And structure.

~Pam Rossow

Image by:
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

 

Wild

Photo Credit: The Carroll County Times, Chris Ammann
Photo Credit: The Carroll County Times, Chris Ammann

Hers, a heart wild with
abandon. Reckless – not.

Arms just wide enough to
embrace her Atlantic, legs
long enough to take in moon
silvered walks near waves
colored by night.

A neck sensitive enough to
know a mineral caress,
fingers eager enough to
siphon gritty warmth and hold
smooth treasures gifted by the sea.

Hers, a heart wild with
passion where ocean
blurs sky.

~Pamela

Sharks

Attribution: How to Draw Funny Cartoons http://www.how-to-draw-funny-cartoons.com/cartoon-shark.html
Photo credit: http://www.how-to-draw-funny-cartoons.com/cartoon-shark.html
Words, like knotted muscles,
tense. Wonder if you can feel the
letters jumbling together, backing
up in your throat.

What makes you think I towers
over me? A capital letter? Maybe
you forgot I have one, too. My
name starts with it.

Sounds, like maddened hornets,
rise. Do they sting as they leave
your mouth? Nah, not worried.
Got my antihistamine.

That cacophony, though. Man,
what noise – hard to hear over
pollution rushing through underground
sewers, levels rising.

You forget that my Atlantic is
bigger than your filth. Despite your
spills, it thrives. Creating life in abundance,
cancelling out shore lined trash.

Crashing waves drown out your my and
mine. Washing out to sea your selfish salt
tears and empty beer bottles, bobbing in
blue black riptides.

Treasures remain – handpicked shells with
sunset curves and fragile skeletons of small
creatures. Windblown hair of a tiny one and
a taller one. Even sharks lose their teeth.

~Pamela

The Keeper

What was it in his eyes? Not Monday, too sluggish. Not Tuesday, too fair. Wednesday? Maybe. Wait, Friday. Definitely Friday. An entire succession of Fridays with their infinite possibilities and wild freedom.

Better yet? Summer. Its hazy glint of blazing afternoons, burning stars, and galaxies ripped open wide in a nightly show replayed in his pupils for the world to take notice.

But did it? Did it slow its rushing and clawing and climbing and grasping to stop and look? I mean stare?

If it had, they would have seen, could have inhaled present. Clock hands turned, digital numbers flipped, even sunlight shifted. But his eyes . . . wet with oceans and the beams of a thousand lighthouses anchored.

~Pamela

Ash

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They were solid-
sunlight and energy
wrapped up in liquid
until tiny flames
became infernos.
Burning an orange
hot, frenzy.

Until steam
smothering vapors
put out fuel.
Silence then
ash. 

~Pamela

Unveiled

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A veil blotting out
even sun specks gripped
tight by your hands

going lax—faint glimmers
then blinding warmth
swimming before
my eyes.

I see and feel day
leaving behind night and
your shrouds.

~Pamela

Conflagration

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Her as oxidizer.

A crushing embrace
heated through.

Stoked by red hot embers
igniting an epic blaze, a light
up the sky bonfire —

eagerly licking up
fuel as greedy flames burned, singed.

Catalysts, flashpoint, then combustion.

When the heat simmered down, a white smoky
haze–aftermath still smoldering. He was
changed.

~Pamela

Growing

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Where did the time go?

From feet
little that pitter
patted to shoes that
gape and click.

From wake-ups
and monsters to scare to
looking up for hugs
bent down.

Where did the time go?

From loving huge
and huger still
cords fraying and
knowing well of the
hopes and dreams
ballooning.

Where did the time go?

Life’s shorter and heart’s
bigger to hold memories
warm from the sunshine
of your smiles

~Pamela

Tide Lines

red tide a

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.

~Pamela

Cerulean

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I drank you in—
swam in your
oceans
dove to your
depths
kicked to your
surface.

I inhaled cerulean—
tasted salt on my
tongue
embraced gritty
warmth
wrapped myself in a
crashing embrace.

You were
infinite—
until your finiteness.

~Pamela

Home

Google Image

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

In the Arms of Morpheus

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Her arms gathered sunrises close
to her, luring in welcomed heat
and searing passions, crimson clouds
and afterglow.

Her arms swept galaxies close
to her, drawing in crescent moons
and silver shadows, indigo skies
and Orion.

Her arms cajoled him move close
to me, beguiling with silken skin
and trailing fingers, entwined in
Morpheus.

Pamela A. Rossow

Ornament

ornament

An ornament upon
my tree you are-
not.

More like ice crystals
stinging and bitter cold,

a biting wind tearing
through a flimsy sweater,

jagged pieces of snow
globes broken, stabbing.

An ornament upon
my tree you are-
not.

© Pamela Rossow

Ode to Olive Oil

golden rivulets pool
glinting an autumnal
haze making it
difficult to see
anything but amber
apparitions

© Pamela Rossow

Ablaze

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.

Ablaze

she was not content to live in
shadow
as pearls do hidden
away until their luminescent
reveal

she was light so much so that
ordinary
could not surround her
one flaxen glance and it blazed
away

she bathed in brilliance arms wide to
embrace
the ritual cascade golden rivulets of
honey and shining flecks of
wheat

she even dreamt in goldenrod while
moons
of harvest trailed her heart’s flights
keeping the dark at
bay

© Pamela Rossow

Violet

you came to me in
autumn
violet flowers in
hand weeping
petals

Blue Black

What he couldn’t say in
words he said with his
lips, hovering over her heart
pounding out rhythms in
E C D E F E C.

