These Stunted Jersey Pines

By Norma Paul

Snapshots of struggles to find truth and meaning within and behind daily encounters penetrate the words woven into these poems. Seasons of the year are blended and contrasted with seasons of a woman's heart from uncertainty through joy, with a good measure of humor is thrown in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lime Press LLC
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955255110

Norma Paul

The author has experienced all realms of love, and can share those memories and events with her audience.

Book preview

Contents

Acknowledgment

A Cold Morning for September

Daily Paper

Homeschooled

All Through My Young Childhood

Day-Lily

A Man Who Moves Me

Bohemian Child

Flecks of Fools’ Gold

A Wandering Voice

A Memory

Beyond the Silence

Dawning

Down Water Street

Birch Canoeist

Decision

Elegy For An Alien

Contrail

Dissection Of A Dream

Color Me Dawn

Don’t Ask

Essence

In Bed-and Out Again

Evocation

Half Moon

In the Middle of March

Finis

Hungry Cat

Grace

Imprint

Insistent

It’s One Of

Late August

Inversion

Lemon Moon

Legacy

It’s Already April

Jubilate

It’s Long Past Dusk

Jumping Jack

Life Continues

Mimosa In November

Neighbors Gardening

Long Are Of The Universe

Music Is The Space

On The Front Porch In The Sun

Memory’s Currency

Step Out!

Something of My Mind and Thought

The Keen Edge Of Truth

Tempered Vision

...The speaker declared a clock

The Brave Man When He’s Hurt

Singing Sands

Acknowledgment

For Dick, my one true love, who supported my many attempts at becoming a woman, who made me strong, who made me laugh, who taught me how to open myself to sensuality and joy.

For Karen, Gus, Valerie, Laurie, Jo-Eva, Joyce, Brett who have taught me how to be a mother through all its wins and losses.

For Ronnie, Susan, Tom, Ray, Barry, Bob for giving your love to my loves.

For Anada, Jennifer, Stefanie, Catherine, Leandra, Meredie, Erika, Brian, Richard, Harry, Kia, Jil, Emma, Joel, Ethan for all your giving ways.

A Cold Morning

for September

The day began before the sky paled—a

cold morning for September.

Stars stood waiting for light

to obliterate their presence.

Distant planes droned among them

a reminder that life sings

above these stunted Jersey pines.

The quiet morning held

comforting moments of

close-quartered rhythm

established eons ago

during intermission.

Dancing together was never as

free-flowing, as breath-taking

as those early tentative steps

around our buzz of conversation.

This morning––each morning–began