Timeless Twists and Turns

By Vickie Weaver

These pages of poetry let us be kids again. They also offer encouragement to navigate tangles and temptations in relationships or inspire us to begin to heal, especially if we have experienced abuse, cancer, or PTSD. National and regional prizewinning poet Vickie L. Weaver respectfully identifies with us while setting fresh eyes on timeless twists and turns of our unpredictable paths through life. The rhythm and flow of her rhymes and free verse show imagination, fact or abstraction, sensitivity and intuition, or painful clarity. Take time inside this book to question, cry, or laugh with her on your journey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984523112

Book preview

FRESH EYES

DAWN

Golden fingers

slip between

slats, skirt curtains,

slide along silent

stillness,

illuminate dust,

caress cool

cheeks, ruffle

fringes, filter

through onion-

skin veils

and nocturnal

cobwebs till

a silken

voice whispers,

Carpe diem. . .

EARTH ANGELS

In the quiet

of the seventh day

from Divine order

                                the angels

                                swept brown earth

                                in a certain place

with their white wings

ever sculpting

colossal girth

                                toward the core

                                by constant lights

                                of yellow or white,

finally painting

sienna, verdigris,

terra-cotta, azure

                                into perpetual stone

                                until tears of joy and sorrow

                                streamed their faces

and filled the canyon of beauty

with just enough water,

washing wings

                                then nodding whenever

                                the native peoples

                                from cliff or butte

punctuate this eternal palette

with celestial symphony

of harp and flute.

SHEETS

Overture played in ivory snow—

canon prelude to senseless cacophony;

wrapped in white cotton, new as the day,

filmy eyes peer from incubated show.

Makeshift tent, goblin’s friendly yawn;

cross my heart and hope to die,

stick a needle in my eye;

flashlight notes between novices till dawn.

Knights in white satin walk on water,

coax their steeds up the grassy mound

serenading with metaphoric sound,

though cannoned wrath they might incur.

Steal to her chamber, pluck the strings;

scalloped edges, tooth and nail,

domestic ladder, down they scale

satin piping, whatever it brings.

Classical movements in syncopated time:

good vibrations in pulsing harmony,

cymbaled crescendo in melody,

percaled percussion, rhythm and rhyme.

Pretend curtains, just enough for two;

melodious ripples, embellished encore,

dynamic marks—there must be more;

alliterative engines, me and you.

Ballet on the lawn, beetle on a rock;

king of the castle, queen swollen with pride—

mother of invention cannot hide

reality overflowing the lock.

Bellowing breeze, mottled mask,

torrid clime in pantomime,

the ridiculous to the sublime,

dripping drop-cloths in damask.

Threaded half-turn, don’t roll over

Beethoven playing in the hall,

99 bottles of beer on the wall,

lullaby and four-leaf clover.

Staccato strumming, trundled dreams—

photo albums, memories of times,

tarnished silver, windy chimes,

ruffled eyelet yellowed at the seams.

Dusk delivers the albatross—

finishing touch to the melody,

perpetual canon, grand finale.

A stone not rolling gathers moss.

BABY

Baby, baby, did you hear all the loving words so dear?

Mommy says them every day—Daddy, too, in his own way.

Growing in the warm, safe womb listening while they plan your room,

you are wanted oh so much waiting for their gentle touch.

Baby, baby, oh so wee, it’s not long till you will see

all the things they have for you—yellow, green, pink, or blue

sheets and bumpers in your bed, soft caps for your precious head,

bottles, socks, and lots of clothes, kisses for your tiny nose.

Baby, baby, wrapped in love, you’re a gift from God above!

UMBILICAL CORD

Link of life

pulsating with nutrients

between mother and child

till the hour of deliverance

when fruit of the vine

is plucked from one

incubator to another

to thrive in conditions mild.

Cut and preserved,

you continue to give

so that someone may live.

JULY

                    Sun and I get up early together.

                    We’re free as the breeze, light as a feather!

                    It’s a great month—there’s so much to do!

                    I’m going places. You can come, too.

                    First, there’s the Fourth of July:

                    Fireworks explode way up high:

                    Popping, shouting—ka-boom!

                    There’s the man in the Moon!

                    Where did he hide from me all day

                    while I skated the hours away,

                    skipped on sizzling skillet sidewalks,

                    ate soft ice cream amid the cornstalks,

                    climbed monkey bars and rode my bike,

                    swam in the pond and took a hike,

                    rolled down the hill in a big box,

                    caught frogs and worms and chased a fox?

                    Now, Moon’s awake and watching me