He skimmed near closed
eyelids that dreamt in liquid blue-
he and she bathed in midnight,
feeling their way along pebbled shores,
staying far from the warmth and false
security of sandbars, away from the
blue black where they once treaded
ice water, going under when swells
broke over them.

He toyed near ears
open, waiting for
exhalations of loving
breath filled with abandon,
minus “ment.”

He searched her intently,
diving then coming up for
air, thinking he’d find the
solace he sought, believing
she secreted away his
talisman somewhere in her
deep curves and gentle
illumination, that she held an
amulet to heal his blue black.

He realized too late she did not
hide the magical powers he
sought to soothe him, to bind
the darkness that plagued
him, bruised him, tormented him.

He pulled away seeking, travelling
past the pebbled beach’s gleam and
sandbars warm till he caught a wave,
riding the blue black till he became no
more than a dark spot on the horizon.

© Pamela Rossow

Mirror

She reflects white-
bathed in glimpses of
her past, gleaming
gold flecks into
her present.

Precious illuminations-
sometimes darkened,
overcome by a
swirling haunting
mist.

© Pamela Rossow

Ecstasy

It’s my blogoversary. Just like anniversaries, it’s a time to celebrate and reflect. To my blogging friends, thank-you. To my muses, cheers.


She awoke with sun-
rise in her hair, fiery
highlights that stoked
passions and kindled
rapture.

She strolled with mid-
day on her skin, humid
breath that exhaled
damp infatuations and
desire.

She lay down with sun-
set in her eyes, coral
flares glinting twilight
that sparked fever and
ecstasy.

© Pamela Rossow

White Noise

she leaned into
listening-
wondering if the
faint sounds were
his hands smoothing
the pillows-
hauntings or
subconscious-
maybe it was just the
rustling of her gown
against the sheets-
she couldn’t sleep or
tremble away the
brush of the unknown

© Pamela Rossow

The Universe

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth . . .”
~Genesis 1:1 (Douay–Rheims Bible)

Could you see from
your celestial heavens
Earth’s axial tilt 23.44°?

Or did you write off the
slant as a slight shake of
the Creator’s wrist, a tremor?

Maybe it was the cosmic
dust so diffracting that
irritated your sight.

Anyway, you should
know that your galaxy is
gravitationally bound-

like the rest of ours. Along
with those stars and inter-
stellar clouds, “dark matter.”

Oh, and your constellation?
One of 88 dubbed “Emu in
the sky.” But it’s true.

Yes, we heard it-your
Big Bang. Really, we did.
Now, there’s just evolution.

© Pamela Rossow

Forget

his eyes
glass reflecting
vacant rooms once
occupied no dog barks
at passers-by from slatted
fences no hydrangeas spill over
borders onto sidewalks his stairway
doesn’t creak memories of silent visitors
treading paths long ago to and fro his attic
forgotten cluttered with shadowy recesses and
memories tucked away in ancient trunks with roses
crumbled given and received as love bloomed precious
lockets house faded photos once fingered by wrinkled hands

© Pamela Rossow

Paper Boat

“please, please,
pretty please,
just one?”

barely audible
a sigh, “just one”
fingers smoothed

© Pamela Rossow

 

Dreams

she dreamt in
whispers hushed
sonnets that lulled
her soul soothed
her spirit quilted
her heart

© Pamela Rossow

A Dip

she bathed in
romance dipping
her toes in serendipitous
bubbles that swelled emotions
as playful waters washing
over her swallowing
her in a soaked
embrace

© Pamela Rossow

 

 

Eclipse

It was not enough to be
drenched in your sun
showers, to have your
fingers trail moonlight
through my hair, for your
blazing lips to lock noon
heat between us.

I needed more than
galaxies between my
thighs, daybreak in
your smiles, starlight
in your eyes. I tasted
forever on your tongue,
heard always in your
heartbeat, outlined we
on your chest.

It was enough to be cast
in shadow, to have my
sundial blotted out by your
clouds, to see the negligible
pebbles in the hourglass, to
know the darkened cemetery
in your mouth was too much.

Pamela Rossow

The Swing

 

 

digging climbing her feet grazed pink cotton
candy dipped into aqua oceans she flew up
climbing high above “what’s for dinner”
and “due to insufficient funds” she
soared backward into squishy
lake bottoms netting bass
she breezed forward
past “invoices are
due”

then
she swooped
in reverse finding
herself planted firmly
in childhood green she knelt
down “ready, set, HIKE” toes
in the air again propelling towards
treetops skimming feet boisterous breath
not wanting magic memory motion to just stop

© Pamela Rossow

 

Dusk

evening fell
landing amid
fireflies and
moonbeams

© Pamela Rossow

Tête-à-Tête

 

Google Image

he kissed her
crushed rose
mary lèvres
drank of her
lemon balm
swilled her
mint tincture
awaited her
aromatic
sigh

© Pamela Rossow

 

 

Peonies and Pockets

she was all peonies and
candlelight how does
your garden grow with
twilight in her hair
flitting about in lace
her voice sterling tapping
crystal

she was all peonies and
candlelight how does
your garden grow with
twilight in her hair
blossoming about in rose
stained aprons lemons in
pockets

© Pamela Rossow

Anthology

 

her face was
a poem or many
maybe more like
prose nouns clung
to her eyelashes verbs
wet her lips articles tickled
her nose metaphors grazed her
neck exciting the stanzas lurking
behind her ears while off-rhymes
tangled themselves in her hair framing
what lay beneath her anthology’s surface

© Pamela Rossow

 

 

Burn

I watched a tiny
moth dive and dip
towards fluorescent
mercury its wings
illuminated by artificial
watts and wants enticed
teased coaxed by glaring
brightness only to burn

© Pamela A. Rossow

 

Lifelights

Life hits
hard I take
cover under
snowy blankets,
sailing cumulus,
fragrant evergreens,
and stained glass skylights.

