Saturday, 5 November 2016

2 Poems by Rhonda C. Poynter

LATELY, I HAVE BEEN DREAMING OF VAN GOGH'S LAST PAINTINGS

The wheat fields and sky and
Thunderstorms: the churches and empty
Chairs and
Still life - now, when I fall asleep
There are tables and bottles, and perfect
Oranges.

I have been dreaming about
Sandstone cottages and
Women adorned in red ribbons:
They call me by my name, to come
Bend to the roots and the
Soil beneath morning, the
Sun a halo.

             
LULLABYE
for River

         "What I love is near at hand/Always, in/Earth and air." - Theodore Roethke

You're a foreign star or a
Small round stone;
A letter that never made it home,

You're half-hitched bones pale as
Shells,
A fragile birch, a soundless bell.

You're a haunted house in a
Summer storm;
Another bankrupt Indiana farm

And a handful of words,
A secret rhyme.
You're a clock that had no use for time -

Love, you're more than blonde and
Still blue eyes;
Immaculate, you're

Forever mine.

       
Bionote

Rhonda C. Poynter has lived in 45 states and three countries, but remains partial to her Chicago roots. She has been a freelance writer for over twenty years with credits including Wascana Review, Frontiers, The Lake, Sleet, vox poetica, Triggerfish, Fox Cry, Freshwater, Red Fez, Blue Bear Review, Minnetonka Review and other publications. Her second collection of poetry, "Borrowed Time" has a tentative print date of Autumn, 2016. She and her son Gannon Blue live in California for medical care, and because being able to see the ocean on a daily basis can only make everything all right.

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