Sketchbook  Trish Shields, CA

 

 

Free Verse West Coast Winter Storms January came creeping into the year, a lion amongst the sheep - trees dropped with endless storms, while we dreamt of green     Snowbirds Gone South the year begins with jays and crows at war; feeders stand empty in the cold air. the old couple moved into a home, their youth forgotten.

 

 

Haiku a solstice moon highlights a pair of swans a shared glass of wine

 

 

Free Verse looking to the future standing just so my image frowning back at me hands round breasts now old flutter over ribs half seen turning to the side my reflection shimmers maternity days gone I cup a belly empty of purpose remembering the weight that used to lie there not a stone but a blossom, wondering when such love will grow in the flat bellies of my fashion conscious on the cusp of trend wide-eyed daughters? later my youngest asks when I'd planned on being a parent I smile, thinking of that day when I wrote out her sister's name— I was nine this last child, curious like me picks out a few names and smiles looking to the future

 

 

Cinquain Trish Shields, CA winter deity a truck sits in the lot, it's box filled with alpine snow, fresh and clean; a snowman sits there now, fashioned by a child's hands, small and warm, sweet and sure— moulding each bit until finished at last. snowmen stand in a field by our house, some melted lumps mourned each day when the sun comes to play others, newly formed stand tall, pristine, defiant— small hands tend each blemish after sundown but still there are days when those hands are elsewhere, her work as a deity on hold— nap-time

 

 

Free Verse tummy button fluff fog hangs in the harbour cloaking everything muffling sound and light it hangs inches above the sea water grey in reflection or fog reflecting grey waters I imagine dense viscosity friction building between elements a crackle that builds unseen woven amongst the fog rippling, bending, creating a vortex so that once the fog's density disperses, even momentarily a jolt of energy vanquishes clouds leaving a clear sky and the acrid aftertaste of ozone ying in the sea what would my reflection be with grey lapping ozone sapping would the clear sky welcome me?     late night pubbing: dancing can be dangerous loud raucous noise passing for music jars even back teeth bodies sweaty, undulating to a different beat pulsing in time with pupils enlarged egos engorged by alcohol or lust anonymity a plus shellacked heart a must sharks circling prey whisked away with a gleaming smile prehensile, another row coming forward, replacing a deflected lie, a misplaced sigh—those that get away carrying mementos dream scars, seared skin from leering looks a promise of sin that will stay 'til break of day when reality finds them alone but safe in their beds their heads not so wooly lessons duly noted for next time when the urge to be near outweighs the fears of staying locked away the closet stark leaving an indelible mark next crime: reflection denied     Trish Shields, CA whenever you are near if I were blind I would see rainbows ribbons of joy waves of love a palette of unbridled colours dancing in a halo a vortex, a supernova my eyes, cloudy and blank would bathe in your smile imprinted with fingers that see every inch of you if I were blind you would still be the colour red whenever you are near     a shroud to love standing naked by the open window my skin marbled in January remembering the pungent verdant smell of grass the sticky warmth of summer that lent no joy to a face flash frozen as you walked away embracing the cornflower blue eyes promising me forever the gentle smile that taught me love that slipped silently, deadly through fingers curled against the inevitable erosion of time the topography of sleep landscapes the sheets that wait promising only oblivion a shroud to love     Trish Shields, CA seer I write of life - pain, sorrow...death dragged daily down that path missing the joy along the way I witness the state of Man its ups and downs good and evil - all in a studied grey but to write of love, ah that which spurned me to write at all escapes me, filling me with dismay I think of how it was - our fevered touches, glances long distance loving before dawn I remember the knowing looks the clandestine meetings and fear those days are gone my fingers hover over keys uncertain as to what to write the well's gone dry - I hope I'm wrong but then a look, a touch, a scent takes me back to days we've spent to get us to the place we are I remember then what love is for then feelings bubble up from deep inside, and everything becomes a little more clear each moment we will be every tear of love shared helps create an inner mirror stepping back, away into the now, not then I embrace the joy that appears

 

 

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