© Pamela Rossow

Oneirologist

“The naive judgment of the dreamer on waking assumes that the dream – even if it does not come from another world – has at all events transported the dreamer into another world.”
The Interpretation of Dreams
~By Sigmund Freud

You tried to take away
my wish fulfillment. You
dissected it bit by bit until
it became broken into pieces
of quantitative analysis,
sterile bits of soul laid bare
upon your theoretical
frameworks.

I allowed you to strip me,
leaving my subconscious
naked, the entire time believing
in your precepts, trusting in
your self-professed science,
becoming a hypothetical
experiment.

How could you have known
anything of my candy colored
absurdities, my twilight bathed
inspirations, my laurel hopes, my
Amazon desires? You did not speak
my dream language. Your muteness
sliced my emotions with surgical
precision.

If only you had cared to know
something of my autumnal eyes,
my emerald amulet, my perpetual
shores, my beating waves, my cerulean
depths. You did not feel my swells.
Your resolute bias steeled
cool.

Pamela Rossow

All In

Google Image

she was all
in no cheating
no folding
she had to play
her hand win
or lose life was a
series of five cards
kings and deuces
she refused to quit
because there was
no repeat royal
flushes or full
houses she picked
up her cards and
waited for the flop
she was all
in no cheating
no folding

© Pamela Rossow

Anti-Gravity

                                                                                                             

 

green and gleaming it falls
tumbling from its leafy place
secreted away from grasping
hands and biting mouths
green and gleaming it falls
with every bounce a marring
bruise as downward it hurls
towards earth a final jarring
bump then rolling stop the
view from down to up is far
but not so distant that creamy
yellow blossoms go unnoticed
fragrant beauties yet untainted by
the ravages of avarice and voracity

© Pamela A. Rossow

Orion in Your Eyes


You came with Orion in
your eyes, sweeping me
into a brightly lit nebula.
My tears sprinkled among
your atmosphere, birthing
stars.

You came with warm breath,
exhaling oxidants. I, as fuel,
inhaled you, flaring heat and a
chain of exothermic reactions
CH4 + 2 O2 → CO2 + 2 H2O
+ energy.

You came with passion in
your lips, lingering, causing my skin to smolder while exciting electrons in a pure white frenzy of
eros.

Pamela A. Rossow

 

Source


Google Photograph

washing over me
and flooding my being a
welcomed liquid embrace
a cocoon enveloping my
eyes nose ears a blurring of
senses floating me crosscurrent
from the estuary to that spot of
freckled sunlight glinting off
limpid waters where leafy canopies
in mirrored reflections tease rippling
the place where You I first sprung

© Pamela Rossow

Deluge

Lately, I haven’t written much here. Not because words have eluded me but because life has been a deluge.

I have been umbrella-less, soaked, face upturned, eyes closed and experiencing a light drizzle matting down my hair. Other moments, being subjected to stinging, pelting torrents.

In between the tumultuous extremes, I have felt warmth breaking through the lumpy, gray clouds. The sensation of sunlight on my eyelids that have caused them to fly open.

When I have looked up through dampened lashes, I have glimpsed rainbows. Day after day after day. Not one or two or three, more like five or six. Extravagant jewels in the skies. At times, only a fragment of multi-colored hues, but rainbows just the same.

I have savored them, letting my gaze remain fixed on their transparent beauty. My emotions have soared amidst the slowly moving skyscape, flitting here and there, bathed in flecks of violet and indigo.

A sense of hope has permeated my spirit. There is no shaking it off, no angry skies that can blanket it, no lightening zig zags that can electrocute it.  Anticipation remains, expectant, receptive to whatever it is that is now concealed by a watery, dribbling mist.

~Pamela

Indian Summer

Indian summer blew by like
dandelions, nights filled with
a golden orb hanging low in the
shadowy sky, an inflated swollen
moon that whispered of waving
harvests and sun kissed grains.

Indian summer flew by like
birds’ migrations south through
chilled air and leaves turning
scarlet, sunglow, and burnt umber,
pumpkins ripening amidst tangled
vines twisting and turning.

© Pamela Rossow

Untucked

cold
skin prickling
shivers crawl up
arms traversing
a body in need
of warmth heat
generated from
being tucked

 © Pamela A. Rossow

 

Hedges

dense leafy
greens clamor
towards clouds
growing up and
out pruned boxes
turned labyrinth
mazes hiding truth
obstructing vision

 © Pamela A.  Rossow

Weeds

 

 

 

 

 

she preferred black tip
manicures memories of
misty rains sun soaked
afternoons time stopped
by a spade hands burrowing
feeling earth’s heartbeat

 © Pamela A. Rossow

Darlin’

Darlin’ his voice
600 grit sanded
her smooth.

One word polished
away the sharp
edges.

