Quiet Poetry by Karen Kelsay
by Karen Kelsay
It's here I pause with each December, where
the snow trimmed walls of timeworn brick align
beneath the window sill, and winter's bare
limbs bend beneath a delicate and fine
glossing of frost. It's here I garner all
my thoughts of months gone past, beside the sheers
and yellow paisley chair. A woolen shawl,
a pearl and knit of smiles and raveled tears,
is wrapped around my shoulders. Nothing speaks
but morning's melting icicles, and wind
that steals the breath of graying skies. The creek
is frozen into timelessness and thinned
with dying grasses, every shade of brown.
I take my stock of daisies dried and pressed,
my verses, scratched impetuously down--
time balanced here on its mid-point of rest.
read by Peter Davies
Of all the pictures on the castle wall,
Yours pulled me near, somehow. In fine detail,
The painting shows you with an open book
Upon your knee. Long ribbons flow in pale
Streams down the bodice. Your fair head is turned,
As if something had drawn your eye away;
Perhaps a robin rustling in his tree--
You smile, as though you are about to say:
Come here; I'll read to you a chapter from
My book…. I trace your royal features: hair
Is flowing down your back. And I see you
In one forever-moment, sitting there.
read by Peter Davies
She pressed a colored shell
Against her ear
And heard it whispering:
Elizabeth.
Then, before her eyes,
The sky turned liquid green,
And swaying trees withdrew
In blurry forms;
Corals and sand dollars
Became scentless flowers.
Seaweed ribbons drifted
Cloud-like in the breezy
Currents that swirled about
Her lacy pinafore—
By which a merman pulled
Her into the deep.