The Lady's Scriptorium

Feathered Friends

2012-02-07T23:34:00.002-06:00

Could be birdsong…what for?
I only hear, I don't understand.
Say it again, please.

“This is mine, you can't have it!”?
OK. Your tree, your branch.
You needn’t be so insistent.

“I'm hungry…NOW!”
Must be young ones
in the vine pot on the porch.

Silence reigns as I brush
past their leafy refuge
and slip safely inside, then

the “I'm hungry” chorus returns.
Wren parents scurry back and forth
to give and give to that sound.

Out the back door near sunset
a multi-species chorus ensues
in a fuss over bath and seed.

We don't feed them every day.
So they scold us in chirp lingo
From their power line perches.

Avian joys of the suburbs:
free food, roosting places
social network, singing spaces.

Along with the feline threat,
and big glass doors to chime
a bird's brain from the inside.

Thanks for the songs, feathered ones.
Makes life in the sterile humanity
of the ‘burbs a bit more tolerable

for the naked ones who cannot fly.

Lady Joanne
2/7/2012

To hear a recitation of this poem, go here.

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go forth, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Forgiveness

2012-01-03T17:58:00.003-06:00

The longer I live,
the more I give.
The more I forgive,
the happier I live.

A longevity of giving;
a giving for-ness of living.
A love remembered;
a mistake forgotten.

Why loss in life?
Why will to live?
Why, this means
life is to forgive.

Loss is the deal.
Meditate on memory.
Fill in with love.
Nowhere else to be
when life is a flood.

Lady Joanne 1/12

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go forth, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

To Embrace the Night

2011-12-20T21:25:00.001-06:00

A lyrical reprise in honor of Winter Solstice:

It's time to capture your lost courage, true;
don't run away so fast, my friend.
Close your eyes and let the dark enfold you:
Time to embrace the night.

Watch the piercing stars when the twilight dims;
it's ok to be blinded by the spirit-light.
Feel your fear and let it go on the wind:
Reach to embrace the night.

Open your ears to the whisper of God;
listen, listen with all your heart
as She runs that melody right through your blood:
Time to embrace the night.

In the deep of the valley of shadow,
when solitude looms overhead,
be caressed by the unseen hands of love:
Reach to embrace the night.

No matter how long the night's duration,
no matter how lonely your soul,
dawn will awaken your inspiration,
Beyond the reach of night.

So, light up your sweet soul, my friend;
time once more to embrace the night.

© 1999 Joanne E. Clendenen (Sprott)

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Waterfall

2011-12-13T23:22:00.002-06:00

Standing before waterfall,
mist of moisture
shining on skin.

One step forward.
Body beaten blue
by consequence.

Exposed,
bloody, transparent.
facing fear.

Essence of rainbow,
rises, to halo me
from oblivion.

I smile, then move on,
into the cave of light.

Lady Joanne
12/13/11

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Crayola

2011-11-15T21:45:00.001-06:00

Smell of wax
strikes nostrils first,
before eyes even register
pointed color.

Red hogs the eye
fills all the pupil space:
Pay attention!
Fill me with lipstick kisses!

Then the yellow, shining cheery,
tries to wither the green.
Could put my hands in the green
grass wrapped around my toes.

Can you tell orange's not a fav?
Skipped it in the rainbow, I did.
Never been sure why,
though sherbet's pale is nice enough.

Love thistle and orchid for smiles,
spring green for life,
plum for “I know who I am”
but without the arrogance of purple.

Oh, and peach for cheeks to brush
with more kisses and true blue
for hydrangeas growing
in sandy acidic soil.

Ah, precious ones, silver and gold
shine again from the center,
But they lie unused mostly;
the glitter tends to shed.

Maroon for blood running through,
apricot for my skin,
chestnut and green for eyes,
white, not dark brown for hair (sigh).

A rainbow of waxy creation
to draw me and my world;
I put on my nightdress and draw,
like Harold and his purple crayon.

Someday when I recover,
I'll draw me a window like Harold,
with moon and stars, and a little boat
to sail my reality with.

Someday, when I grow young.

Lady Joanne
11/11

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Flying Dialogue

2011-10-30T21:20:00.001-05:00

Hangnail feather claw;
I’ll clip those wings.

I don’t need wings to fly;
bye, bye.

Your bye is your fly,
hangfeather parachute.

Check your fly, guy,
while I fly high.

Rip cord salute,
secondary chute.

While you fall down,
I still go up.

Hollywood stunt,
giant pillow below.