Pamela A. Rossow

Well-Done

No thanks, I’ll pass on
fresh bloody messes.

Too spent from dodging raw
chuck, sick of crimson
tinges, no more hot spots
and uneven roasting.

I want life with consistent convection,
less burning, lower temperatures
and end results that are well done.

© Pamela Rossow

30%

30% chance and
must spin wheel
of fortune goes
round slowing
stopping praying
there’s no c’s, n’s
or r’s _ _ _ _ _ _
no a’s or e’s too
just a bonus round
and solved puzzle

©Pamela Rossow

Wet on Wet

 

past future present
jumbled sketches
like watercolors
blurred by rain
pelting the paper

life’s brushstrokes of
blue red yellow blended
muddied translucent
then dots of pure
pigment spotted

muted highlights that
create textured
perspective and scale
not without value
and positive space

 © Pamela Rossow

Cobwebs

  

I brush delicate
wisps of silk from
my face gossamer
threads clinging to my
fingers exquisite strands
entwining themselves
around my thoughts
refusing to relinquish
their glistening hold

 © Pamela Rossow

RED

 

drums pounds
thrums chest
palpitates passion
life’s downbeat
and syncopates
impulsive
       fibrillation        

© Pamela Rossow

 

NPD

 

 

 

 

 

Then-
(you, “The Universe,” thought) 

That-
my intellect-
cerebrated
you

my lips-
explored
you

my heart-
thrummed
you 

my arms-
catered
you

my hands-
stroked
you

my legs-
received
you

my breath-
inhaled
you

Now-
(you, “The Universe,” know better)

And-
(she will know too)

 © Pamela A. Rossow

Jazz

your first ancestors
had geographic ridges
purple-blue crisscrosses
once slashed gaping open
crimson that mouthed
“wade in the water chillan” 

you called people
responded the blues
bent in depressed
trances third fifth and
seventh like pancakes
flattened by a spatula

you ragged people
shagged under red
lights to a syncopated
rhythm AABBACCC no
more cakewalks just sexy
marches and falling Maple Leaves 

© Pamela A. Rossow

 

 

Spring

  

 Spring

running through fields of
wild flowers fragrant
air plays tag I’m it

perfumed breath-
less near my nape
I have not neglected

the bronze sun on my
face the verdant blanket
underfoot to collapse upon

the secrets you have kept
a first kiss blossoming on a
young girl’s lips stained

with romance she will not
forget that embrace
under your azure skies

© Pamela A. Rossow

 

Atomic Self

he a nuclear
fission exploding
uranium 235
shockwaves
traveling to his
core compressing
then the blast
self’s death
and burning
disintegration

© Pamela Rossow

Pitch

staccato notes swirl
round two hiding
between bar lines
attempting a grand
staff she a trembling
treble he a bold bass
together no rests just
a half note plus a half note
trying to make a whole

© Pamela Rossow

To Be

the forest spoke to

her hushed voices

murmuring of frigid

cascades and still

blue-green pools

the forest spoke to

her beckoning voices

enticing her to repose

upon fragrant blankets

of pine needles

the forest spoke to

her enchanting voices

entreating her to peel

away papery bark

and just be

© Pamela Rossow

Death

 

 

 

 

I sit living

breathing oxygen

deep into sinewy

recesses.

You sit dying

choking on

carbon dioxide

clouds.

I feel

heavy because

of your shortened

fuse.

You feel

shaky wobbly

raspy not yet

ready.

I sit living

as the irreverent

snuffer puts out your

light.

© Pamela A.  Rossow

Percolator

 

 

 

 

I percolate

bubbling

up over

out for

you.

Pamela A. Rossow

Shades

 

 

 

 

he never took them

off glare reduction

his protection from

a white light that

made him squint

almost blinded him

yet he was able to

hide (at least that’s

what he thought)

a shield from the

burning bush that

tried to arrest his

attention away from

narcissistic greed and

hatred that stabbed

twisting itself into a

femoral artery crimson

self-infliction pooling

he never took them

off glare reduction

his protection from

a white light that

made him squint

almost blinded him

yet he was able to

hide (at least that’s

what he thought)

Pamela A. Rossow

 

Loving Legacy

sometimes tucked
arms entwined hers
looped through his
crook a lady and
gentleman sauntered

other moments
gentle hands held
her right his left a
living bridge built
spanning 64 years

once in a while her
shoulder brushed his
while they traipsed
side by side a secure
distance between them

always for richer or
poorer in good times or
bad sickness or health
loved and cherished not
even in death did they part

~Pamela



Portfolio

she was liquid convertible
bought then sold “securities”
a word not recognized in
her metaphysical vocabulary

terms tossed about like
paper airplanes aimed here
there nose diving into sharp
dips and crumpled equities

result of losses maybe wobbles
in her investor’s confidence or
possibly sheer panic either way
equilibrium shoved off kilter

she was left to question her
worth she realized she was an
asset her price immeasurable
by Wall Street’s standards

he was hit hard when he traded
stock privatized that plummeted
her market value though
rose to astronomical heights

~Pamela 

Home

bases loaded two outs
on deck switch hitter
swinging the air seasoned
with spicy yellow mustard
and tangy sauerkraut
clay disturbed rising as
cleats ready themselves
hamstrings taut calves
tensed oxygen gulped
next up pawing then the
pitch cracking contact ball
sprouts wings flies out of the
park crowd kinetic screaming
energy he runs rounding
bases 1st 2nd 3rd home

