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Cheri R. Phillips
http://cheriphillips.purpledream.com
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Page Marked
05/10/04
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You, my friend, are a comfortable book;
A catalogue of reason.
I page mark you with sunshine
till we meet again next season.
Revelations on your parchment face
speak volumes to me.
You're a romantic novel, and adventure guide,
a comic book and a mystery.
I love to turn your pages.
You're the Herald without stale news.
You're one publication
I can't afford to loose.
You're a body of knowledge,
full of entertainment, leisure and art.
We flow from chapter to chapter,
whether we near or far apart.
I subscribe to your opinion column.
You give the best advise in town.
When it's time for true confessions
you never run me down.
You're an encyclopedic master,
my protector and Tribune.
You discern fact from fiction
and are slow to judge or assume.
What better gift be my reward
than a boundless treasure such as you?
Whether hard-bound or soft copied
we bookmark and start anew.
You, my friend, are a comfortable book;
A catalogue of reason.
I page mark you with sunshine
till we meet again next season.
Dedicated to Margaret
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An Episode In Auschwitz
05/26/04 |
The sun is setting in the Bavarian woods.
Our Capo wipes his crumpled brow.
Our camp is building a munitions plant.
We prisoners are permitted to rest now.
Returning to camp in a gray prison carriage
We dream of escaping these terrible places.
We live in gray huts, eat gray bread and soup,
The rags we wear are a gray as our faces.
My comrade points to the tall, black trees
Where the setting sun is shining through.
We behold the mountains of Salzburg.
A little barred window provides us the view.
We are captivated by Nature's magnificence.
We've missed her fresh beauty for so long.
This night her skies are so alive with color,
My companions slid from silence to song.
Clouds shape changed from sapphire to ruby,
Offering a sharp contrast to our gray reality.
I broke one of our moments of moving silence
And whispered "How beautiful this world could be."
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Dragon Rose
06/10/04 |
In the valley of Dragoonfava
Where gnomes and unicorns play
A small fire-breathing dragon
Flickers the skies ablaze all day
Dragon-Rose was her name
And she wasn't even green
She's the most unusual life form
Dragoonfava had ever seen
Her wings were soft as petals
Except for those thorny parts
Her scales were shades of pink
And shaped like tiny broken hearts
Her breath painted the sky in colors
During her early morning flights
She festooned the heavens in pink
Before daylight turned to night
When the rain clouds grew dark
Into the air Dragon-Rose would fly
Spitting lightning from her mouth
To brighten up the shadowy sky
One day her bolt bounced off a cloud
The lightening frayed her tiny wing
Dragon-Rose tumbled in the mist
To the ground she decended spiraling
She plunged into Dragoonfava Lake
Where she traveled no one knows
But that's the last time anyone saw
Such a creature as Dragon-Rose
She's not spotted in the skies today
But Dragon-Rose is still about I think
Because before the day meets the night
The skies flicker in a blaze of pink
To My Future Grandchildren
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Magdalene
06/23/04 |
I'm the sinner of Galilean Magdala,
The watering place of my youth.
I've came to hear him speak of love
And learn his mystic truth.
Seven devils besieged me
In the darkest hours of the night.
The evil madness evaporated
In the presence of his light.
My sweet rabbi, friend and teacher
Is a selfless soul, yet aware.
I kneel again before him
To wash his feet with my hair.
My eyes fill with the saltiness
Of a mighty windless sea.
A wave of loss rose to a crest
Crashing on my inner memory.
A wind blew warm inside,
As his Spirit washed me clean
Like mud wiped from a crystal
I shine as his Mary Magdalene.
He tutored me with patience
In the ways of a sage kabbalist.
I voyaged with the Magi
Under France's moonlight mist.
Anointing Marseilles in his truth
Sweet as myrrh from an alabaster jar.
Rumors of our Devine, Sabbeth bed
Shine as a lustrous morning star.
Standing upon Marseilles cliffs
My breast merge with a body of wind
I felt my Master gently caresses
The nape of my neck and ebony skin.
His celestial love is my rising wind
A resting place for a tired heart-string
In the storms I see his deep, dark eyes
The skies thunder - I love you Magdalene.
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Signorina Como
07/09/04 |
Lake Como is a smiling temptress,
A blue-eyed mistress awaiting a kiss.
