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I dreamt of killer whales
some sort of tsunami commanded
these beautiful beasts to me
black and white shadow against landscape
arcing to and fro swallowing
lineages up whole
there was a snake in the house
we chased it around like it was a grand game
I laughed through tears, “we have a snake problem!”
while you smacked at my hollow with the broom
next I was between an ageless couple
lovely one shared hot water whispers of her
husband’s promiscuity, of the deposits
he made into his secretary
all this while blaming me for
fluid slowly seeping from her shell
to follow I was gifted a white bible
blew smoke from the cover to bare
your name inscribed like a square hole in the sun
this vessel cradled inside a tone
both sound and shade that I can only
dream is the creation of the ghost
yesterday’s acts of expectance
with undertones of allegiance to allegory
iloveyouimissyou
under the bowery, outside the brick
red brick yonder o’
the strings of the heart
enter the rippling bouquet
very silently you
said once upon a time
like I love you but I cannot
it’s a lone spicket with
not a bucket to fill
us is a powerful notion
or maybe a concept yarn
hand spun into a curve
steadfast but much too soft
stitched into our thoughts eternal
imprinted upon our very cells
the cold and the wind blow
right through the flaw in my center
mine is not a wavering obsession
the dark and the light
aint it great
when the winter cold freezes
the squalid garden lurkers
and you don’t have to tiptoe no more
you don’t have to walk slow and creeplike
so as not to frighten the kids
aint it grand
when the ice encapsulates the grasses and trees
wraps ‘em up in wavered light
beauty peaks after all that wait
they were confident before but now
just thicket waiting to be discarded
irony oh irony
you hold hands with fate
you faithful playmates
skipping naughtily through daybreaks
and peering triumphant
at piles of pillowcases tattered
Bionote
Becca Lamarre grew up in a town in Indiana known for its many railroad crossings and the smell of its paper mills. She holds a MA in Higher Education and a BS in Psychology from Ball State University and her fascination with human behavior and motivations strongly influences her writing. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Uppagus and Indiana Voice Journal. She currently lives in Chicago with her family where she is at work on her first full-length collection.
You are readingf article 3 Poems by Becca Lamarre with link http://denenesommedanser.blogspot.com/2015/11/3-poems-by-becca-lamarre.html
Tilte : 3 Poems by Becca Lamarre
link : 3 Poems by Becca Lamarre
3 Poems by Becca Lamarre
dreamscape cornering sharp turnsI dreamt of killer whales
some sort of tsunami commanded
these beautiful beasts to me
black and white shadow against landscape
arcing to and fro swallowing
lineages up whole
there was a snake in the house
we chased it around like it was a grand game
I laughed through tears, “we have a snake problem!”
while you smacked at my hollow with the broom
next I was between an ageless couple
lovely one shared hot water whispers of her
husband’s promiscuity, of the deposits
he made into his secretary
all this while blaming me for
fluid slowly seeping from her shell
to follow I was gifted a white bible
blew smoke from the cover to bare
your name inscribed like a square hole in the sun
this vessel cradled inside a tone
both sound and shade that I can only
dream is the creation of the ghost
yesterday’s acts of expectance
with undertones of allegiance to allegory
iloveyouimissyou
under the bowery, outside the brick
red brick yonder o’
the strings of the heart
enter the rippling bouquet
very silently you
said once upon a time
like I love you but I cannot
it’s a lone spicket with
not a bucket to fill
us is a powerful notion
or maybe a concept yarn
hand spun into a curve
steadfast but much too soft
stitched into our thoughts eternal
imprinted upon our very cells
the cold and the wind blow
right through the flaw in my center
mine is not a wavering obsession
the dark and the light
aint it great
when the winter cold freezes
the squalid garden lurkers
and you don’t have to tiptoe no more
you don’t have to walk slow and creeplike
so as not to frighten the kids
aint it grand
when the ice encapsulates the grasses and trees
wraps ‘em up in wavered light
beauty peaks after all that wait
they were confident before but now
just thicket waiting to be discarded
irony oh irony
you hold hands with fate
you faithful playmates
skipping naughtily through daybreaks
and peering triumphant
at piles of pillowcases tattered
Bionote
Becca Lamarre grew up in a town in Indiana known for its many railroad crossings and the smell of its paper mills. She holds a MA in Higher Education and a BS in Psychology from Ball State University and her fascination with human behavior and motivations strongly influences her writing. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Uppagus and Indiana Voice Journal. She currently lives in Chicago with her family where she is at work on her first full-length collection.
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