{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a random pinterest image

to celebrate national poetry month}

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When all is said and done and

you’ve set that course for home,

steer toward the light,

it still shines for you.

You’ll never be alone. 

              yvonne melania lieblein

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a random pinterest image to 

celebrate national poetry month}

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we move through the air  

letting go just to hang on  

it's like that sometimes    

                                                                 yvonne melania lieblein

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a random pinterest image to

celebrate national poetry month}

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Soon, they descend . . . 

water-winged and SPF-ed,

courageous divers and 

it's-so-c-c-c-cold dippers 

splashing, paddling and splat-splatting 

from steps to slide ladder. 

I lean into this final, silent sun-drenched moment 

until the screen door swings open.

There's just enough time for a surprise attack,

so I drench you in the now of summer and

bombard you with kisses,

each one an invitation to play. 

                  yvonne melania lieblein

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a random pinterest image 

to celebrate national poetry month}

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Edgar would have been impressed,

though I expected something more

macabre to spring forth

from the creative wellspring of your warped mind –

a telltale heart somehow beating in the palm of your hand

or a creepy clown with amontillado-stained lips.

But here you are bedecked in black and feathers,

unsmiling when people say, "Nevermore," as you walk by.

You're the only one who figures out I'm Ligera's ghost.

Everyone else is too busy toasting Edgar

to see through me.

                                               yvonne melania lieblein

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a random pinterest image

to celebrate national poetry month}

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Lumpiest, mustiest,

ugliest, scratchiest

yeah, all of that.

Have you forgotten that this

fine piece of furniture was your mother’s

before she traded up to mocha pleather

& it landed outside your uncle’s auto shop?

You swear my memory fails me

like the sagging springs beneath us—

that it went from our grandfather’s garage

to my father’s first apartment

before my aunt hauled it off to her sorority house.

“Whatever,” we both exhale,

because that’s what we say

when we have no idea

what’s next.

                   yvonne melania lieblein

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a random pinterest image

to celebrate national poetry month}

http://pinterest.com/yvonnemelania/pin-spired-poetry/

after awhile it stopped being about

where it came from and

why snoopy and his sidekick were

forever perched on a bright red doghouse

that had been perched on my right wrist.

after awhile it became a talisman –wait, no -

more juice than that.

after awhile it became a vacuum that sucked out

what made the world spin

and held me still. 

                              yvonne melania lieblein 

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a pinterest image

to celebrate national poetry month}

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"You only have to do it once,"

she whispers in a sideways voice.

"Leave it until you hear cotton sizzle

and voila!" Her face brightened

at the thought of my load lightened by

a singed button-down, black iron imprint

replacing hours of work

with occasional trips to the cleaners.

"Voila!" I repeat, wishing I cared about starched shirts

when all I wanted to do was drift back

to steamier times, when everyday life was

just a backdrop,  and we were centerstage.

                                         yvonne melania lieblein 

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a pinterest image

to celebrate national poetry month}

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green oh green of spring's first kiss

fleeting, soft and dear.

yvonne melania lieblein

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a random pinterest image

to celebrate national poetry month}

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I’m the last one standing.

Abandoned

by my thrill-shrinking posse,

a suddenly lame carousel crowd,

I shuffle forward to be

shaken and stirred,

dipped, dropped, 

rolled, rattled.

It’s a lonely ol’ line,

sandwiched here

between teenagers with hands  

stuffed in each other’s back pockets

and

a woman gnawing on a grotesque,

oversized turkey leg.

What ever happened to cotton candy?

                                               yvonne melania lieblein

Buy the ticket. Take the ride    Hunter S. Thompson   

{pin-spired daily poem sparked by a random pinterest image 

to celebrate national poetry week}

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Before the party revs up,

we sit alone and stare at the cake

under a sky of barely

fluttering streamers and

perky balloons.

It’s funny, really, that

what defined us for so long

has taken a back seat to

whatever it is we cram into our days.

Was it last fall  -  our ride up to Gilchrist Peak?

We followed curves to that grove of trees

where we ate tart, just-picked apples and napped

in pixie-dust corridors of light.

I remember now.

                                  yvonne melania lieblein