The cold rusted walls
empty of resonance.
for the shadows
breathing green waters,
held in the cradles of algae.
The kelpies took
and gave nothing.
It was like this,
How you left only a hull
vacant of vigor. And nothingcan resurrect me.
Principles of Perceptual Organization
There is more to me than the sum of my parts.
Close enough to move in a blur, as fast
as the trees we pass in the car, all the way
to the vanishing point. Perception, touch,
your skin, your breath, a bell across
the old field, the blues from my neighbour’s
orange windows. My hands rough from soap suds,
hoping my baby won’t wake.
Walking out in the night garden,
I think about that kid who offered
to mow the high grass with a sickle.
I ought to call him in the morning.
You have never left. Shaper of twenty
long years during which I grew bigger
inside. The chamber you left empty,like a womb which never shrunk back.
Sitting mute, yet alert. Suspended above
a patchwork of last greens opens into blue
where all was summer somber. Gold and russet
tumble, carried on late-summer’s breath.
The sun falls fast, no longer press ganged
into overtime by August. September, a ripe woman,
still beautiful and full of promise, before
November's storms blow away illusions.
When the graphite fence posts acquire a glow
in the evening rays, when their shadows lengthen
and draw outlandish graphics on the straw-coloured
grasses, when the air is burgundy between the leaf
and the last of the summer wine,you ready your camera to bring in the bounty.
A German-born UK national, Rose Mary Boehm lives and works in Lima, Peru. Author of two novels and a poetry collection published in 2011 in the UK, ‘TANGENTS’, her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in a good two dozen US poetry reviews as well as some print anthologies, and Diane Lockward’s The Crafty Poet. She won third price in in the 2009 Margaret Reid Poetry Contest for Traditional Verse (US), and has been a finalist in several GR contests, winning it in October 2014.