You’ve blown my cover,
I’ll have to find another.

Bushes won’t hide
five trees in your eyes.

The fig leaf will have to do,
think of the beautiful view.

So, a half-Venus statue will do,
also, I won’t intrude.

No, come and join the party;
there’ll be clams on the half-shell.

Pod-eriffic! Pod-ification of a
prolific pod shell podment of pod-ciety.

A society of pods? Wrong shape.
People are so much more interesting.

Dimensioning and questioning
geometry and theology.

Yes, humans are curious creatures,
multi-dimensional energy fountains.

A creative creation, a collaboration
of completely clownish colligenous junk.

But we’ve got heart, unlike the tin man,
we just don’t use it well.

Mindless scarecrow
and a lion that has no courage.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste,
and our fears a waste to hang on to.

Hail! The five-dollar cigarette,
and the eleven-dollar 12-pack.

Hail! The five-dollar chocolate bar,
and the eleven-dollar wine bottle.

Twine and whine,
sin and sing attitude.

Lullaby and good night;
go to bed now and sleep tight.

Matt and Joanne 1/08

Matt and I had fun with this back and forth two-lines-to-a-stanza/speaker dialogue; he got to go first. Thanks to our common interest in this poetry thing, we got to take the two voices thing quite literally. Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Saturday Poetics: Call and Response. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

A Texas Fall--Reprise

2011-10-18T20:02:00.000-05:00

When the pale blue Norther finally

Pushes the heavy, wet air back to

The Gulf from whence it came in April,

We know relief, and open windows,

Ah, real air, not metal-smelled, but

Clean-scented soul conditioning.

Our pale green leaves turn vapid yellow,

Fool's gold compared to the great North

With her ruby maples and aspen glitter.

Living soil still holds tropical heat,

To grow fall color in clusters of

Purple and gold Chrysanthemums.

Browned grass and bare branches,

Temporary mortalities, remind us

Of the longer death in other climes.

Far into the frost and snow fall

Of the North, we swing on verandas,

Savoring this second, sweeter, summer.

Joanne

11/20/09

©2009 Joanne Sprott

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Couldn't help reprising this poem from last October after feeling the first real front blow its blustery path through my opened windows. Too nice after such a hot summer here in Houston.

We Girls, We Grew

2011-10-04T22:22:00.002-05:00

Beginning with the beanie,
starting in the soil of
Browniedom, we grew.

Gathered at long tables
in elementary cafeterias,
we crafted and communed.

We girls, we grew.

Until we greened,
ah, that was rich!
Promotion and sashes!

Black and white photos
from a Brownie camera,
and a badge sewn on.

We girls, we grew.

No matter where
the gypsy Air Force
sent us, I knew.

Girls would be there
to giggle and grow with.
To stake new tents,

under canopies of trees,
on slopes of undergrowth,
flooded with gale and storm.

We girls, we grew.

Tying knots from tree
to tree to hang dewy pots
early set over dawn fires.

Not s'mores I remember,
but steamed breakfast in foil
laid on ash and yellow coals.

We girls, we grew.

And curled in cold socks,
folded in frigid bags while
wind bent our sleepy resolve.
Brushing chattering teeth
under whispered pines, with
only cold water to rinse away.

We girls, we grew.

And back home, then
for door-to-door innocence
of minty cookie sales,

in a world without
threats behind the doors.
Just boxes of sugar delight.

We girls, we grew.

Thank you, Daisy,
for greening my youth.
We grew because of you.

Joanne Sprott
10/4/2011

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

This one is a bit of a rough draft, folks, as my prompt was a recent request for memories from my Mom, who is going to a planning thing for commemorating 100 years of Girl Scouting (in 2012). It turned out to be an interesting idea. Let me know what you think, and how it feels.

City Alive

2011-09-27T21:30:00.001-05:00

Sandals tread where tires rolled;
the humans go so slow,
to feel the breeze, smell wet leaves,
and sit within the shade of trees.

Music fills the air with notes;
the humans listen slow,
to Tejano here and Reggae there,
to Jazz notes mixed with folk somewhere.

Smells mingle in savory smoke;
the humans savor slow,
beer/curried rice and barbeque steak,
spicy chicken and funnel cake.

Colors clash and melt and swirl;
the humans dance so slow,
in African shifts and layered skirts,
Indian saris and tie-dye shirts.

Close they pass without the touch;
human beings can tell as much,
eye to eye, stride for stride,
no more cars in which to hide.