Arbors of lilacs drench her in perfume.
Vines race up her like wildfire in bliss.
Fingers of clouds stroke her snowcaps
Rolling upon her like waves from the sea.
The Alpine snow melts into Lake Como.
The church bells regale her splendidly.
The sun creaks down her mountain tops.
The Alps stand firm like old grey haired men.
Waterfalls drum doggedly at her doorstep,
Delighted to contour her Italian skin.
Lady Como serves a seductive cocktail,
An aperitif of pale blue foggy sky.
Como is and intoxicating Signorina,
So beautiful, yet captivatingly shy.
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Wild Card
07/29/04 |
She sat crisply on the edge of a wildcard
Contemplating the back of her eyelids
And the savage pleasure and penalties
Of the act she was about to undertake.
Her success as the mistress of dodge
Crumbled into pleading Gypsy eyes
As moon sickness and warm lips
Swallowed her from crown to heel.
A madness of tears swept her hair
Washing her twist star fire and darkness.
Husky cello groans and violin wails
Vanished in a melodious wheel of light.
The whisper of daybreak called to her
With sleepy kisses and a heart space
Professing endless restful sunlight.
A wildcard rolled the roulette of romance.
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Shedding Ocher
08/12/04 |
I come from a buried place
Bruised and blue as fallen plumbs
Where locked behind needle fences
Are jellied faces sucking thumbs
A land of crooked family trees
With roots that melt like snow
Feed on their babies broken bones
Bloody knees and broken toes
Giant serpents sweep the land
Twisted creatures with no eyes
Telling tales of good fortune
Wrapped in snake skin and lies
There the wind is black as pitch
The moon weeps into midnight
Waiting in the blackness for the sun
Resting barely beyond her sight
I come from ink-stained nightmares
Beat by the rusty-belt of dusty dreams
Though my hide was tanned to Ocher
I shed my skin to unleash my wings
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God's Picasso
09/14/04 |
Down's distorted features
Surround dull, brown, walk-man eyes.
Trapped in God's Picasso is
An astounding purity and simplicity.
Love is resides in an unassuming
Flattened face an a heart that beats
And skips a beat and bleats
"I love you."
Gnarled fingers and flapping hands
Keep time to an inner drum
Hunched shoulders rock to a low hum
Of an invisible didgeridoo.
A mind asleep in time, with no yesterdays,
Only todays that bring tommorrows.
The Cydonian face lives for now.
Ah, the smell of rusty rue is sweet.
A puddle of light flickers
As God invades space and time.
Sentient human beings
Find the beauty in God's Picasso.
Dedicated to Tanya, my Down's Syndrome sister.
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Mother's Fear
10/04/04 |
I am a red womb
Thumping with the rhythm of life.
I am a pregnant tigress
Singing life's opera.
I am digging, climbing, spinning towards heaven.
I am one drop of wisdom,
Sitting in a freshly painted Bentwood rocker.
I am mother's milk
Listening to my belly drum.
I am the nursery.
I am a weeping willow
Protecting those beneath my branches.
I fear the day you will not need me,
The day I dry up and blow away.
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The Long Goodbye
10/21/04 |
It's the longest, long good-bye.
You're not here, I'm no place.
No recognition fills your eye,
You are lost in moments and space.
Life's celebrations have gone awry,
Now fragile webs of aged Dutch lace
Watch as our dreams crumble and die.
This cruel joke has no class, or taste.
I have love, but no tears left to cry,
Watching you trapped in this time machine.
I trill in laughter as you briefly remember
And slivers of nostalgia become pristine.
You recall our holidays in warm December,
Then your mind slips into quarantine.
Your mind once so brilliantly limber,
Now dull, as if fed opiates of Morphine.
Incurable hope is now a crushed ember.
You're not here, nor there, nor in between.
When you're not here, I'm in no place.
I wish the gripper would laugh, or cry.
I reach for answers asking myself why
Are we burdened with a fall from grace?
These black thoughts befuddle and mystify,
Until I realize illness is not a disgrace.
Your here, yet vanished without a trace.
That glimmer of genius has left your eye.
You are my cowboy with a movie star face.
Our last love scene is the long good-bye.
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