PAX

Almost dawn,
and the humid breath
of another June day unravels
the coast, creeping past
Savannah and Charleston,
across the Pee Dee,
and up to the midlands,
where my gardenia sizzles,
petalled with starlight,
its sugar-white fragrance
folding the crisp corners
of a new morning.
Meanwhile, two doves
shuffle grass seed
in the yard, encouraging
three cats tail-slapping
the bedroom window.
Saturday, eight o’clock,
the sun simmers
in the eastern sky, and
peace wraps its pink
satin sheet around us all.
Like the graceful weave
of the willow, mistakes
never thread the twists
and turns of the spiritual path.
Everything happens
for a reason, revealing
hidden opportunities
clinging to gravel
as if clumps of lavender
clover—merely divine
appointments to bless
those we stumble over.
Another day with no
regrets, doves tuning
their water flutes, seeding
the grass and its crinkle-
dance with canticles
of peace.
 

FIRST WEEK OF SUMMER

It was Thursday, early
evening, when driving after
dinner we saw the tender
melon of a turtle balanced
on the curb, its emerald paws
eager to swim the merciless
asphalt of Harbison Boulevard.
We stopped in a parking lot,
climbed the hill, and rushed
along a finger of freshly
mown grass, while speeding
cars ruffled our clothes.
The turtle, large and lively,
paused for a moment,
puzzled by the grinding
monkey-chatter of traffic,
and allowed my husband
to redirect its mossy steps
back to the pinewoods
and the dark arms of a pond.
This I must say: no longer
are there hard places
pock-marking my soul,
no stones clenched like little
fists, no glazed shell
I cling to for protection.
Somehow I have become
a ball of yarn unwound, soft,
pliable, prone to smiling.
Somehow I have managed
to keep the light before
my eyes, as startled and moon-
wide as those of a wild
rabbit motionless in my garden
tonight—the turtle safe
in the bedroll of the forest,
two robins whistling
in crabgrass, as my soul
continues to mellow,
its glittered wings forever
enfolding the shining
heart of the divine.
 

GLORIOUS

Daybreak patches
the sky as it scatters
wafers of sun through
the garden and grass,
these white bandages
icing the house, spinning
it into a palace of light.
Last day of June,
and a single gladiola
sips water from a bud
vase, a fuchsia anniversary
of twenty-four petals
with the promise
of twenty-four more
igniting the living room.
Let this be a day
when only good words
drift from my tongue
like the sequined feathers
of the oversoul or the pink
geranium’s warm wink.
Let these be words
that bless and uphold
the spirit, knitting
a vision of goodness
flickering within.
This is my wish
for the hours etching
the fanfolds of this
day, luminous, silver-
lipped and glorious.
 

Laura hs been published many times as a poet with hundreds of my poems, short stories, poetry book reviews, and articles have appeared in literary journals, magazines, anthologies, and
broadsides, including The Louisiana Review, Ibbetson Update, Poesy
Magazine, Curbside Review, Lummox Journal, Poetry Motel, and American
Writing.  She is the author of more than twenty books of prose and
poetry.  My most recent poetry collection is "Joy Unspeakable" (2003,
Kittyfeather Press).  I grew up in the mountains of north Georgia and
was educated at Dalton College (Dalton, Georgia) and the College of
Charleston (Charleston, SC).

Her recent work, "Joy Unspeakable" and is available from Kittyfeather Press, P.O. Box 212534, Columbia, SC 29221-2534
 laurastamps@mindspring.com

All Rights belong to the author.