So, human, go feel the freedom,
of being in the street.
Hug your neighbor and take a stroll.
Give your breath to leaves….
real slow.

Lady Joanne
11/2006

© Copyright 2007, Joanne Sprott

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Blues Horn Villanelle

2011-09-15T21:39:00.002-05:00

Sing out loud the heart's rainbow key
Release the colors of the notes
Your heart is a blues horn, baby

Blow the pink note, slide here to me
Watch us spin to the tune of love
Sing out loud the heart's rainbow key

Blow passion's crimson note and be
Cloaked in the scent of lover's skin
Your heart is a blues horn, baby

Blow the black note of the betrayed
Scream the high notes to drown the loss
Sing out loud the heart's rainbow key

Blow slow the deep blue note and grieve
The blurred form of your soul, sinking
Your heart is a blues horn, baby

Blow the white note of love for thee
Fill your soul with a passion for life
Sing out loud the heart's rainbow key

Improvise that line with glee
Give your heart to the stars' applause
Sing out loud the heart's rainbow key
Your heart is a blues horn, baby

Lady Joanne
2001

A villanelle based on the structure in Dylan Thomas's Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night. Submitted to the dVerse Pub's Meeting the Bar. Visit and check out this wondrous space for poets. Let me know how to make this poem better. Thanks! :)

Being Mom

2011-09-13T22:32:00.004-05:00

Dark hair, rosy face.
feelings camouflaged in lace,
dressin’ up for the show.

They say I look like you,
but I was just pretending.

Don’t know how to be a saint,
with proper petticoats,
and a martyred smile.

Addicted to falling in love,
am I, dressed in scarlet letters,
with lips empty from kissing.

They still say I look like you,
but I was just pretending.

Lately, though, as gravity
begins to win the race to death,
I see you in my mirror.

And people say how
I sacrifice my soul for others,
playing that pleasing game.

Meanwhile, you wax into
old age feistier and stronger
than I remember.

I thought I was free,
to be, to fly,
Or just to cry?

Cry for the lost chances,
the broken hearts,
the lips still empty.

They say I’m just like you
but inside, beyond beauty,
I’m not really you at all.

Just pretending.

Lady Joanne
8/08

©2008 Joanne Sprott

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Long, Slow Cooking

2011-08-30T23:18:00.003-05:00

Smells dissolve into tastes,
yet no spoon to sauce;
just imagining is enough.

Onion, tears of onion,
burning cloves of garlic,
lingerie for nude beans.

Smell and taste like touch
Sensuous food strokes
Erotica of taste, like breath

on skin. Orgasm of spices,
so reptilian brain-like,
the way smell-taste feels.

We eat so fast, we forget…

Stew boiling over fire,
masking Girl Scout desires.
Some-mores and pine on the mind.

Tastes mixed with smoke
surf on the wind, sketching
the boundaries of bodies.

Only here, in life itself
these sensorial gifts of pain
and pleasure take root.

Reminds me of loving you.

Lady Joanne
8/11

©2011 Joanne Sprott

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Looking Glass Country

2011-08-05T23:23:00.003-05:00

Alice, today, through
looking glass, darkly.

Vision of you, there,
back of branches, lightly.

Running toward that,
swiftly moving away.

Forest closes in,
or maybe expands.

Yearning leaves streaks
on veins of old kisses.

Bowed and turned,
soul whispers reflection.

Feel a light embrace
from behind the mirror.

Lady Joanne
8/5/11

©2011 Joanne Sprott

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Kim

2011-07-21T21:35:00.004-05:00

While I was pondering inside my pages,
Kim was out climbing trees,
escaping from her mom’s breakdowns.

No time for her to wonder, who is Kim?
She dragged me away from printed worlds,
to ride our bikes to the 7-Eleven

where slurpees and ten-cent candy bars
satisfied our sugar addiction.
We’d play in the woods next to my house,

darting through groves of old trees.
No predatory humans back then;
we could roam where we pleased.

Then there was Star Trek; ah, the 60s.
She told me of space and technology,
of Capt. Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy,

And mini-skirted green-skinned alien girls!
but it was not enough to watch the show,
we had to dress in knit tops and pants,

and go boldly forth into unknown lands,
where manhole covers were transporter pads.
After puberty, Kim led the way, as always,

informing my late-blooming self
about social institutions like French kissing;
saved me from a faux-pas on that first date.

Kim was my flaxen-haired alter ego,
my action balance, my social guide,
in a childhood where I seemed

the dark haired stranger in an alien world.

