Five Poems by Karen A VandenBos

 

Morning Song 

 

In the hour between the sun and moon 

when astrology and philosophy exchange 

 

the path of ascending, an aubade is startled 

from the throat of birds. We have forgotten 

 

that long before the dawn arrives a weaver 

begins to string her loom with a morning 

 

song and sends it to roost in the black of 

night as she conjures the ravens to sing. 

 

 

 

Chain of Disaster 

 

Like a rebellious outlaw country classic 

she was gradually becoming a disaster. 

The clock was ticking against her with 

a three pack a day habit of inhaling  

Marlboro cigarettes and drowning her 

sorrows in a pool of Southern Comfort. 

The sharks were closing in around her 

as bills stacked up like a monument on 

the broken coffee table. When her  

dreams turned to concrete and bones 

rattled, vampires appeared at the door. 

With the departure of moonlight and 

stars she let them in and did not 

apologize for feeding  them a  banquet  

of blood red roses and snow white blow.  

The ghosts now say she never heard  

them leave.

 

 

 

Rasps of Death 

 

The moon tonight is pulsing with the tales  

and turmoil of ancient times as she chants 

in the death language of her ancestors and 

recalls the smell of their repulsive screams. 

She speaks of the last time she saw them 

howling at the moon, hair a nest of stars, 

throats emptied of its river. She whispers 

that she has lived at the edge of death for 

so long she doesn't remember when she 

was born. She carries a shroud around her 

shoulders and lives with the scent of dirt 

inside her nose. She hears the rasp of  

death hum her to sleep, feels the weight 

of coins upon her eyes. Tonight she hides 

her laughing belly of fire, drinks to devour 

secrets of the past and dances like a hunted 

girl, the smell of burning rope on the wind. 

 

 

 

Bound by History 

 

Thirteen steps led to the attic where the 

chosen girls lounged in various stages 

of undress waiting for the moon to rise. 

The all night radio station blared with 

static through the room, the fan exhaling 

crackles through an open window. The 

shared bathroom with no door knob was 

full of hormones, hair wrapped in towels, 

makeup strewn across the edge of the 

sink and window ledge, mirror fogged 

with the steam from their ten cent shower. 

When the clock struck the holy hour 

they donned hats and dresses as black  

as the night and uniformly descended the 

stairs. Encased in the perfume of sage 

and cast spells, their chains of DNA link 

them to Salem, all of them with broken 

souls, bound to the stars by history. 

 

 

 

Portals 

 

I drift through portals of ancient dreams 

and unscramble visions that float in the 

vitreous of my eyes. 

Fire sends sparks into the darkness like 

tiny, fragile stars exploding and moonlight 

sweeps the sand with glitter. 

Under the veil of slumber my galloping 

thoughts give way to a second sight where 

I see the grandmothers huddled around 

the ancestral drum, their bodies dusted 

with the symbols of runes, faces pale, 

the message that howls around them 

calls like a demon on the wind. 

It is only myself who can give life to 

fear and only the sun that can give 

warmth to my sorrow. In this vast ocean 

of uncertainty and despair I let its rays 

settle into the hollow spaces between 

my bones and let go of the memories 

not worth holding. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Karen A VandenBos was born on a warm July morn in Kalamazoo, MI. She has a PhD in Holistic Health where a course in shamanism taught her to travel between two worlds. She can be found unleashing her vivid imagination in two writing groups. A Best of the Net nominee, her writing has been published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Blue Heron Review, The Rye Whiskey Review, One Art: a journal of poetry, Anti-Heroin Chic, The Ekphrastic Review, MacQueen's Quinterly, Moss Piglet, Panoply, Feed the Holy, Peninsula Poets and others.