On Turning 63 Today

I am a woman full grown,
self-realized, self-actualized;
I am a woman full blown.
Don't feel the need to fight my age,
hide my face,
or fear turning the page.
I refuse to play dumb,
no longer a girl,
I don't wish to be young.
I will not play coy,
hide my light,
or swallow my joy.
No longer sexual prey,
no longer the huntress,
I live in the day.
I have time on my hands,
raised my young, buried my old,
now I'm free of demands.
I have wrinkles and I have scars,
my feet are tired,
so I reach for the stars;
No longer living on hold,
this life is mine and I
no longer fear getting old.
I am a woman full blown.
self-realized, self-actualized;
I am a woman full grown.

Cut

Friends left their mark upon my table,
strangers left theirs upon my skin.
Covered with indelible cuts, gashes and stains,
my heart has been likewise mutilated,
blade to wood and needle to skin.
But here, pen to paper,
but here, I leave my own.

(From the POV of my main character in Beyond The Bridge, Gordon Hammond.)

Mag 213

Copyright © 2014 SK Waller

Heirophant

I am here.
Holding court,
receiving pilgrims.
Creatures whom,
having sprung from my imagination,
I sent on my bloody crusades.
They return to haunt me like ghostly Templars
who at last recognize the
sodden, lascivious humanity of their pope.
They ask me how, why, and why not,
driving me more firmly into the throne
of memories and vices and madness
of my holy cause.

Mag 212

Copyright © 2014 SK Waller

Song of the Excommunicant

When Jesus sat at the supper table
to serve them bread and wine,
He said, “Among you is the one
who will betray me tonight.”
The disciples didn’t point at each other,
daring to judge or try,
they just looked within themselves asking,
“Master, is it I?
Master, is it I who would run from you
just to save my life?
Master is it I who would thrice deny you,
or sell you for the highest price?”...

The Gypsy From Kenya

There once was a gypsy from Kenya,
Who traveled the world, even India,
With lute and with wine,
He crossed paths with a lion;
Well, I'd rather have seen ya than been ya!

Mag 209

(Sorry, I'm just not feeling very serious today.)

Copyright © 2014 SK Waller

Creatrix

Poets's Sleep by
Chang Hong Ahn, 1989

Unborn characters die and decompose,
empty skulls bleaching in the sun.
Hollow sockets, gaping jaws;
I sleep on,
dreaming, dreaming.

Their spirits try to wake me by throwing pebbles,
shattering the windows and lining the sill.
Like stones on grave markers;
they whisper,
don't forget, don't forget.

When I die they shall crowd around me,
holding me accountable for their premature expulsion.
Howling voices, accusing eyes;
didn't you know,
We could have lived, we could have lived.

Mag 208

Copyright © 2014 SK Waller

1962

bitter end
bitter cold
cheap chianti
cheap cold water flat
music n poetry floatin
over west 4th street
sh
dylans writin

Mag 207




Copyright © 2014 SK Waller

Echo

I am the echo of a distant star,
a star that expanded
and glowed,
then burned out
many thousands of light years ago.
Bumping my head on the moon
I reflect back to my source,
but no one's home.

Meat

I cannot love on a size zero body,
I cannot live on a size zero brain;
hearing about your hair and your friends,
and how they daily let you down.
I need the meat of brain, meat of body,
the meat of words and ideas,
the meat Goya and Boucher,
of Kant and Descartes.
The hollowness of your shadowed eyes
and practiced posturing
causes my belly to gripe and ache.
Where do I sink my teeth?
Where do I sink my body, my mind?
Where do I find you behind the shallow pretense?

Mag 206

Copyright © 2014 SK Waller

Endless Snowfall

Endless snowfall
lights softly, settles heavily
on my world of expressions and turns of phrase.
Cold, this long winter
while I wait for greener ideas and warmer tales.

Mag 204

Copyright © 2014 SK Waller

New Words

A lifetime of words foam upon the page,
rabid and sweet in their turn.
They come, sometimes easy, sometimes not,
with forceps-like determination.
But they come.
It's the rain that eases their delivery,
the quiet of night, and wine.
While you sleep I leap from thought to thought,
word to word,
throwing fuel on the burner of my voice.
It's hard to sing when your tongue's on fire.



Copyright © 2014  SK Waller

My Long-Time Secret Love Affair with Patti Smith

One of the things that few people know about me is that I have, since about 1979, been a huge fan of poet Patti Smith. When I discovered her, I had no idea who she was, or what she was about. I had just moved back to the US from a three-month musical stint in England and my attention was on getting a record deal in the ever-shrinking world of what was then called, more than a little deprecatingly, MOR, or Middle Of the Road. Although I’d been introduced to Punk in England, I wasn’t at all fond of it and, when I came home, I was met with the less confrontational, more palatable New Wave. Apart from Bob Dylan, Bette Midler, and Billy Joel, I knew nothing about what was going on musically in New York. Because my then managers were steering me into what they considered to be more financially lucrative waters, Smith as a singer-songwriter flew totally beneath my musical radar...

Solitude

So many stones have been thrown at me,
That I'm not frightened of them anymore,
And the pit has become a solid tower,
Tall among tall towers.
I thank the builders,
May care and sadness pass them by.
From here I'll see the sunrise earlier,
Here the sun's last ray rejoices.
And into the windows of my room
The northern breezes often fly.
And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat...
As for my unfinished page,
The Muse's tawny hand, divinely calm
And delicate, will finish it.

by Anna Akhmatova
(11 June 1889 – 5 March 1966)

The Perfect Text for My Piece

Many thanks to Valerie Kisling, a soprano in the Stillwater Chamber Singers, for sending me the following poem, written by The Immortal Bard...

Ach du lieber Gott

Jump on this roller coaster
Ride along with me
Grab a seat in the car of life
Get ready to fly free

Take off slowly, climb that hill
Reach the very top
At the crest now barely moving
Not wanting life to stop

The car of life plunges down
Pulling at your soul
Scary but quite exciting
Fast out of your control

You speed around that hairpin curve
Gasping for your breath,
Hold on tight we are not done yet
That curve was just a test.

You'll climb back up once again
Weary days ahead
Reach the top of a high plateau
Before you plunge ahead

Up and down life always goes
As your day begins
Just when life is most exciting
You tumble down again

(Sherry Gibson)