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Judy Melchiorre


Umbrarum*

Today at the cemetery,
worn stones, smudged engravings,
in harmony with the fall
of leaves, yellow and brown,
the grass surrenders the last
of its dun, all is muted
as the summer declines.
Demeter in despair, ashen,
the gray of weathered sails.
Darkness stretches to its full length,
Spirits shake off the dirt and speak
in a language only heard by those
who dare to press their ears to the veil.

​*Latin, of the shades

​

lately...

anxiety no longer bound,
she runs out of words,
cannot finish conversations,
stares into spaces,
scattered, broken; fragments
flitter, her memory sheds:
a familiar name misplaced,
a point lost to a tangent.
She views herself,
dizziness,
fear,
she seeks...
​

The Seam

My summer, slim in money, rich in time 
serendipitous for stretching the space
between awake and asleep.
Full of fantasies, hallucinations,
I hear many languages, 
intertwining, 
periods of history collide,
overlapping,
characters engage
and depart,
plots weave together
and come undone.
My drowsiness saturated,
some bits within my grasp,
while others hidden in a crevice,
in the seam between reality
and dreamery.
​

Picture


Judy Melchiorre's profile

Untethered

He stares at the stranger in the back room,
who wears the same pajamas every day,
talks to the mindless television,
describes busy-ness yet does nothing.
She takes her pills with sips of water,
gasps small breaths of air,
eats half a sandwich.
She speaks of demons
with sharpened claws,
he sees no devil-spirits,
only an untethered cast to her eyes.
​

Counting Backwards
                ~inspired by Seymour Krim

Multi-task 24/7,
get a new gadget every six months,
a job once a year,
a career every five,
a partner every seven.
Yesterday is history, 2day is all.

Compressed poetry for readers 
with an 8.25 second attention span.
Haiku: three lines, five, seven, five,
American sentence: seventeen syllables,
The newest form: one hundred forty characters,
sorry, Ginsberg, tweet, man, tweet...
​

Icy Cold...

as a thought circles round and round,
an insidious whisper that life is limited,
more time behind than ahead,
departure random.
hitting the gut with a tightly clenched fist,
the anxiety zooms, fight or flight,
yet neither stops time.
mundane tasks distract, contemplation on hold,
not today, maybe tomorrow,
a trick to buy a slice of day.

Comments?

***

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