creature after creature
loses its home
or goes extinct
earth herself
thanks to us
is on the brink
man-made
in the end doesn’t
mean what we think
man-made
means the same as
man destroyed —
WE are the weak link.
—Terri Guillemets
creature after creature
loses its home
or goes extinct
earth herself
thanks to us
is on the brink
man-made
in the end doesn’t
mean what we think
man-made
means the same as
man destroyed —
WE are the weak link.
—Terri Guillemets
Watering the hibiscus
this afternoon —
its weary
parched-green leaves
wilting
in this too-early April heat —
I saw a gecko
who
climbed up the side
of the splintering planter box.
My first split-second
thought —
Alice Walker’s garden gecko.
Crouching,
perfectly still —
the both of us —
I stared at it
and took in
the wonder
of it all.
It didn’t move —
was it asking
for some water?
This bliss,
it was my Paradise.
Gray, rough-coated
nature —
staring right back at me
a foot from my face.
Slowly I moved the hose
just an inch in its direction.
Walker — I’d already
named it Walker —
disappeared so fast
I didn’t even see
it go.
I wish it would’ve stayed.
I had water to give
and troubles
to wash clean.
—Terri Guillemets
referencing Alice Walker’s 2011 poem “Going Out to the Garden,” in The World Will Follow Joy: Turning Madness Into Flowers, 2013 — alicewalkersgarden.com/2013/05/poem-going-out-to-the-garden
green & light shimmering
dancing in the sunlight
little red fuzzy flames
burn quietly in the breeze
mottled blue patches
of serene springtime sky
blaze beautifully behind
a lively bejeweled scene
medallions of shade and color
twinkle in the afternoon
a mama hummingbird hovers
with wings so fast, silence
is no longer golden — she is
the sounds of the winds
overtake my soul and
carry it far off into the skies
—Terri Guillemets
trapped in a bottle
thrown out to sea
trapped in a bottle
my wishes are three
trapped in a bottle
that’s drunken me
trapped in a bottle
emotions stormy
trapped in a bottle
flashing brightly
—Terri Guillemets
driving over hills
no air in the car
cornfields and traintracks
no air in the car
whenever i breathe
it’s outside myself
i’m dizzy and empty
no air in the car
the music is wind-borne
the windows are closed
the hills are too high
my destination’s behind
but still i keep going
my air is outside
—Terri Guillemets
Have you ever seen anything more beautiful
than a heavy dark-silver cloud
taking up half the sky
ready to lavish the gift of rain
unto the waiting earth —
than huge wandering clouds
marbled in every subtle shade of gray
bordered with light and hope
shifting and swirling every moment
in a slow dance with the winds?
Have you ever felt anything as beautiful
as the breeze on your face
or that first, fat raindrop
that falls on your head —
as the sun caressing every inch of your flesh
warming and calming you to the core?
Have you ever heard anything more beautiful
than the wind in the palms, the pines,
the cottonwood leaves and tall green trees —
than the sound of merry birds singing
or water trickling through a forest creek —
than soul-shaking booming thunder
filling the width and depth and height
saturating with stunning sound
the infinite and electrified sky?
Have you ever tasted anything as beautiful
as pure, clear, cool water
the essence of earth and life
the most refreshing, primal elixir
a quenching, flowing vitality
the distinct taste in each satisfying sip
of both nothing and everything —
or the raw power of the earth
in the layers of an onion
the fresh energy of vibrant greens —
or the sweetness of the earth
in a dense crunchy colorful carrot
or a perfectly ripe juicy berry
staining your taste buds
and delighting your soul?
Have you ever smelled anything so beautiful
as orange blossoms in the nighttime air
with a perfume more intoxicating
than any other seduction —
as a rejuvenating and serene pine forest
with a thick carpet of aromatic green needles
or the dust-earth smell before the rain comes —
as salty, nourishing scents of the nearby ocean
or invigorating crisp clean air of the mountains
breathing so close to the fresh, free, blue sky —
as the warm, exciting aroma of springtime
giddy and green, flowery and pristine?
—Terri Guillemets
moonlit winter trees
bare branches paint gray shadows
ghostly risen roots
—Terri Guillemets
I am searching for my feelings
through shelves of dusty books
can’t help but feel I’ve left them
in some forgotten ancient nooks
as if an author long before me
captured my emotions in his day
and saved them in fine poetry
for future me to find someway
—Terri Guillemets
once you’ve forgiven yourself
do not un-forgive yourself on
each anniversary of the guilt
—Terri Guillemets
the blur of yellow, orange, red leaves
the blur of gray hair
the blur of occupied hours
the blur of dying dreams
—Terri Guillemets
I wanted to write
a book of poetry
but it’s already written;
those poems —
red, throbbing, beating —
are just trying to
make their way
to the paper
—Terri Guillemets
Time is as Sand
Flesh is as glass
Sand quick is Run
Life soon doth pass.
—Author Unknown—
public domain image, undated
source: wellcomecollection.org
The only thing I want
a subscription to
is the winter chill and
an evening view of Venus
and those are totally free!
The only thing I want
to pop up in my face
is a beautiful flower
in springtime bloom
and that, by the way
never gets in my way.
I just want to read a recipe
not look at a baker’s dozen
hyperenormous photographs
and read a culinary novel
so now please can I cook?
I don’t need to know
the fifteen best this
or 36 surprising thats
it’s free (with purchase)
but hurry, only 2 left!
Bah, no thanks. Is there
an app to make it all stop?
I’m not made of attention
time nor clicks nor money
so I am logging myself off
from the world to walk to
the grassy park with a book
and enjoy a nice simple day.
—Terri Guillemets