Spanish Lesson

Engracia!
Of all, you’re the one
who should know!

Sor Cristina at the helm

Spanish in her eyes,

blazingly scorched the tears

I dared to shed

Standing, I looked around

at the sea of white uniforms,

then down at black-shoed,

white-socked, trembling feet

-trying for an answer,

though none would dare be uttered

in case of incineration mid-air

I had just tasted the salt of the Caribbean

that splashed outside paned glass doors,

stinging the laceration to my ego

I held on to my solid wood desk

hoping to support my maimed frame

Amidst the loud, stern boom

from her small, structured mouth,

I heard the words disappointed

and  sit down please,

followed by ¡Qué desgracia!

I looked back, over singed heads,

to the rainbowed wall sign

about the granting of serenity

and acceptance of those

things I could not change

So, with courage,

I prepped for my next

session –Religion 101

Written for Every Day Poems - Classroom memories poetry prompt at https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=441295359268262&set=a.250609428336857.62979.250601428337657&type=1&theater

Fall's Way

Green leaves await their turn

as their tawny predecessors

prepare to dance farewell

Sunset crawls like a spider among trees

exposing tangled webs of yellow, red, and orange

Darkness extends in arabesque,

blanketing the acquiescent little angels

Soft strains of Time’s orchestra prep their arousal

Poised little danseuses await their queue,

amber to crimson tutus for flirtatious debut

Wind prompts a breezy melody,

swirling the little coryphée coquettes,

interweaving loud whistles in harmony

as each floats off in a cloud of pirouettes

After Fall’s beautiful ballet,

cathedral-like tree arches bow expended frills,

brushing ground to standing ovation

Appreciative Soil beckons an encore

as proud Wind reaps a crescendo of folioles

Sleep, sleep, children of Earth,

gentle Breeze whispers

as each veined-ear of tree leaf

obeys Nature’s cyclical request

Hushed by Winter’s cold hands,

Forest rubs its sleepy eyes

Content trees huddle in anticipation

of the upcoming and peaceful intermission

Red Shoes

At the heart,
a little girl’s dream,

standing high

in heeled red shoes,

takes her miles

into her light

where she is

neither shelved

with those shoes

society imposes,

nor toppled

off the pedestal

status builds

Rather, with each

balanced step, she

rules the stars

that twinkle in

her mother’s eyes

Written for T.S. Poetry/Every Day Poems/Tweetspeak Poetry - September/Image-ine: Red Shoes based on painting by Nicola Slattery at http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/09/21/image-ine-red-shoes/

A Childhood: The Biography of a Place

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

Belize…

Unlike the wide Sargasso Sea

(its fertile underground),

lies in the seat of the soul

No rumors, of water it abounds

Its birds of paradise,

the sounds of poetry

in your dreams,

belong to me

                    

My borderlands -la frontera

The violent bear it away

I taste the wine of astonishment

Such free fire –a raisin in the sun

Things fall apart at

the dyer’s hand

Brother, I’m dying

I see the forgotten waltz

The sugar solution:

three cups of tea, as

fair and tender ladies

praisesong for the widow –Belize

Little big minds rise above

incidents in the life of a slave girl,

member of the whipping club,

in search of lost time

A return to the native land

through the book of awakening

Geography III on the banks

of Plum Creek -I’m freed

A new dawn on rocky ridge

opens the kingdom of this world within

-not unlike a history of Latin America

My childhood: A history of Belize

Found poem, prepared and based on book titles (and book spines) for Tweetspeak Poetry's August Rain Theme/Project:

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/08/06/august-rain-introduction-and-a-bit-of-spiney-poetry/ 

Change

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

She clacks and clatters
down hardened, dusty way,
hundreds of tiny seeds
spilling by her sway.
Strings of multicolored beads
encircle her weary neck,
muscled by heavy, hand-woven
basket, plopped atop her cinta,
worn like a million women before her.
She barters harvested maize
and the woman still at the conveyor belt,
whose fingers nudge factory-punched
gold medals that stray,
negotiates an exchange.
Her deal made -a fair trade.
Grinning, her teeth like chiclets,
at loggers moving big rigs
with mechanical arms
on her way home.
The universe has made its preparations,
swirling pigments of the old with
so-called new world.

