Category Archives: Poetry

Aug 11 2013
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Poetry

TERRA INCOGNITA

Meandering through the darkened forest
A stale light dims my path
No matter, I know it well
And forge through rocks and mud                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Meant to deter me                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               From this trodden tempered trail                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     That feeds my hunger                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        For words not said                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           From cowards who fear my trespass.

(c) 2013 Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

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Aug 10 2013
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Poetry

As Long as You Asked

I suppose it was a good day, as long as you asked
But nothing particularly good happened
Except that nothing particularly bad happened

That had made it a noticeably bad day
So in the absence of a noticeably bad day
I suppose it was a good day after all.

(c)2013 Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

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Dec 07 2012
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Poetry

The Party

Yeah, there are over a hundred people scattered about the hall.

A man planted here to fill her needs, a woman posed there to fill his needs.

What each needs…

They both need.

          Why do they meet, suppose, a marriage of experiences.

          Intertwined with verbal abuse.

          A match of wits to discover they have none.

A pose, hand-held cigarette.

It’s fickle light reveals scant wrinkles.

Ashes falling down her dress.

Foundation covers her wrinkles.

          Plenty of food, mixing mouths, mixing words, mixing

          thoughts.       

          Absolutely, I don’t know what you mean.

          What did you say?  I don’t really care.

          Make an impression, tell it to me again, don’t smile.

          There’s food in your teeth.

Drink this.

Evening’s end, I’m through.  Can I leave?

Graciously I move towards the door, my exit, to leave quietly.

Oh!  Are you leaving already?

Early day tomorrow lots to do – besides, there’s food in my teeth.   

(c) 2012 Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

Remember that no amount of money can purchase grace, wisdom and humility.

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Oct 01 2012
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Poetry

My Old Kitchen Floor

Jagged vinyl edges ripped apart

As the wood beneath gasps for air.

Warped and fragile, the wood bursts forth, angered by its seclusion.

Recalling its mighty strength beyond the dormant vinyl, it emerges in combat

The vinyl fights back, not willing to succumb to the force beneath.

Once in harmony, together, smooth, tight, and glistening

Rebels against dishes breaking and stomping feet and the whirl of the roller skates.

The wall, proud and tall, kicks in the sides and the vinyl curls in terror and confusion at this unexpected betrayal.

Stained, muddied and vulnerable to its own demise, its few strips cling to memories of babies crawling, puppies curled up in one spot, cooking smells, conversations and the roller skates which managed to glide by against all opposition

“Oh no, not the skates!”

These words recalled as its last strips, finally severed scraps, scatter into one final heap against the wall.

(c) 2012 Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

Remember that no amount of money can purchase grace, wisdom and humility.     Until tomorrow….

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Sep 27 2012
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Poetry

My Masquerade

Silhouetted love reveals only a shadow

Able to detect a shape, movements slow and precise

Sometimes though a blur

I can fool you.

Watch me move again I am sly

Obliquity of mime disjunction of mind

But sensuous, passive withheld words in a directed dialogue

Can you help?

I am not alone in this though I only move

I am in your way you have to look

And perhaps you feel an inclement warmth

Watch me fold.

Slowly I crease can you detect my shape?

Assemblage of body pull together my mind

A heartbeat

Are you still fooled?

Now it’s time to come back

A slow twist, a turn but which way should I move?

I feel confused, distorted

What is it that I was?

I can’t remember, I feel a pain

Throbbing, arthritic sensuality ah yes, but watch

A new fold, this shape I have renounced myself

Continuance, my masquerade.

(c) 2012 Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

Remember that no amount of money can purchase grace, wisdom and humility.        Until tomorrow…

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Sep 20 2012
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Poetry

Life Recycled

Steel shows through the peeling rubber of the leather worn wheelchair with the aged woman in it.

The wheels scrape along the sidewalk as her husband pushes from behind, slowly sliding his feet along the gravelled sidewalk as if lifting them would cause him to fall.

He pauses.

Then tucks the ends of the blanket snugly across his wife’s lap.

          On the other side of the street

          A father pushes his baby in a stroller.

          The squeaking rubber wheels and the frayed leather footrest reveal its wear.

Gazing from her wheelchair

The aged woman observes the father as he pauses to tuck the pink crocheted blanket snugly across his daughter’s legs.

(c) Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

Remember that no amount of money can purchase grace, wisdom and humility.        Until tomorrow…

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Sep 18 2012
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Poetry

Just a Flower

I pass by the potted flower planted in ceramic and I think

All you have to do is sit there and be beautiful

That is all you are with no other purpose than to be beautiful

And I hope that someone brings you home

To sit somewhere and be beautiful

And takes care of you so that your one day withering body does not define that

Your life had no other purpose

Than to sit there and be beautiful.

(C) 2012 Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

Remember that no amount of money can purchase grace, wisdom and humility.        Until tomorrow…

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Sep 16 2012
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Poetry

The Party

Yeah, there are over a hundred people scattered about the hall

A man planted here to fill her needs, a woman posed there to fill his needs

What they need

They both need.

Why do they meet, suppose a marriage of experiences

Intertwined with verbal abuse

A match of wits to discover they have none

A pose, hand held cigarette

It’s fickle light reveals scant wrinkles

Ashes falling down her dress

Foundation covers her wrinkles

Plenty of food, mixing mouths, mixing words, mixing thoughts

Absolutely, I don’t know what you mean

What did you say?  I don’t really care

Make an impression tell it to me again, don’t smile

There’s food in your teeth.

Drink this.

Evening’s end, I’m through can I leave?

Graciously I move towards the door, my exit to leave quietly

Oh!  Are you leaving already?

Early day tomorrow lots to do besides – I have food in my teeth.

(c) 2012 Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

Remember that no amount of money can purchase grace, wisdom and humility.         Until tomorrow…

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Sep 13 2012
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Poetry

A Taste of Liberty

I am alone on the beach with my kite, my companion.

It seems to be alive as it tries to fly

But I hinder its escape.

My kite kicks up, bouncing against the sand, pivoting in the grains.

But my fingers fold tightly around the silky string so there is no chance for it to slip through my hands.

A gust of wind rescues my kite and lifts it to the sky.

The string follows faithfully, pulling through my grasp.

I yank hard to reel them back but they escape.

My kite rejoices in ecstasy, whirling, twirling, turning somersaults in the sky.

And the loyal string swings back and forth.

Capriciously, the wind abandons its whim and rests my kite in a breeze.

Lured to this tranquil state my kite begins to fall.

Thrashing and twisting in uncontrollable circles, speeding towards disaster

My kite plunges into the ocean and disintegrates.

And the string curls and sags forming “s” shapes beneath the ocean’s surface among muted colored chips of paper.

(c) 2012 Linda Stone Cohen All Rights Reserved

Remember that no amount of money can purchase grace, wisdom and humility.        Until tomorrow…

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