Pamela A. Rossow

Graham

 

 

 

 

 

crucifix gleamed round your

neck spoke without words of

pain wounds that couldn’t be

loved away

you knew what it felt like to be

lanced cut hurt you smiled and

suffered that couldn’t be

taken away

stitched together you were an

exploding fast ball let loose to

test life’s velocity until you were

taken away

crucifix gleams round my

neck speaks without words of

pain memories that can’t be

loved away

Pamela A. Rossow



Mr. E.F. Duncan, Owner Duncan’s Toy Chest: Well, two Turtle Doves. I’ll tell you what you do: you keep one, and you give the other one to a very special person. You see, Turtle Doves are a symbol of friendship and love. And as long as each of you has your Turtle Dove, you’ll be friends forever.
Kevin McCallister: Wow. I never knew that. I thought they were just part of a song.
Mr. E.F. Duncan, Owner Duncan’s Toy Chest: They are. And for that very special reason.

(Quote from Home Alone 2)

 

Poetry Challenge ‘American Gothic’

Poetry Challenge ‘American Gothic’

(This poem is written in response to Lynda’s poetry challenge over at Bookstains, one of two sites she runs. The painting, which many of you probably recognise, is by Grant Wood. Lynda asked people to interpret the painting anyway they wished and to write a poem on their ideas. I kidnapped this idea from Jessica’s Japes.  So, here’s mine!)


 

forget Mary and

your four kids

keep staring at her

perky milk bottles I

swear I’ll find a

new use for that

pitchfork


 

Pamela A. Rossow

 

 

 

Goals

 

 

Need to be
kicked in
thrown in
slammed in
dunked in
hit in
long as they
make it
in.

Pamela A. Rossow

Shared at the Thursday Poets Rally (Week 38).

I was nominated for the Perfect Poet Award. I honor it, thank Jingle, and nominate Danroberson for this week.

Mash Up

Words-

slippery
heartfelt
coy
dissonant
confident
sordid
distant
forgiving
misleading
hopeful
shallow
fertile
lacking
coarse
sincere
malicious
dear
hurtful
pregnant
vulgar
sweet
cultured
barbaric
merciful
forbidding
gracious

Rhetoric-

Pamela A. Rossow

Electrocution

 

 

 

 

he decided against the

gallows there was no

water in his soul so

drowning was out

he buzzed with electric

energy lightening bolts

fought it out on his face

frown smile smile frown

his fingers unwittingly

zapped those he touched

searing burns white-hot

sizzle his perfect ending

Pamela A. Rossow

Pergola


she stood embellished a
checkerboard of hot
light and cool shadows
crisscrossing her face
she stood allowed coy
breezes to swish her
honey blonde bangs
framing her face
she stood enchanted  by
South American vines
clamoring to adorn her
magenta blazon soul

Pamela A. Rossow

To Wear Rainbows Again

She longed to be
clothed in rainbows –
stained in perfect
hues of red, orange,
purple, yellow, indigo,
green, and violet.

Soaked in dripping shades of
fulfilled promises and
unwavering trust.

She yearned to be
drenched in joy –
illuminated in the perfect
light of glass mosaics.

Emerald, amber, violet,
Egyptian blue, ruby, and glowing
in incense colors of
answered prayers and
unshakeable faith.

She needed to be
held in love –
clasped in perfect
arms of the one with
fire, water, wind.

Soothed in the
embrace of
eternal solace and
rekindled hope.

© Pamela Rossow

Tarte Au Citron

cool sterling twirled
between his fingers
before plunging once
twice three times

deliberate diving into
sunlit groves coming
up for air chewing zest
that colored his teeth

yellow he paused inhaled
life’s fragrance savored
her plummeting again into
crème Chantilly whipped

perfection dark vanilla
dreams melting on his
tongue while he mused a
tender butter crust

Pamela A. Rossow

Arresting Shadows

she stands swept
hair whipping her
face a moon sliver
glinting off the black
blue waves faint night
light reflected in her
eyes just enough
illumination to arrest
shadows kindle a
spark for tomorrow

©   Pamela A. Rossow


Valentine

Mutilated,
pillaged,
pulverized,
you say?
I beg to differ.
Only gently fingered.
At worst, maybe-
slightly dented.
It’s surely not my fault
the box lacked the little, white slip
that’s supposed to accompany them.
It’s not like they’re all smushed-
just the ones that taste like drunken pina coladas,
tangy, orange creamsicles,
and tart, cherry cordials.
Only two, creamy caramels in the bunch,
can you believe it?
Have some, really-
I don’t mind.
Take them to work then.
Throw them where?
Suit yourself.