This poem was changed from my standard capitalized quatrains to tercet style, thanks to Luke Prater, who gave a wonderful critique and suggestions during dVerse Pub's Crit Friday. Thanks, Luke! I love the flow of this method for this story!

Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.

Falling into Your Eyes

2011-07-13T00:03:00.003-05:00

I keep looking down,
Because if I look at you,
I know I’ll fall into your eyes.

I’ve met them a thousand times before.
I know them from some other when,
That old secret gateway to your heart.

Right now that heart is aching
So you’ve blown a smoky shell to hide in;
Kept those bad habits to push us all away

I keep looking down,
Because if I look at you,
I know I’ll fall into your eyes

But those eyes, they do keep calling.
They still want me to do some falling,
To dive into that reflection of my soul.

And find my way into your heart,
Where water gently swirls around me,
Filling me with light from head to toe.

I keep looking down, then
To avoid that crazy mirror
So I can’t see me in those eyes.

I’m afraid of falling, you see,
Into that ocean of blue
Where all breath is caught

And no heart escapes.
But maybe just this once
I won't get lost.

Just this once...

Lady Joanne
5/01

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

I Cry this Dream

2011-06-29T10:50:00.003-05:00

So, I cry this dream,
Tearful and honeycombed.
Sweetened memories stick to my face.
Tongue flicks out to catch a taste
Of honey-salted tears.

I don’t want to soothe your pain,
I’m so tired, so tired.
Can I please find my own bed
And rest instead?

Real sweetness comes in lying down
With an empty head, no worries,
Be happy, with a sunrise instead,
Creeping over the headboard.

Wisps of childhood dreams
Replaced by scent-memories
Of sausage, eggs, toast and Mom,
Mom, taking care of everything.

Ah, to be taken care of,
There’s the magic.
The sweetness of releasing,
Letting the tears flow like honey.

Lady Joanne
1/08

©2008 Joanne Sprott

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

Kiss Me with Your Eyes

2011-06-15T12:06:00.001-05:00

Kiss me with your eyes.
Don’t be afraid of the flame.
You kissed me once with your lips,
Long ago; I remember it well.
There was no shame.

Salty streams to our tongues.
Tears flowed together
Tickling the skin of our cheeks.
Eyelashes caressed.
So, kiss me now, with your eyes.

Kiss me with your eyes,
And the water of love--
Be still.

Matt and Joanne Sprott
11/07

©2007 Joanne Sprott

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

The Muse

2011-05-31T21:09:00.001-05:00

Look out! The muse is loose,
All a-glitter and a-shake in her mermaid self.
One grab and all you've got is
A handful of scales for your trouble.

Listen carefully; what you want
Could be a stray note from her full lips,
As she wriggles off to the other shore,
Singing and laughing merrily off-key.

Take that note; that's all you'll get.
She may never come back, so,
Your job’s to create something,
Something celestial from that single sound.

Look up! The muse is overhead again,
All a-glitter and a-shake in her mermaid self,
As she rains her scales down upon your head,
Until you pick one up and look inside.

But you don't see you in their reflection;
You see some shapely form to hold,
But the more you hang on to fishy tail,
The more she’ll let you go.

She haunts you in the moonlight,
And taunts you in the fire’s embers,
Dancing in the sparks before your eyes.
And you are mesmerized, mesmerized.

Meanwhile, you pledge your love to me,
But I see her scales scattered, shattered
There upon the shore; you think she’s me
Don’t you, but I am so much more.

Lady Joanne
3/07

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

Aggregate--A Blues Poem

2011-05-18T09:04:00.003-05:00

He’s just hopped off the train
In Houston, twisting an ankle on the way.
Left dried up dirt and family
In Georgia to plant a new life
In the city.

Sounds like steam escaping,
But it’s just cars, rail cars,
Filling up with aggregate—
Pebbles pouring in shifts
To fill a city with concrete and steel.

He can hear the land screaming,
Until the pebbles bury it
In sterile silence
While the trees die
And the train whistle moans.

He’ll bring the wife and kids along,
When something like work turns up,
But in the meantime, he looks for
Leftover trees that the bulldozers
leave, to shelter him from
The starless night.

In Georgia, a handful of dirt
Was blown out of his hands
By the hot wind.

In Houston, a handful of dirt
Is scraped into artificial hills
Only to be lost to landfills.

He smells leftover life of cows
Whose ghosts can be heard mooing
At midnight among the loading docks.

Hot house trees bring human order
Out of the old green chaos,
Until the ornamentals wither in the heat.

