Saturday 30 January 2021

Three Poems by Judith Borenin

Swing Low

The playground is empty save

for a song wavering on wind


gusts and the repetitive snap

and release clinking of chains.


Swiiing low sweeeet chariot

commin’ for to carry me home.


And home is a place she hopes

someday to find as higher and


higher she climbs with each pump

and thrust of her legs – fingers


wrapped tightly round the links

of the chain tethering her to the


world - this playground of dust.

I looked over Jordan and what


did I see - her father’s a ghost who

rarely returns – a band of angels


commin’ after me – her mother a

disembodied smile – commin’ for to


carryyy meee home. As the metal

poles churn losing grip on the ground –


Ka CHUNK Ka CHUNK – with each

snap and release of the slack in the


chains her fingers still cling to. She

saw clouds crumble in the roof of the


sky when the world was a playground

of dust - when all things were possible –


when forgiveness was enough –

commin’ for to carry me home.


The Way Things Shine When Cloaked


in darkness.  Stars fleeing like

bats from black holes


hidden in the sky. Lights from

mastheads moored along


the shore that stare and blue like

glowing eyes over a black


sea. Indoor lights that beckon just

like hands to lost souls


passing by to move in closer for

a shaft of comfort


which cannot warm. Sparks that

float like paper


lanterns from the hollows of

ringed black eyes


of nocturnal raccoons who

prowl past the last


perimeters of light. The chartreuse

shock of a green shoot


inside a moist black cocoon of soil

as it wakes. Or how bad


dreams drive hands to reach

for bedside lamp


chains in the middle of long

and lonely nights. 


The last bright white blaze

that shrieks from


death’s darkening gaze before

each synaptic snap


and spark is suddenly erased.


Who Am I?


I hide behind a mask.

I am a blast

of black breath –


a smile climbing out 

the window of

a roadside wreck.


I am a flatlining sun

beneath cloak

of grey. A gutter of


moon in an emptying

drain. A neon

white vein stripped


clean of its blood. A gale

hooded neck against

a gleaming windowpane. A


black plastic scrap ripped

free of its load. A

curled paper of darkness


left stranded in the middle of

a deserted road.

Words are permanent


graffiti scrawled across my

skin. My ears ring a hum

of pandemonium. My


eyes are mere cut outs of

parchment epiphanies.

My fingers are flailing


acrobats over a widening hole

scribbling equations

on my yellowing vellum soul.

Greetings - 

Judith is a poet living in Port Townsend, Washington. Her poems have appeared online and in print journals including: The Raven Chronicles: Last Call, The Floating Bridge Press Review IV, Ethel Zines 3 & 4, Synchronized Chaos, The POETiCA Review, The Night Heron Barks. Her chapbook, The Evidence & The Evermore was published by Ethel Zine in 2019. She used to have a black cat named Lothlorien.

No comments:

Post a Comment

One Poem by Daniel Suter

  Narnia     I'm looking for the door , m y mind longing to explore .   I'm pushing it wide open , h oping to find the beauty   o f...