Five Poems by Christine Tabaka

 

Dribs & Drabs of This & That

 

I have seen all life pass before me.

I have seen the crowning of the jewels.

Time walks on tortured tiptoes, through

dessert sands. Ego / a peacock strut.

Open your book and turn the page.

Words are always changing. Grab a handful

of crumbs, before the story ends. We cannot

answer a question if it has not been asked.

Gossip floats above a cornsilk sky, as we

grapple for signs of truth. Always wandering,

always seeking.

Knock knock, who’s there?

 

 

Sanctuary

 

Seeking safety / seeking promise,

I walked a thousand miles. Deserts,

rivers, forests, compelled to impede

me. Towering edifices stare me down.

Geoglyphs point the way. Pain / a

constant companion. I plant my flag

in barren soil, while digging deep for

the well of hope. A small bird sings

her sweet tune. A foreboding black

shadow swoops down upon her.

Darkness pulls me in. You are no

longer here with me. I search for

substance & for love. There is a thesis

here, buried in the sand. Come walk

with me & hold my hand. I am the

mother who lost her child. I am the

last survivor, pleading for sanctuary. 

 

 

My Brother’s Keeper

 

You sit on the roof at night asking questions,

trying to solve mysteries of the universe.

But my brain doesn’t work like that.

I watch you with rapt curiosity while shaking my head.

The heavens sing you a song I cannot hear,

it is only for you.

Staring deeply into the dark void,

you know things no one else will ever understand.

You build a picket fence

around the moon with your mind,

and arrange the planets in your garden,

burying them deep in a primordial soup.

e= mc² is etched upon your soul. 

Savant or saint, I know not which,

but you see truths beyond the ages.

I am too afraid to reach out and touch you

for fear that some strange energy

will render me immobile.

I cannot save myself.

I cannot save you.

The chill of the winter night fills your lungs

and exhales a dream.

Frozen mist forms a halo around your raven hair.

What is it that you seek?

You in your solitary wonderment,

not letting anyone else in,

not even me.

 

*   Published by The Scribe Magazine, January 2021 

 

 

My Garden

 

It is easy to forget you,

the way you stand there

looking lost among the daisies.

Blossoms sprouting from every pore.

Your black eyes, now as empty seeds.

You never really tried to grow

outside the trellised wall.

You clung like some lost vision of

green lizards and snakes. 

But who am I to blame,

when blaming is on call?

I knew better than to

plant you deep within my heart.

Now as autumn is at hand

and butterflies take wing,

your dying petals disperse

to the four winds.

 

*   Received 1st Honorable Mention in the Gideon Review Poetry Prize, December 2019 

 

 

A Father Who Never Was

 

Born of war and hunger -

            a stolen youth

ripped from earth.

 

Lost within a vanquished spring

            as winter counted days.

 

Black eyes      -           a raven’s call

follow what cannot be seen,

            vagrant visions, dark to light.

 

Tortured flesh, his inheritance

            passed on to each of us, in turn.

 

A buried past      -        sunken deep,

                        the depths of which

are unknown.

 

We played with death

as little toy soldiers marched.

 

In fear

we hid ourselves from him.

 

Asking for more than he could give,

a pathway to the sun.

 

His childhood               our childhood,

repeating the mantra

              never love.

 

Not knowing how to be a father, husband, son, brother …

              he only knew how to die.

 

He was war and hunger,

writing his own epilog.

 

 

*   Published by POETiCA Review, April 2021

Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year, her bio is featured in the “Who’s Who of Emerging Writers 2020 and 2021,” published by Sweetycat Press. She is the author of 14 poetry books. lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking.  Chris lives with her husband and four cats. Her most recent credits are: Sparks of Calliope; The Closed Eye Open, Poetic Sun, Tangled Locks Journal, Wild Roof Journal, The American Writers Review, The Scribe Magazine, The Phoenix, Burningword Literary Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Silver Blade, Pomona Valley Review, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Fourth & Sycamore.