He notices the wilt
As he walks into his first day’s work
In the new concrete warehouse.

Joanne and Matt Sprott
11/2007

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

Let this Angel Speak

2011-05-03T21:09:00.002-05:00

Let this angel speak: yes, her.
She has something to say, this one
White-haired crone of a bent spirit.

Wings are a bit raggedy and sparse,
But they soar smoothly enough;
Great power covering fragile feathers.

She sees brightness in the distance.
I can see her peering through a prism,
And then she opens a creased mouth.

She speaks but not words: light.
(A feather drops) Is this her voice,
Then, this fountain of colored light?

A voice of light? What does it mean?
Wrong question; ah, it’s the feeling,
Not the seeing, not the hearing.

Not the meaning. Feeling colors!
But it works—love made visible,
Flowing forever from her mouth.

Lady Joanne
5/2011

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

Tingle

2011-04-19T20:23:00.003-05:00

Every nerve ending in your fingertips
“Sees” the surface, the way skin
Dimples under pressure, giving
And giving to the bone’s hard stop.

The tingling slides through skin pores,
Takes a slow ride through veins, blue,
A faster ride through arteries, red,
Gooses white cells on their way to work.

Vibration squeezes through muscles
Releasing each with a tap of
Electric stillness, micro-meditation.
Know the power of that vibration,

And you will be free to go deeper.
Break through the atomic force,
And take that quantum shortcut
To light my quarks, instantly.

Timeless probabilities carry
My tingle back to you, humming
To the tune of the spheres,
Tiny and tremendous,

I stroke you through this ether.
Feel the charge.

Lady Joanne
4/2011
©2011 Joanne Sprott

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

Where the Wild Things Are

2011-04-12T23:34:00.003-05:00

Why peer through that dusty window?
And knock, knock upon that door?
Why press your ear to the keyhole?
I don’t live there anymore.

The trust was there, the only lie,
The trust inside I could not buy.
I dreamed of running away to hide
With the wild things far outside.

Look ‘round back and you will see
Broken walls that left me free
And opened up the tangled way,
To where the wild things play.

Musk scents flow from river foam
That mists the air of their forest home.
It tastes of tequila and mermaid sighs,
Out here where the wild things rise.

I’ll dive in the river from trees above,
Float on bright blue bubbles of love,
Until I meet my partner for the dance
Here where the wild things prance.

I’ll tattoo my back with dragon’s breath,
The wings of angels on my breast,
And then I’ll fly beyond love’s death,
Out where the wild things are.

Lady Joanne
4/12/11

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

Waiting for Water

2011-04-05T22:40:00.001-05:00

A pale blue wash of April sky
Sweeps across suburban rooftops.
No fluff scuttles along the bare wind.
A dog barks in the echoing alleys
Between cloned houses.

The world feels empty, silent,
And yet, and yet, listen!
Small crunches of earth continue
Way under where roots creak
And stretch into dry earth.

No drama of thunderstorms
Against a boiling cloud bank.
No trauma of tornadoes
Joining heaven and earth
Into a hailstone hell.

Drought’s long silence reigns
Broken in time by wind whispers,
The panting of that dog in the alley.
Even the birds seem quiet,
As they take dry twigs to nest.

We wait for spring showers.
Or wait for death’s glower.

We wait for water.

Lady Joanne 4/2011

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

Breathing

2011-03-30T09:27:00.002-05:00

Breathing, Me breathing soul
Breathing, Lover breathing feeling
Breathing, House breathing heat
Breathing, Fish breathing water
Breathing, Shells breathing chimes

Breathing, Earth breathing wind
Breathing, Humans breathing us
Breathing, Moon breathing Earth
Breathing, the Universe breathes

Everything breathes, everything lives
Wind and water, Earth and Moon
You and I, lover and soul
We breathe, we live, breathe…

Lady Joanne
3/11

©2011 Joanne Sprott

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.

The Shell

2011-03-22T22:50:00.002-05:00

Gentle shuffling, tumbling,

Currents flowing,

Opening, closing, oozing,

Knowing, bubbles floating,

Soft insides trembling,

Hard shell protecting.

Stomp, stomp.

Crack the shell.

No more protection,

All is not well!

Pain inside flowing out,

Only a shell remains.

The rest is finally free

To merge into the grains.

Carried then by waves

Onto the sand, hard still,

But oh, so fragile;

I lie in your gentle hand,

Waiting.

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poety, a great opportunity to share.