Written for T.S. Poetry/Every Day Poems/Tweetspeak Poetry - July Mosaics - Found Poem based on "Girl With 13 Necklaces", by Tanya Runyan

Featured at: http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/07/23/july-mosaics-concrete-poetry/
July "Mosaic" winner:
http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/08/06/august-rain-introduction-and-a-bit-of-spiney-poetry/?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter 
Featured with audio clip in T. S. Poetry's Top Ten Poetic Picks at:  
http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/08/09/this-weeks-top-ten-poetic-picks-7/

Muliebrity

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

In ease of rawness

she hardly contemplates

her reach

She, a vision

fitted in stitches

of aquamarine

Blurring lines between

her verdant veil

and her reason

For Tweetspeak Poetry's Image-ine/based on Michelle "Shell" Rummel's "Cerulean" watercolor
http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/07/06/6210/ 
https://www.facebook.com/GoddessOfWaterWritings 

Treasure

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

To him, it seemed he had to stumble from

The shy observatory he stood upon

To seek that secret soul's pleasure

To be everyone's idolized treasure

He opted for the liquid measure

Tasted highest bliss in his endeavor

Down murky halls he slithered anew

After drinking the witch's bold brew

Atop the smoky, jumbled heap he drew

Crowds of kindred spirits to woo

'Mongst age-old musical souls he crooned

The musky notes of a jazzy blues tune

Written for T.S. Poetry/Every Day Poems/Tweetspeak Poetry - June Jazz - Found Poem based on "O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell", by John Keats

Featured at: http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/06/18/june-jazz-dance/

Señor Jazzid

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

Crowd swaying

Tumbas tapping

Tribal chanting

Tension building

Smoky, thrilling

Drinks a’ spilling

Sax a’blowing

Timbre growling

Señor Jazzid

Pork-pie hatted

Latin lizard

Acid jazzing

Oxford Comma

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

Oh! Such dilemma!

Over Oxford comma

Old country of mine

Says,

‘Lose it not!’

Others say,

‘In the gutter!

Too much clutter!’

Haters love the brevity

Lovers, the history

Or perhaps utility?

This serial comma,

Such an innocent fella,

Breathes such life

In naysayers,

Yet breeds

So strongly

Among players

This English mystery,

To everyone’s worry,

Is still very much alive

In World’s ever-changing drive 

For T.S. Poetry contest using "O" (#Oxford)

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/06/12/oprah-summer-reading-list-14k-gold-giveaway/

Posted by Grace Brodhurst-Davis at 11:31 AM 0 comments

The Candy Jar

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

She stands tall
Atop the console in my entry hall
Vessel for candied contentment
Sweet childhood memories
Now my posterity’s
She is a regal lady

Her mermaid-like gown
Flows gracefully from
Her buxom-bodied phial
Fecund with sweet treats
Proudly displayed for trial

She’s entertained many varieties
From lollipops to lemon drops
Facilitated certain balance
Between upstart ‘Red Hots’
And indecisive ‘Sweet Tarts’

Though she’s been packed
And traveled quite a lot
She’s been bobbled and toppled
It’s a wonder she’s still intact
She remains a regal lady

Written for T.S. Poetry Press/Every Day Poems - April Candy Theme; Featured at:

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/05/01/the-kid-in-the-candy-store/

Matador

By G. M. Brodhurst-Davis

She sat, eyes blazing

her limbs’ embers awakening

awaiting her matador

Impossible passion

a bubbling volcano

lancing through her door

Her thoughts blistering

trumpet inflaming

blood moon turns to the Moor

Her matador gleaming

in gold-trimmed vermillion

his modus operandi, an art

Eyes focused on triumph

cape rising, taunts piercing

the beast, on red plate…flailing

The hot crowd’s approbation

signals her aspiration

Yes!  My Maestro is borne!

Written for Every Day Poems/T.S. Poetry's "Red" theme; Featured at:

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/02/28/from-blush-to-fiery-passion/

Skeletons Unsheltered

Nine skeletons in his open trailer

Thoracic cages stand to order

Not unfamiliar, but reminding what was

A funeral beckoning a new day’s birth

Does he not bear our silent uproar

at his drive-by, blackened bone yard?           

Heads turned, frozen in glares

Our next-to-nothingness shared

Nine sets of calcified structures

leaning against his trailer frame trellis

He must have painted the bony bowl heads

Were they models? Were they not?

He takes off, tarsals and metatarsals,

carpals and metacarpals a jiggle

My eyes, doll-like, clacked open,

enslaved in robotic procession

Nine lives reduced to bits

Souls long gone to somewhere else?

I could not fight a crawling shudder

Did they have families? Did they not?

He gives them a start, abruptly stopping,

cages rittle-rattling rigidly against wires

Skulls bob-bobbing in concurrence

with the mournful-manner, the bony bowl-headed,

rib-caged, dangling danglers were transported

as the pitter-patter of drizzle sprinkled on the spectacle

My comments about this poem: 
On my way to work one morning, I saw a truck pulling 9 skeletons (painted black) being hauled in a trailer. I wrote this poem based on my journal entry of what I saw...

Destiny

By Grace M. Brodhurst-Davis

Outside of myself

I can see how

The wind blows

Breath into me,

But can’t seem

To see how

Breath in me

Can erase the cacophony

Of deep-hued memories

Of my being      

Though knowing

Such breath,             

I pulse towards

My innermost calling

To free myself to be

For T.S. Poetry contest using "O" (#Outside)

http://www.tweetspeakpoetry.com/2012/06/12/oprah-summer-reading-list-14k-gold-giveaway/