Five Poems by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

 

    Golden Shovel: At Night Alone

                              ― ― after Sara Teasdale

Enchanted by sly sunless streetscapes,I
Explored my city fearlessly and went
To precincts strange, unknown, and silent out
Of curiosity, enraptured at
Imaginary fireflies lighting night
On my behalf, protecting me.  Alone,
My sole companions shadows, hours fooled the
Clock who resigned imperious rule. My young
Unruly nature gave permission.  Blood
Obeyed when impulsiveness was flowing. 

 

Note: Source poem: “Winter Stars” (1920) by Sara Teasdale (1884 — 1933)

    Golden Shovel: Untimely Death

 

                                             — after Edgar Allan Poe

 

My lord so soundly sleeps. Fie! Where is thy
Composure? Have I jeopardized my soul?

“Quite undetectable,” they’ve said. When shall
I summon his physician? He will find
Nothing’s amiss. A nude wife — grief itself,
Stressed, pleading: “Doctor! Don’t leave me alone.” 

 

Note: Source poem: “Spirits of the Dead” by Edgar Allan Poe [1829]

Speculative Poeming

Imaginary lilacs on the desk,
A non-existent cuckoo clock coos back,
Blurred sky pretends acceptance. Poets know
World building is essential sleight of hand.

 

Blank’s page is friendly to intangibles:
Elves, eidolons, fantasticals.

 

What’s good spec poetry? Bait on ink’s hook:
A willing narrative that casts a spell.

 

What is a pen? A weapon that devours
Leisure with spirit teeth, kills idleness.

 

When do true wordsmiths stop?  When visions end,

When thread unspools, when mouths unbreathing gape.

Secrets of the Night: A Golden Shovel

                                    — — after Linda Rodriguez

 

I stole the rare ensorcelled lamp. Now nights
Would be devoted to forecasting. Are
Apprentices quick studies? Another
Tyro, ashamed in front of her country-
Men, might have scrammed or worn disguises. In-
Stead, brazenly I launched, advertised my
Predicting gig, attracting wealth, my house
A destination. Strangers hoped their days
Ahead held joy. Beloved lamp and me: we’re
Gods. Thieves came. Karma’s extraordinary.

 

Note: Source poem: "Nights Are Another Country” by Linda Rodriguez (2009)

Cento:  Benighted Night

 

I recoil in my ignorance a little ashamed at my arrogance, my need to return to the past,

As if the past existed somewhere—like an inheritance still waiting to be claimed.

All love, and all hope of love, is a dream of one's mother reaching out with a father's hand. 

I'm still alive. My love was tested and passed something like this.

I turn to certain other lessons hard to learn.

Line 1:            "Ritorno" by Gianna Patriarca, 2013.
Line 2:            "The Litany" by Dana Gioia, 2013
Line 3:            "Italian Genesis" by Michael Collier, February 1976.          
Line 4:             "South Italy, Remote and Stone" by Richard Hugo, April 1968.
Line 5:            "Italian Lessons" by James Merrill, February 1958.

Native New Yorker LindaAnn LoSchiavo, a Pushcart Prize, Rhysling Award, Best of the Net, and Dwarf Stars nominee, is a member of SFPA, The British Fantasy Society, and The Dramatists Guild.

She was PoetrySuperHighway's "Poet of the Week" [Sept. 12 - 18, 2022]. Elgin Award winner "A Route Obscure and Lonely," "Concupiscent Consumption," "Women Who Were Warned," and "Messengers of the Macabre" [co-written with David Davies], nominated for CLMP's  Firecracker Award, are her latest poetry titles.

Forthcoming: "Apprenticed to the Night" [UK: Beacon Books, 2023].

― ― links ― ―

Twitter: @Mae_Westside
LindaAnn Literary: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHm1NZIlTZybLTFA44wwdfg