Story, I am: A Catalogue of Words

This poem was written years ago, when my cousin’s baby Jane was first born. [has it been years?] I hadn’t seen the poem since it was written and ran across it incidentally shuffling through piles of poetic verse I scratched out on binder paper during my years at Junior College. While it was a literal moment of holding this child that I wrote of, the poem reminded me of the love we can have for someone -a family member, a lover, a child- but no matter how we love them, we do not possess them. Though the figure in the doorway was, in fact, my cousin, it seemed it was also like God[dess] on the other side of the veil or passage, watching as we hold the ones we love, until it is time for them to pass through that door [growing up, moving on, or passing on]. This has been a relevant issue for me in many recent aspects of my life. Not only in my relationships but in everything. I hold many things for this time -but, I possess nothing-

To Love

-and be possessed of nothing-

Alisa R. Pierini

Singing a rich, sleepy song,

this child in my arms

falls to dreams on spiraling chorus.

Watery, waning moonlight swirls in the dark room.

An open door frames a blank, gold-lit wall.,

where single silhouette looks in with curiosity.

She is not mine.

Shadowself

Alisa R. Pierini

I am my own shadow,

the creeking in my bones,

and the wind my breath weaves

in the black night bush.

I haunt myself

because I must be troubled

for the sins I have

the sins I want

and the sins I will inevitably

and hopefully commit.

Foreshadow

Alisa R. Pierini

I, wanting you,

Lay my legs over yours

Convincing myself

It is all simple, platonic.

You, tingling from your spine

To the distal parts

Place your finger-tips

On my skin and agree.

We, lying in my bed

Pretend that arms and legs

Are only limbs

And not linguistic tackle.

&

The Eater’s Lullaby

Alisa R. Pierini

You fell asleep to the sound of my spoon

swirling the hollow of a cereal bowl.

A ceramic lullaby, clinking and tinkling,

Rose up through the rafters, into the loft

&, you dreamed.

It’s been a long time my friends. But, the words never stopped.
I am hoping to post more poems, finished or not, simply for the sake of sending them out into the universe where their purpose is fulfilled as opposed to sitting in dusty computer files.

Be Blessed. Be well.
Alisa R. Pierini

This poem is based on the dark humour, sorrow and imagery of Edgar Allen Poe and is to be taken with as much light-heartedness as deep consideration, in tradition of the man himself. I can only hope I serve his memory well.

If you enjoy the work of Edgar Allen Poe, I would highly recommend seeing the play “Evermore” by Gary Wright should the chance ever present itself. It is a remarkably well-written play that pays perfect homage to the memory of Poe as a poet, humorist and writer of dark and deeply felt sentiment.

Poe’s Signs

Alisa R. Pierini

The ravens

On this tragic, desolate and lonely morn

Flock in the tree of a weeping form

Whose branches sway like the pall of a tomb

In the fog that sweeps off the waves and foam

I lie near the frame of my waiting window

And see the rain come in the wake of dark billows

I fear numbly the words from your distant lips

And dream that all that I see or seem is this:

You with me by this dripping rippled pane

And all that we know is we were made the same.

But you are far from this gray shore

Bitterly parted we live forevermore.

The day strides on and darkens to indigo black

The ghost of your kiss comes out of the past

And haunts my sleep near this wide open window

Through which mists dew kisses me, untouched, alone.

And the ravens at dawn still cling to the tree

Signaling, again, a change of clouded mystery.

And I think, “How very aproPoe”

Empty Day

Alisa R. Pierini

There was a day

the world was empty

and I was free from it.

I floated happily

singing songs

and giggling

at the bright bubble

I found myself playing in,

Rolling in it,

like a glowing bead

through the round world.

I was empty

of my past and future,

consisting only of that

present Sunshine and Breath,

a new discovery

of life where I am,

a vessel for beauty.