Cliff Dweller
One palm
and both arches
slapping rungs,
mother’s rhythm
of ascent.
The child
cocooned
to her back
lurches sideways
snatching at
a zigzag motion
interrupting
the turquoise sky.
Counterbalancing,
the water vessel
slips from mother’s
other hand.
She laughs,
already contriving
a new design
to be painted on
a replacement jug -
a pattern of
fluttering wings -
before the old pot
clatters to
wet fragments
in the valley
below.
The Dreams of Monotremes Revisited
and both arches
slapping rungs,
mother’s rhythm
of ascent.
The child
cocooned
to her back
lurches sideways
snatching at
a zigzag motion
interrupting
the turquoise sky.
Counterbalancing,
the water vessel
slips from mother’s
other hand.
She laughs,
already contriving
a new design
to be painted on
a replacement jug -
a pattern of
fluttering wings -
before the old pot
clatters to
wet fragments
in the valley
below.
The Dreams of Monotremes Revisited
Mammalian, yet without a teat
in grooves abdominally neat
collecting mother’s milk discreet
her furless babe laps up the treat
while swimming up Australian streams
her snout collecting sensory beams
to electro-locate shrimps and breams
and feast with dreaming monotremes
From reptilian genes, in fact
if jealous male suspects attack
with venomous spur he will extract
a pain exquisite and exact
And generating countless reams
I’d scrawl out am’rous giddy themes
seductive sensual supremes
erotic dreams of monotremes
Avian chromosomes decree
five xy pairs the male will be
but just her left side ovary
produces eggs, from one to three
Biologist skeptics searched for seams
in taxidermic samplings
unlikely hoax they must have seemed
to dream up dreaming monotremes
Orificial nomenclature states
one perforation indicates
they eliminate and defecate
precisely where they procreate
blueprint outrageous, it beeseems
A fine economy redeems
designing principles esteem
the pipe dream form of monotremes
in grooves abdominally neat
collecting mother’s milk discreet
her furless babe laps up the treat
while swimming up Australian streams
her snout collecting sensory beams
to electro-locate shrimps and breams
and feast with dreaming monotremes
From reptilian genes, in fact
if jealous male suspects attack
with venomous spur he will extract
a pain exquisite and exact
And generating countless reams
I’d scrawl out am’rous giddy themes
seductive sensual supremes
erotic dreams of monotremes
Avian chromosomes decree
five xy pairs the male will be
but just her left side ovary
produces eggs, from one to three
Biologist skeptics searched for seams
in taxidermic samplings
unlikely hoax they must have seemed
to dream up dreaming monotremes
Orificial nomenclature states
one perforation indicates
they eliminate and defecate
precisely where they procreate
blueprint outrageous, it beeseems
A fine economy redeems
designing principles esteem
the pipe dream form of monotremes
Let my symbolic third wish be
to dream what platypuses see
in REM, the genome tree
and each potentiality
mapped deftly to infinity
or to, at least “here dragons be”.
and every path not taken, me.
Rejecting higher branching beams
from evolutionary schemes
and forking alternate extremes
while dreaming dreams of monotremes.
******12 years pass******
This monotreme’s re-emergence
as a creature of resplendence
centers on her fur’s quintessence -
cool blue-green bio-florescence!
She swims unscathed - her fur’s proclivity
confounds her predator’s ability
while she hunts with sure agility
in Tasmanian twilight tranquility.
Zoologists, as they will and must,
submit new research to discuss
as I, with glowing wondrousness
dream dreams of duckbilled platypus!
Because a Fire
Because a fire was in my head*
igniting was my waking aim
no room for doubt, regret, nor dread
because a fire was in my head
Because a fire was in my blood
restlessness seared through my veins
each night I built the past day’s pyre
to fuel the fire that was my blood
Because a fire was in my eyes
stars reconfigured in the void
constellations blazed my fate
scried from fire within my eyes
Because a fire was in my breath
I learned to sing the dragon’s song
discordance scorched thoracic scales
with fire bellowed from my breath
Because a fire was in my lips
I fanned the embers with a kiss
in sleepless vigil tended hearth
from blistering fire inside my lips
Because a fire was in my heart
was passion suckled from my breast
as earth enriched with lava flow
desire the tinder in my heart
Because a fire was in my hands
my merest touch reduced to ash
the ones I hungered to caress
the fire a Midas in my hands
Because a fire was in my loins
I grappled with the world in flames
then yielded molten inner core
to stoke the fire in my loins
Because a fire was in my bones
incandescence bore me up
ropelled me ‘til I self consumed
by fire that guttered in my bones
*because a fire was in my head 2nd line from W.B. Yeats Song of the Wandering Aengus
The Skeptic
In the backseat
jouncing up Amherst Main Street
to the hill’s crest
My granddaughter leaned sideways
affording as much confidence
as the carseat restraint allowed.