© Pamela A. Rossow

Blog

 

 

 

 

I subscribe to you

your RSS feed

emotions hopes

fears dreams spilled

pressed networked

on-line a way to

glimpse bits of

soul keyboarded

into existence

I subscribe to you

your RSS feed

capturing pieces of

raw unedited you

Pamela A. Rossow

Sauntering

feathery greens and hushed
silence greet me expectant
like shushing in the dark
before the flicked light switch
everyone jumping out and
yelling surprise I pause feet
bare padding layer upon
layer upon layer of prickly
needles piney fragrance

perfuming each step I waver
a tree scarred fallen heart-
wood exposed concentric
rings marking early or late
I stand wondering if I missed
the party altogether and peer
closely trying to read the
fir’s aged palm

Pamela Rossow

GPS

you
managed to fall
off the grid despite the
constellation of satellites
orbiting the earth 24 to
be precise

you
outwitted the radio
signals and triangulation
transmitting calculations
pinpointing exact
locations

your
escape a troposphere
delay or signal multipath
maybe a receiver clock
error no way intentional
degradation

me
a casualty of prior Selective
Availability most likely
in denial assuming there’s
a legit reason for your
exit

© Pamela A. Rossow

Potenza

you survived earth’s knee
quaking seismicity over and
over again shaking tremors
shuddered scared ground

blood pooled because of
futile resistance to greedy
boogiemen who subjugated and
humiliated–damn colonizers

you rose above it 2,687 feet under
St. Gerard’s watchful eyes like amulets
sea breeze perfumed comune peering
over the Basento river valley

my ancestors inhaled here made
love here cradled generations here
worked cried died here

all I hold are some color splashed
travel brochures that say your food
is rustic your pottery traditional
your cashmere beautiful

we have yet to meet but when we do
I will love you, wear you, live you

Pamela A. Rossow

Drizzle

dampening my
bangs patting
down my pony
tail assuaging
wet on my
neck tiny droplets
rolling off my
arms each one a
masseuse for my
throbbing soul

Pamela A. Rossow


Flirt

 

 

 

 

 

suggestive with-
out amore casual
advances and
superficial intent
no breach of social
norms mere dallying
with a major
organ

Pamela Rossow

STOP

 

commanding white

letters atop a fire

engine red blazing

polygon

six edges to fall

off six vertices to

climb an alert often

stolen

vandalized by those

who give the finger

to perceived lost

momentum

a sign implying mobility

reminder of imminent

intersections and giving

way

to those in motion a

symbol when ignored may

lead to dangerous

assumptions

Pamela A. Rossow

折り紙

delicate paper not cuts
glue or tears simply folds
tucks creases an adorer’s
fingers shaping fragile
symbols of  devotion

Pamela  Rossow


Profanity

your smooth rough
hands profaned
me your diminutive
appetite a heresy
flaring only on rare
occasions sacrilegious
eyes Jack Daniels
lit greedy for ten
minute dampened
fireworks

Chrysanthemums

bronze beauty looking

for full sun and enriched

compost prefers zones

3-9 reputedly hardy

dislikes overcrowding and

street lights seeks similar

cultivar to share soil

Pamela A. Rossow


(ha-ha can’t help myself they are my favorite flowers!)

The Pool

a spiritual sin some say
sincerity creasing their
knowledgeable foreheads
crucifixes clasped rosaries
clutched

they don’t realize it’s
more of a slip like bare
feet on damp moss a
loss of footing a gentle
off  kiltering

weeble wobbling over the
edge a dip or a dive it’s
pretty much the same when
one treads water in the
pool of despair

a spiritual bath I say
sincerity creasing my
unknowledgeable forehead
fingers clasped heart
clutched

© Pamela A. Rossow

Nikes

 

 

his soles ran many miles
wherever the Westerlies
blew across soft earth
skidding gravel rough
asphalt he was losing
traction treads worn
laces frayed in need of a
park bench a tree stump
a rock anywhere his shoes
could pause rest be still
yet his sneakers had a
mind of their own so
onward they sprinted

© Pamela A. Rossow


Mary Read

she was of plain constitution
plainness masked by strength
and determination bold blunt
as a bloodied two-edged sword
overused in battle conduct
steered by virtue but stained by
the dishonor of her chosen
profession she sailed calm
turquoise waters other times
fought black-blue waves
unstoppable on a quest
her principles would not let
her abandon her treasure pulse
core she strove to find what
was estranged from her
only weakness was her
susceptibility to violent
affection she reasoned her life of
danger on the high seas
was akin to melting emotion
she carried on scanning the
windswept waves for that
object she must steal back

© Pamela A. Rossow


2011

 

 

new year swaddled
pacifier near bottle
warming soft
lullaby hummed

Pamela Rossow

Qi

 

 

 

 

 

steam rises from

cooking rice I inhale

life breath sustaining

energy quiets calms

my chattering mind

moving meditations

fluid motions like

trailing finger tips

through water

pooling tranquility

harmony spiritual

rest

Pamela A. Rossow

Pillows

 

 

 

 

today my kind of

soflo sky hundreds

maybe thousands of

Calvin Klein down

alternative pillows

tossed everywhere on

an azure canvas if only

I could reach up and

grab one okay

a few

Tri Hita Karana

black coral cliffs Pura Luhur Uluwatu

silhouetted seaside against fiery sun

sets  Parhyangan harmony

in motion human to

god

hands conduct the good thing

lips speak the good thing

minds think the good thing

Tri Kaya Parisuda human to

human

earth offering thankfulness

embraces bark branched

arms returns gifts of prosperity

Pelemahan human to

land

Pamela A. Rossow

Pianoforte

she was a pianoforte a
temperament of stringed
tension piano wires and
sympathetic vibrations
originally adjusted to a
fixed pitch she now needed
her intervals aligned her
frequencies modified she
made up for her inharmonicities
with versatility and ubiquity this
way she could maintain a
level plane while
situated on a slope 

