Sunday 5 May 2024

2 Poems by Sheryl Guterl


Desert dwellers learn
to live with dust--on lamps,
floors, countertops, shelves.
Dust breezes under
windows and around doors.
These particles may be
our ancestors visiting.
What if we collected them,
stored them in painted pots,
displayed them on our mantles,
lit candles before them,
uttered incantations
or hummed chants to them?
Instead, these bits are swept
or wiped away, dumped
in a bin to be landfilled,
where dessicated bones
are bulldozed to obscurity.

Listen to the Lake

Waters of an ancient mountain lake
are ruffled by stiff breeze.
Sunlight dances off
each miniature wave.

If this lake were making a sound,
it would be the tinkling
of a thousand silver bells

If it had a voice, it would say,
“Come to me for peace.”

A swimmer slips between
watery silk sheets
and glides toward rocky shore.


Sheryl Guterl claims these titles:  mother, grandmother, former English teacher, former elementary school counselor, Albuquerque Museum Docent, alto, bookworm.  In the summer, she writes poetry from a New Hampshire cabin, surrounded by water, birds, tall pines, and campfire smoke.   In the winter months, in New Mexico, lizards, sandhill cranes, and a rich cultural landscape inspire her.  Sheryl’s recent poems are in Capsule Stories, The Bluebird Word, Clerestory, SLAB, Zephyr Review, Parks & Points, Public Sector Poetry, and several local anthologies.

No comments:

Post a Comment