Echoes: Poems of Life

By Marla C. Erselius

Through changes in my life came particulars in writing. Amusing myself with presuming self-confidence, yet peeking into what may lie ahead in years passing quickly came Grey hair as On the other side preceded a space where I once strolled as a much
younger lady and carried inside all this time.

With the dizzying, up in the air, Can you cook, a vehicle boiling with me inside it to viewing a remembrance of years past in the Italian village surrounded by the big city where I grew up in They were there. I can vision it today and odors that leave with me as I walked through the door.

As some of my poems seem a collage of a large, colored puzzle, they have met as a quilt half way through a journey not easily put together. Such poems from my heart, such as Frozen steps, Pink days, and many others, I have a heartfelt passion for always in my love, for homie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465352323

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Marla C. Erselius.

ISBN: Softcover    978-1-4653-5231-6

ISBN: Ebook            978-1-4653-5232-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

102906

Contents

PART 1

On the other side

Peter came by

Circles through the hall

Butterflies in the room

Touched by jewels

Spinning girls at the fair

Missing you

Grey hair

Polish

Cold thoughts

Melting

Marbles on a picnic

Caught by colors

Dark features

PART 2

Burning benches

My world as an interpretation

The hole in the wall

Cukoos

Grits laughs no more

Dense concepts

Twit twot

Just a few minutes

Ladies of lace

Emptiness

Pink days

Me

Raw pain

Splintered

A walk by the sea, for free

PART 3

Can you cook

Hidden

Breezy

Thunder and petunias

Rise above

Hiding

Dancing crystals

Cherubs visible

Kitten in the night

Leave me, I ask

They were there

Hanging free

Virgin slumber

Hollow

Oh, daddy

Corners

Rapture

Engaging hours

Frozen steps

PART 4

Analysis

Justice

Anger

A silly day

Medea unleashed

Bag o’ chips

Nowhere

Myth

Lay me down gently

Coming around

One day and gone

Surprise

Compromise, now

Catch the liar

Surgery

Two and one

PART 5

Baby steps

Uncertainty unsure

Digging

Still here

Nightmares for the daytime

Solace most wanted

Numbness surrounded

Thoughts on the road

Shadows

Ragged decisions

Unsure friday

Renewal

Yesterday came first

for homie

PART 1

On the other side

12991.jpg

I gathered purple petals

spread on a path I walked

far from a place I once found home.

many were empty of deep color.

I rubbed them softly, gently

capturing color of fuchsia

blending out of them.

I know it occurred for my fingers

showed the shiny residue when I

caught blue morning glory in

late afternoon. true time limits

showered me full of minutes

I had lost when far from a place

I once found home.

a bridge nearing me,

elderly in its boundaries,

yet classy, now with crisscrossed

splintered boards settling loose

as would needles from pine trees.

will it crumble into Centours creek

if nature eats it from under me?

not in my lifetime, I doubt;

for shortened days upon me

as I grow elderly just as my

shortened years pass with me

even quicker. it all began from a

place I once found as home.

so I continue on, feeling safer

on the other side of the creek.

I stumble onto some uneven rows

of engaging liatris; snap a few off,

hope cool air hangs them straight till home arrives.

my neighbor’s carriage slows as

I turn an open space on the road;

carry me slowly, please, the day’s

ending so soon. leaving it behind,

I’ve been there before, yet I’m

finding my way back from a

place I once found as home . . . .

13163.jpgKozzi-sunset-with-sailboat.jpg

Peter came by

12994.jpg

I missed your letters, long ones

from awhile ago. it’s now. it’s no good.

peter visited yesterday. he said hello. he

veiled your handkerchief on the dresser. it

was pink. he didn’t care for pink. threw it in the

basement. later on, I threw it in the trash.

where were you? on the fifth week of loneliness,

I ate by myself. all my meals. on the veranda.

the one where we said hello. at first I turned

away. far away and walked fast past the roses.

you picked one for me. I threw it on my bed.

I slept uneasy. you came in and couldn’t

say goodbye.

the boat was on its journey, without me.

with you. peter looked away. he called

your name but you just flattered yourself,

kissed father so long, tucked a green kerchief

in your lapel and you seemed so aloof.

I whispered good riddance to myself

and put my rose in my button. there will

be more roses for peter and me. he’s

been in the cellar a fortnight; waiting

by the door, patiently by the door.

your boat took a bad turn. the captain

was heavy with liqueur. you ended a castaway,

I was told. that’s why I missed your letters.

bottles don’t travel fast in water going

nowhere. peter told me the news and

he went onto the veranda and picked

a white rose for me and said hello once again.

13166.jpg

Circles through the hall

12996.jpg

Not sure what’s been going on,

weeks, months, days

are the damdest pits,

supposed to give a rat’s ass for that roof,

over my shriveling mind:

the one that deplores

the creepy crawlies fading mindlessly

down the hall of uselessness;

whoops!! it spins me around ever so quickly—

wonder where the other part leads me . . . .

not far, not far enough.

should keep traversing—

though the walls pause

and no choice but to retrace the flatness

that is snapping closer than i care for;

that gnaws at the cells

irreplaceable and dead.

for restorative urges that once lived inside

are stymied now by lifelessness,

circling endlessly

so i feel backwards,

quivering with tomorrow . . . .

for i feel the sniveling creepie crawlies

will be waiting to dull more cells.

i’ll still travel through the dim, fearful hall

that still retraces

the day of yesterdays.

13168.jpgbutterflies.jpg

Butterflies in the room

12998.jpg

As I was departing

the room with no view,

filled among it, flying butterflies;

butterflies assorted

of colors, of shapes, of movement.

gathered there with

the lady of butterflies,

singing their unique tones, unheard,

though, nevertheless,unique

for sad souls who pass into the room . . . .

pause, speak, cry.

thoughts of wonderment

entering their spinning minds so involved.

the butterflies listen, they hear,

they twitter unseen, of course,

but devotedly, never leave those

that ponder in hope, in faith,

in all that glows

between those wings

of butterflies concerned.

listen, stare at a favorite,

she’ll be there for you.

this, so says her butterflies.

to pass through the pain

of the day may perhaps

awaken a sorrowful soul,

by glimmering,

by circling in its own

matched path of the sadness

passing through the chimed,

stamped door,

ever so just

ever so steady

ever so devoted,

de butterflies begin as a

frowned mouth goes passing

through into their haven:

closed tightly, lips wavering . . .

where is my salvation?

someday, as the days pass on and on,

an awakening rewards

the sadness in the spirit,

and life begins anew, brightly,

carried onto a glamorous leaf of birth.

moms cocoons awaken

to their new life,

rewarded through cycles so pure,

so absolutely magnificent,

awaiting their beginning

of flight, poise and security.

13170.jpg

Touched by jewels

13000.jpg

Can you catch me,

oh no, I won’t allow it,

oh no, she won’t allow it.

no one can win.

not even music is beautiful enough

to net my runaway.

fly away free mind revolutions

per flash of incongruity.

it was seen tomorrow,

but yesterday showed it