©   Pamela A. Rossow


Herbes de Provence

her garden a secret get-a-
way arched trellis to dreams

that came near dawn
silky grasses that caressed

her legs shadowed by towering
seed laden globes golden

drooping under the weight of
mammoth heads flowers that

made her feel small and protected
rich black earth cooled her feet

squished between toes and connected
her to her mother her earth

purplish lavender calming fragrance
the color of sunrise-washed early

morns tinged with twilight blue
savory then fennel with its licorice

sweetness basil her presence
intoxicating clothed in kelly green

thyme can never have too much its fresh
sprigs and tiny leaves awaiting plucking

to be sprinkled over every steaming dish
nights she spent here under a pale

glowing face watching silently as she
slept inhaling perfumed orange blossoms

©  Pamela Rossow

High Voltage

you me an original
GFI less Vidal Sassoon
plunged into a filled claw
foot tub hot wires no tripped
circuits just voltaic juiced
electricity intensity
measured in amperes
possible lethal malfunctions
yet chances taken because
resistors fail when up
against passionate inductors

Pamela A. Rossow

Monsoon

winds reversed
affected by seasons
I’m blown along
the all too familiar
precipitation and
pounding deluges
punctuated by
scorching desert
dryness
sea breezes?
hell no yes to
intense turbulence
drought once
more I’m seared
parched and thirsty

© Pamela A. Rossow

The Memory

he held it in his hands a box a
present like nothing he ever
saw before the packaging was
different translucent radiant
he wasn’t sure how to handle it
what was the best way to open
it what to do with it he set it
down and  pondered  it no
letter no tag no idea who it
was from for a split second
a  frown flitted across his face
couldn’t be too long ago he
grabbed the satin bow and yanked
it entwined about his fingers
a seam in the mysterious glowing
paper he tore into it impatient
hands parted crumpled tissue
a gasp sheer surprise when he saw
what lay amidst the disarray he
lowered his head in his hands and
he cried

Pamela A. Rossow

Butterweed

she stood a child amidst
waving grasses a cupped
butterweed flower in her
hands slowly she closed
her eyes letting the
azure mist of the skies
drench her soul gently
she began to pluck each
petal a flaxen butterfly
fluttering to the ground
descending in a graceful
dance he loves me he
loves me not he loves
me he loves me. . .
she paused eyes
closed

Pamela A. Rossow

I Met You in My Dreams

I met you in my dreams
teen REM illumined by
moonlight tinged with silver
you came
I was caught up in your
country boy feel lulled into an
Alabama song slow
dancing close
no dizzying merengue my hair
swept up in a ponytail
flannel and worn jeans
pretense none
the feel of smooth pine
underfoot and your saddle
leather scent mixed with NC
creek waterfalls your eyes
cascading over 
me your
voice a deep rumbling

brook words tumbling about in
your shyness
I met you in my dreams
teen REM illumined by
moonlight tinged with silver
you came

©  Pamela A. Rossow

Bench in a Park at Night

splintered wood smoothed by
numerous visitors seat for a
watcher who rests under
night’s velvet throw
round waning gibbous
glows above shadowy
water unfolding as metallic
waves lick the shore
harmonious order murmurs
serenity aligns my universe
pervades thoughts quiets
the humming of my mind

Pamela A. Rossow

Venom

your highly specialized teeth do
not scare me you nor your hollow
fangs the result of convergent
evolution

while not out of your
strike zone I am immune to your
envenomation cold blooded
slitherer

no prey immobilization here
just self-defense your ecosystem is
not healthy your predatory skills
lacking

your clothing scales forced to burrow
no match for a competitive carnivore
your colors bright do not fool
me

© Pamela Rossow

Christmas Mourning

a father stands gravely
still waiting for his son to
return at last his last good-
bye

a sea of blue stands gravely
still waiting for his son to
return at last the last good-
bye

a country stands gravely
still waiting for her loved ones to
return at last praying there’s no
last good-
bye

Pamela  Rossow


Rain

atmospheric condensation
falling liquid precipitation
running down my face making it
hard to see coalescence and
cumulonimbus banding
blurring

Pamela A. Rossow

Tides

you are movement always
changing torn by gravitation’s
effects moon earth sun
time scales years or hours fluctuate
forceful oscillating currents that
reverse or cease
underwater bathymetry and
coastlines tease play with you
yet you remain mostly untapped
energy unable to be harnessed your
strength not bridled I ride you
nights bathed in silver light
swept along by your haste your
determination galactic vigor set in
motion I am unable to resist
my nautical charts dampened
unreadable I succumb to your ebb
flow and biological rhythms

© Pamela A. Rossow



Letter of Marque


You stand gripping your
letter of marque yellowed

waving Congress stamped
close to me too near me.  Your
mahogany eyes telling me you have the
right to take from me what is mine
what was mine. 

Only papers are
needed legitimate piracy you
utter legs planted arms crossed
gaze firm unwavering
close to me too near me.   The
plank shudders.   Diverted eyes I
raise. 

How am I to get back what
you stole from me?  The beating
pulsing piece of me that pumps
crimson through my channels and
life through my waterways?  A split
second your tawny eyes flicker.  Concern or
pity? I cannot tell.   

 Your stance remains
unreadable.  Emboldened I ask once
more.  The plank bounces.  How am I to
get back what you stole from me?  You stand
close to me too near me.  You
stare silently into my
sunglow eyes.  