Gesturing behind her
beyond a white picket fence
toward a grand oak-shaded yellow homestead
she whispered:
to dream what platypuses see
in REM, the genome tree
and each potentiality
mapped deftly to infinity
or to, at least “here dragons be”.
and every path not taken, me.
Rejecting higher branching beams
from evolutionary schemes
and forking alternate extremes
while dreaming dreams of monotremes.
******12 years pass******
This monotreme’s re-emergence
as a creature of resplendence
centers on her fur’s quintessence -
cool blue-green bio-florescence!
She swims unscathed - her fur’s proclivity
confounds her predator’s ability
while she hunts with sure agility
in Tasmanian twilight tranquility.
Zoologists, as they will and must,
submit new research to discuss
as I, with glowing wondrousness
dream dreams of duckbilled platypus!
Because a Fire
Because a fire was in my head*
igniting was my waking aim
no room for doubt, regret, nor dread
because a fire was in my head
Because a fire was in my blood
restlessness seared through my veins
each night I built the past day’s pyre
to fuel the fire that was my blood
Because a fire was in my eyes
stars reconfigured in the void
constellations blazed my fate
scried from fire within my eyes
Because a fire was in my breath
I learned to sing the dragon’s song
discordance scorched thoracic scales
with fire bellowed from my breath
Because a fire was in my lips
I fanned the embers with a kiss
in sleepless vigil tended hearth
from blistering fire inside my lips
Because a fire was in my heart
was passion suckled from my breast
as earth enriched with lava flow
desire the tinder in my heart
Because a fire was in my hands
my merest touch reduced to ash
the ones I hungered to caress
the fire a Midas in my hands
Because a fire was in my loins
I grappled with the world in flames
then yielded molten inner core
to stoke the fire in my loins
Because a fire was in my bones
incandescence bore me up
ropelled me ‘til I self consumed
by fire that guttered in my bones
*because a fire was in my head 2nd line from W.B. Yeats Song of the Wandering Aengus
The Skeptic
In the backseat
jouncing up Amherst Main Street
to the hill’s crest
My granddaughter leaned sideways
affording as much confidence
as the carseat restraint allowed.
Gesturing behind her
beyond a white picket fence
toward a grand oak-shaded yellow homestead
she whispered:
You know, Grammy
That lady who lived up there?
Emily Dickenchicken?
Never left her house!
… Do you think that could be TRUE?
What reasonable response
convinces a budding skeptic
approaching four?
Well, I think she liked to be at home,
I ventured,
but the raised eyebrow volleyed back -
Didn’t Emily ever want to go out
to play with her friends?
That lady who lived up there?
Emily Dickenchicken?
Never left her house!
… Do you think that could be TRUE?
What reasonable response
convinces a budding skeptic
approaching four?
Well, I think she liked to be at home,
I ventured,
but the raised eyebrow volleyed back -
Didn’t Emily ever want to go out
to play with her friends?
One afternoon that summer,
after weeding their garden
and feeding their four hens,
my daughter, the skeptic granddaughter
and her older sister and I
toured the Dickinson Homestead.
Once admitted with a small group
we were enlightened and entertained
by the elderly Emily-fan-boy docent
with his erudite narrative.
Family pictures and history in the parlor,
Her bedroom where she wrote
at an implausibly tiny desk,
Her ingenious either - or notation
for when she simply could not choose between words -
The kitchen where she liked to bake.
(a few tailored asides here and there to entertain
the well behaved granddaughters)
how she liked to dangle a basket of cookies
from a rope out the window
for neighborhood children waiting beneath.
Wrapping it up
the docent invited anyone interested
to visit, on our own, a replica of the garden
Emily spent much time tending.
The Skeptic made a beeline
meticulously examining every flowerbed
abuzz with actual bees on an array
of heirloom blossoms
Satisfied, she turned to me.
Vindicated.
See, Grammy?
NO VEGETABLES!
She would at least
have to go to the grocery store
for vegetables.
