Tag Archive | poetry

Take a Bow (Poem)

Picture of Clara Bow found on Google Images http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20141222-who-was-the-original-it-girl

Picture of Clara Bow found on Google Images 

Take a Bow

(My Poetical Tribute to Clara Bow)

The screen is my release

Pieces of me exposed to all

Mask on, and the joker’s wild

I took what was meant to shame me

and made it my own to give to whom I desired

I was a jewel determined to shine

All I wanted was a happiness that’s truly mine


When Art & Poets Have a Conversation (poetry)


Image by Lisa Hess Hesselgrave

This poem is a response to the poem written by Maureen Doallas—  http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2014/01/31/image-ine-poetry-jumprope-lisa-hess-hesselgrave/



You are where you don’t belong

Hands tied behind a dollhouse chair

A captured Alice in Wonderland

screaming at the top of your lungs

“Off with their heads!”

Only the rag doll, strung out

on the table draped in chapel white sheets

gives a damn

The stepmother hovers over you

She is the reincarnation of

Hansel and Gretel’s captor.

She has no time for your antics

You will stay there

until the sunlight filtering

through the white curtain

fades to black

until the Jack in the Beanstalk tree

dangles shadowy leaves

all over your pretty in pink walls

until you realize

that your parents’ divorce

is really final

and happily ever after

just doesn’t happen

in real life




Image done by Lisa Hess Hesselgrave

Image done by Lisa Hess Hesselgrave


Little avenger

ties on his cape, all ready

to save a freckled face

next door neighbor crush

from under the bed monsters

blowing goodnight kisses.

Poetry Pic: The Breakthrough

The Breakthrough

A Poem Inspired by a Photograph

Written by Alexandra Caselle





Image found on Google Images, originally on mannykagan.com


Each ring, a landmark,

a calling card, a slot of

time where two men bound

by a covenant

broke their rank . Each colored bead,

a makeshift, pint-sized

tombstone, with henna

stained first initials marking

just not the right time,

but the wronged hollow

place of babies lost in her

sea. The white one stood

for a mother entombed

in a hell of her own, a

father locked inside

the hallowed halls

of a once beautiful mind.

Now the morning sun

drags her new lover

out of bed, out of her life

with cumulus clouds

softly whispering

a benediction over

her house. She lights up

the cigar, nicotine

sealing in the broken places,

wisps of smoke streaking

strands like an ex-man’s

rogue. Hardship can bring

all the rain it wants.

She stares at it straight

in its eye because she is–

a perfect storm.

A Slip of the Poetical Tongue

Image found on Google Images (psychologytoday.com)

Image found on Google Images (psychologytoday.com)

When a Diva Dies

Winehouse & Houston,

the modern-day Billie Holiday,

wind notes into melodies

synchronizing souls

into the melody of emotion.

Their influence, their inner demons

forever etched

into the musical staffs

of popular culture.

Sing on, songbird.

Sing on.

The Nature of the Thing


a label, a word, a term,

two syllables

flowing off your tongue.

A sultry saxophone tune

landing on the gentle surface

of your soul.

It exudes power, sacrifice,

sensuality and wholeness.

Within its essence lies love,

springing forth like a reservoir

of water nourishing those

within its presence,

an all-healing slave

to open wounds

of experience.

Within its essence lies hope,

radiating through kindness

that is cherished and reciprocated.

On the outskirts lie mirrors


what society thinks she should be:




what her mate expects her to be:




But perceptions clash with reality.

A woman is like a peach:

one never knows the sweetness iinside

until one experiences the layers

surrounding her core.

Double Vision

Slammed doors

Knitted eyebrows

framed in anger

Innumerable scars

Mind entombed

Deflowered too soon

Broken spirit


of a former shell

Screaming for help

No response is heard

Mirrors reflect

the uncanny turth:

She is lookiing

at her mother’s face.

Schizophrenic in Love

Tethered in midair

Smoke and mirrors

Part of the act

The locks unlatch

The magician waves his wand

She stretches back and forth

A rubberband that refuses

to let


Innocence Lost

Feeling out of place

at Vacation Bible School,

I slink behind trees.

I survey the lot,

a sea of various hues

bathed in summer heat.

Tweens huddle in cliques.

Younger kids swarm around

except for one child.

She curls her arms through

the pyramid-shaped jungle

gym, agile and free.

The kindergarten girl

missteps and skins up her knees.

Angel tears cascade.

I thumb them away,

bandage her boo-boos, rock

her in my embrace.

A smile soon appears.

Belts leave Sassoon jeans and whirl:

We’re Wonder Women.

Sixth grade classmates crane

necks and wonder why I

choose her over them.

She still sees the good

in this world.  Her dreams ride on

horse-drawn carriages.

Her best friend steals dolls,

not the dimpled guy who reeks

of musk and cologne.

Her mother can move

like a work of art, not a

piece of sculpture with

clay muscles melting

on one side into a sea

of Bell’s Palsy.

We swing high, arching

Buster-Browns toward the clear sky

without any cares.