Father-Daughter Dancing 
she is fire-glow shine
of new-minted pennies…
morning playfulness
of two-month colts…
anger-lightning flashes
then repentant tears
upon his shoulder…
touchstone for her days
he sings baritone ballads
of Broadway show tunes…
with movie star good looks
he plays hero and mentor
for the dramas of her life.
Bonnie Marshall
Wilderness in Women
I’m old.
I can tell you this.
Women need wilderness
…especially when they’re young.
In wilderness they learn
not to trust old maps
but to swim across cold streams
when bridges are down.
In wilderness they hear honest sounds.
Nestlings greedy cries
for raw… sustaining flesh
are healthy calls…
not symptomatic weakness
like the noise of whining.
When they die…
women raised in wilderness
whisper remembered songs
or hum melodies to take them
from this world to the next.
Bonnie Marshall
Relativity Awareness
where wind sways grasses
on a Cape Cod beach…
and fiddler crabs
wave claws in sea-foam…
and piping plovers
pick at white sand…
a brown-gold spider
excretes a killing space
of silver filament
arachnid silk pattern spinner…
eight-legged creator
of elegant design…
synchronicity in motion…
just a small analogy
to computer linking
and tangles in the universe…
relativity awareness
Bonnie Marshall
Lydia at the Table
Lydia… street vendor…
patterns glass bead necklaces
into sparkling rainbows
on purple velvet cloth.
Her arthritic fingers
flutter above the jewelry
until symmetry is shaped.
She hardly glances
at a blur of passing strangers.
She seems reluctant
to notice people standing there.
In turn, they seem reluctant
to break her gauzy trance.
She appears the image of a wise diviner…
more like a sorceress at her trade.
If someone asks a question,
her gentle gesture
above the surface of the table
shows their answers will lie there.
Should someone break the necklace spell
and lift the jewels to catch the light
an expression almost painful
marks her grandma face.
Attached to each glittering strand
is a tiny lettered tag.
Occasionally shoppers simply glance
then overpay the price.
When she wraps a purchase
in purple tissue like a gift
some feel compelled
for reasons without words
to bless her silently.
Bonnie Marshall
After Rain
after rain
a freeze of snow
suspended time
flexi flyers
down…down
head first
feet first
no hands
speed devils
slicing metal edges
groomed tracks
zigzag the trees
howling
boy and girl
twelve years
swerving
banking
crashing
glittering snow plumes
race up the hill
snow fights
warriors hissing
white air
ice crystal balls
arched
smashed
jammed into coat collars
slipping down
slender necks
thin shoulder blades
sniffling noses
chapped cold lips
hasty kiss
spontaneous
stillness
shadows lengthen
time awareness
melting snow
return of rain
Bonnie Marshall
A few days ago Bonnie just took off…went hiking in the woods to compose herself. It seems that a fine writer, Michael Fedison at http://eyedancers.wordpress.com, nominated her for The Versatile Blogger Award * and that sent her…all very grateful…into one of her dithering tizzies. So while she’s gone I’ll pay it forward for her. She started a list of bloggers whose posts are so good that I’ve seen her look up from her computer to catch her breath and stare at the wall. She was clear about saying that if they didn’t already have a Versatile Blogger Award she hereby nominated them.
http://simonhlilly.wordpress.com http://themirrorobscura.wordpress.com http://seedbud.wordpress.com http://iggandfriends.wordpress.com http://twdittmer.wordpress.com http://ctwesting.wordpress.com http://sethsnap.wordpress.com http://lornastearoomdelights.wordpress.com http://anansithepoet.wordpress.com http://deliberatelydelicious.wordpress.com http://asifazunaidha.wordpress.com http://urbanwallart.wordpress.com http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com
About Bonnie…you may have noticed she’s afflicted with ellipsis. She tells me it’s where her poems breathe…where she voices a poem. Also about her, she’s mostly shy, although I can tell you that she’s right there in her poems…how she fell for the boy next door and that they raised strong children and all love each other. I can tell you she watches many of the same movies over and over again…all of James Goldman’s The Lion in Winter and Fred Zinnemann’s High Noon and Steve Gordon’s Arthur…and the last scene in Norman Jewison’s Moonstruck where the Castorini family sits around a breakfast table and…no….you watch it again…or better than that…watch it for the first time.
* Rules of the Versatile Blogger Award: Display the award on your site. Thank You and Link Back to the person who nominated you. State seven things about yourself. Nominate fifteen other bloggers for this award. Notify those fifteen bloggers.
spiritus
spiritus
the word breathes easily
fits in a sigh
in…out…
three syllables…or two…
spiritus
invisible as silent prayer
or… shout it in a canyon
and listen for the echo
spiritus
Bonnie Marshall
l
Found Out
Only way I could enter
was to duck under
the painter’s ladder.
I hesitated…unsure…
yet in a hurry.
“Yer, superstitious are ye…almost done.”
”I’ll wait.”
I knew in his profession
he’d met believers like me…
…like my Irish Grandma
who taught me tiny hexes
bewares and not-to-dos
involving hats on beds
counting magpies
combs on the ground
and scattered tea leaves.
I loved her.
Now I wear Old Country wisdom
as amulets and charms
invisible and secret
except on those occasions
when I’m found out
by painters on high ladders.
Bonnie Marshall