The Meidas RIng
The thing was, to dodge
getting clobbered with it
like brass knuckles, I guess
only more dainty
The ring was weighty -
realistically tooth shaped
as if punk jewelry
had been invented
by an affectionate dentist in the 1940s
who prised 22K gold fillings
From many rotten teeth
he extracted from his patients
after weeding their garden
and feeding their four hens,
my daughter, the skeptic granddaughter
and her older sister and I
toured the Dickinson Homestead.
Once admitted with a small group
we were enlightened and entertained
by the elderly Emily-fan-boy docent
with his erudite narrative.
Family pictures and history in the parlor,
Her bedroom where she wrote
at an implausibly tiny desk,
Her ingenious either - or notation
for when she simply could not choose between words -
The kitchen where she liked to bake.
(a few tailored asides here and there to entertain
the well behaved granddaughters)
how she liked to dangle a basket of cookies
from a rope out the window
for neighborhood children waiting beneath.
Wrapping it up
the docent invited anyone interested
to visit, on our own, a replica of the garden
Emily spent much time tending.
The Skeptic made a beeline
meticulously examining every flowerbed
abuzz with actual bees on an array
of heirloom blossoms
Satisfied, she turned to me.
Vindicated.
See, Grammy?
NO VEGETABLES!
She would at least
have to go to the grocery store
for vegetables.
The Meidas RIng
The thing was, to dodge
getting clobbered with it
like brass knuckles, I guess
only more dainty
The ring was weighty -
realistically tooth shaped
as if punk jewelry
had been invented
by an affectionate dentist in the 1940s
who prised 22K gold fillings
From many rotten teeth
he extracted from his patients
My Dad melted them down
in his crucible
centrifugally forced the liquid gold
into his impression of a four-point molar
which my Mother wore proudly
on her ring finger
and randomly back-handed at us kids
when we rolled our eyes at her
talked back, or acted out
with typical childhood expressions
I suggested - just before her funeral -
she be buried wearing it
but my brother intervened
“she promised it to me”
I never saw it again
I don’t care to know where he keeps it
Bionote
Gemma Mathewson
biography in monosyllabic pairs:
birth - down and out
childhood - black and blue
adolescence - sturm und drang
high school - hard to take
college - rag and bone
education - hit or miss
social life - hide and seek
friendships - ebb and flow
saving grace - rock and roll
downfall - rise and shine
marriage - give and take
children - first and last
cars - scratch and dent
grandchildren - hug and kiss
heart - ice and fire
temper - hot and sour
ambition - slim to none
standards - hard to please
fear - wrack and ruin
joy - hear to heart
style - denim and lace
entertainments - read and weep - hunt and peck - point and click
energy - dribs and drabs
strategy - hand to mouth
motto - “each by each”
yearnings - far and wide
finale - wait and see
in his crucible
centrifugally forced the liquid gold
into his impression of a four-point molar
which my Mother wore proudly
on her ring finger
and randomly back-handed at us kids
when we rolled our eyes at her
talked back, or acted out
with typical childhood expressions
I suggested - just before her funeral -
she be buried wearing it
but my brother intervened
“she promised it to me”
I never saw it again
I don’t care to know where he keeps it
Bionote
Gemma Mathewson
biography in monosyllabic pairs:
birth - down and out
childhood - black and blue
adolescence - sturm und drang
high school - hard to take
college - rag and bone
education - hit or miss
social life - hide and seek
friendships - ebb and flow
saving grace - rock and roll
downfall - rise and shine
marriage - give and take
children - first and last
cars - scratch and dent
grandchildren - hug and kiss
heart - ice and fire
temper - hot and sour
ambition - slim to none
standards - hard to please
fear - wrack and ruin
joy - hear to heart
style - denim and lace
entertainments - read and weep - hunt and peck - point and click
energy - dribs and drabs
strategy - hand to mouth
motto - “each by each”
yearnings - far and wide
finale - wait and see
Gemma co-hosted Poetry Institute, aka Pi (an eclectic poetry featured-reader and open mic venue) with Mark McGuire Schwartz at New Haven’s Institute Library, and co-produces Poetry Of Immigrants, and the Art of Poetry with Frank Crowley on local public access TV. in CT shoreline area. Her first book of poetry, The Museum of Rain was published in 2019. Her poetry, most with her accompanying photos, can be found in reverse chronological order on her Wordpress.com website also called The Museum of Rain.
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