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Colleen's Poetry

 

A recent Wemoon Journal honorarium recipient for poetry, Colleen's poetry has appeared in Wemoon, Mothering Magazine, Mobius,Poets Against the War, and in a variety of local publications. Her poetry was described as "piquant and unpretentious" by Stephen Martin, Hull Times reporter.

Below are a few more samples of Colleen's poetry.

Where Iím From (added 2/28/05)

I am from a granite boulder seawall
and cotton candy at Paragon Park
Iím from blackberry stains and beach rose petals
catalpa beans and bamboo

I am from my fatherís eyes
after he saw the holocaust at Buchenwald
and the nape of my motherís neck
where white pearls hung
before her thyroid surgery

I am from Hail Mary full of grapes
midnight mass and pennies in the poor box
Iím from the unlucky luck of the Irish
the old sod and Southie
before there were gangsters

I am from A your Adorable
B youíre so Beautiful
God Bless Mommy and Daddy
Jimmy and Kathy
Colleen and Danny
Sherry and Johnny
Joey and Bobby and Trish

I am from the salt of the earth
One if by land, two if by sea
John F. Kennedy and Fenway Park
even when the Red Sox are losing

Iím from ice skates and alphabet streets
jump ropes and black and white TV
Iím not from the farm or the city
Iím from plastic flowers in the village cemetery
and horseshoe crabs with blue blood

Iím from my grandmotherís picnic basket
sleeping on curlers in baby doll pajamas
kerchiefs, bobby socks,
hoolahoops, and the twist
Dear Diary today is Friday

Iím from a one pot New England boiled dinner
from steamed clams dipped in real butter
and playing monopoly during a hurricane
by a kerosene lamp in our kitchen

This poem is inspired by George Ella Lyonís poem of the same name, from the book ďWhere Iím from, Where Poems come from" and Fred Firstís Blog fragmentsfromfloyd.com


Solstice Poem

From a luscious scoop of moon
at the Milky Way counter
the stars have spilled over
in an icy cold night


Summer Slug

My ambition rises
in a sluggish summer day
to the number of squash bugs
in my garden

Death by squish
is not for the squeamish
but Iím the mother of butternut
Out of my way!

Jim and Dan:
The 2nd Anniversary of Their Deaths

My brothers live in photo albums
They wear Red Sox shirts
and eat watermelon in summer

They go to casinos
and hit the jackpot
Sing karaoke
and drink beer when they want to

From exotic places by the ocean
they watch girls in bikinis on the beach
Or go out to concerts and baseball games
and watch the weather channel on TV

My brothers live like postcards now
I write, ďI wish you were still hereĒ
on the back of each one

No stamps
No addresses
Their eyes donít blink

They wave perpetually
from the places they have been
or put their paper thin arms around me

They still have opinions
and loud Boston accents
It must be hard for them
to be so quiet

to live like rumors
and in snippets of dreams
that those who love them
write down and save

They live on paper now
like money that canít be spent
And I am like a teenager with a pop star crush
who kisses their 8 x 10s

My brothers would laugh out loud
at how odd it is to be dead
staring endlessly out from their glossy prints
while I am staring in

(This poem is on the last page of
The Jim and Dan Stories)


Lust

I cruise the Thesaurus
to pick up words
for an intercourse
of language

to loosen the Muse's inhibitions
for a poem's strong desire
to be written


Indian Summer

The neighborhood dogs
are sitting out October
Like wallflowers in the corner
they're overdressed in fur


For more poems, follow the links below:

Dream for President Bush
Pie Baking
PoetsAgainstTheWar.Org


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