 ~Pamela 

Off

the t.v. glares in colors and

shapes quick flashes getting

louder LOUDER hit mute then a

silent parade of split second

buy me’s need me’s must have

me’s smiling and cajoling with their

electronic teasing click sleep

count down 40 30 20 10

blackness

Pamela A. Rossow

Special Relativity

you in the North Pole
I in the South charged
particles moving in and
out velocity dependent
dipoles connected creating
force and special relations
mixtures of interlocking
electricity + magnetism
F=q(v+B) no monopoles
here just quantum-mechanical
phenomena magnetic flux
and possible permeability

Pamela A. Rossow

Hunger Moon

 

 

 

 

a slender hand grazes the

pale moon trembling in

liquid ripples a single

twirling touch caresses a

glinting reflection

dusky waves illumined by

nature’s night light

love’s luminescence

stroked by an adorer

gestures of perpetual

affection

Pamela A. Rossow

Evolution

I sat up all night waiting for
you-
somewhere between one
billion to ten billion years.

 
You-
a red supergiant with your
tightly bound, iron nuclei,
dense stellar winds,
contracting core.

 
I sat up all night waiting for
you-
somewhere between one
billion to ten billion years.

 
You-
and your increased surface
temperature smoldering
within me, your fused elements
consuming my energy.

 
I sat up all night waiting for
you-
somewhere between one
billion to ten billion years.

 
You-
and your shockwave, instead, you
collapsed from within exploding into a
supernova flashing bright then
fading into blackness.

 
I sat up all night waiting for
you-
somewhere between one
billion to ten billion years.

 
You-
and your magnetic field a
dynamo, yet, your stellar flares
dimmed, your rotation slowed, your
luminosity fluxed, and I slept.

© Pamela A. Rossow

Erosion

thankless moments as crystal

dew drops slip one by one

down green veined leaves

falling cascading while

past like black loam

clouds these pools of present

tumultuous deluges pummel

tiny rivulets turning them into

brooks that swell rush the

future hurry time billowing

currents unaware of piffling

trickles the forgotten source

Pamela A. Rossow

Palmolive Days

Palmolive days spent
reminiscing amidst
sudsy yellow bubbles
lemony scent wafting
childhood into adulthood as
sunshine tiles gleam under
bare feet the view from my
Nonnie’s white porcelain sink
blue green some days a misty
gray always beautiful salty
grainy life a tea cup
awaiting the faucet a saucer
sunken anticipating the
sponge immersed in citrus to
cleanse away  grime

Pamela A. Rossow

Mountain Spirit

specter mist blurs
obscure summits
evergreen quilt
tossed over steep
slopes comforts
Rockies’ soul
aqua ripples shatter
azure glass  leaving
mirrored slivers
ethereal encounter
despite prickly
branches  icy
pools

Pamela Rossow

What Is

 

 

 

 

To encompass and

to see had

leaped upon him to

stay.  It was a special

pleasure to see things

stretched out,

eaten.  It was a

pleasure and would

not run away

now. Which, like an

iris of an even more

gigantic eye, stared

back at him. Things

opened and he knew

what is

was just the world

changed.  To burn

everything,

everything

he thought.

I’m alive

also

blackened.

Pamela A. Rossow

Tattoos

 

That’s how I roll
Home. Spoon-
ing cream of chicken over
Sweet Toma-
toes barefoot. Fort
Piercing castle
walls.
Sun rise, Ray-
Bans liver and peas.  On-
line bank account
and letters
stamped upside
down, side-
ways to the right.
Jetta course marking
miles, yesterday-
today, tomorrow.
Dolphins, salty air, c-
weed.  Moon rise, life guard
stand or love’s
seat.
Pamelarossow@yahoo.com
peppered with
772. Dork in sun
dress whacking golf
balls steering
cart off
course.
July Bourne-nursing
Qatar, Albuquerque,
Afghanistan.
NM anchoring hot
air balloon fire
works to one boy’s
soul.
Boxers smiling high
and tight.
Sweetest
Thing making
fajitas singing-
country, cabins in
fall.
Hawaiian Tropical
nights, crimson
roses, Ferrero
Roche making It’s
A Wonderful Life.  Lime
wiring me to rolled tooth
paste tubes.
Gargettos far from
Bland-
ing spicing up summer
heat, igniting
passion, burning remember-
ances, blue and
black.

Pamela A. Rossow

Euphotic Zone

full frontal no sidelong
peep or half obscured
glance that strains my
eyes want you close
centered no mirrored
reflection or portrait on
the wall just a clear
view bold strong
blue my eyes
riveted won’t turn
away futile to resist
you finger my
soul call me I will
come and never
leave your salty embrace

         ©  Pamela A. Rossow

Dry Ice

bleak winter days take it out of the
freezer lay it on the counter to
thaw icicled moment frostbitten
tucked away years ago behind Green
Giant sweet peas and vacuum
sealed chicken breasts a memory frozen
solid melting pooling tiny rivulets
dripping onto tiled floor a remembrance
room temperature growing hotter
reach out touch feel its warmth the
grainy velvet beneath entwined feet
late afternoon fading sunlight
splintering rough blistered boards
salty air cooling orange creamsicle
sun slipping down on her black-blue
bed sea’s musings reaching for
her shore gentle music soothing two
needy engulfed in a white mineral laced
embrace repelling shadows flitting
flirting near lovers spotted out in opaque
depths far from turquoise shallows
discreet distance nestles between
hands no longer touching not groping
scorched pull back grab aluminum
foil oven mitts wrap it toss
it back into the frigid depths

© Pamela Rossow