Blue

Favorite hue
evoking water, Holly's eyes,
nothingbutblueskiesdoIsee,
Renee's bottles on my shelves,
others I've collected. Regal color,
sapphire, blue flame, heart's afire.
bluebirdssingingasong,
True blue, thin blue line,
Blue Ridge Parkway,
bluejeanbabyqueen
prettiestgirlI'veeverseen,
Singing the blues can be
a beautiful thing
but feeling blue...
that's something else entirely.
Blueohsolonesomeforyou.
Blue washes over,
tears flow, deep breaths.
Rock on.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Day Off

Downtown, a man whose hair
and face matched that of his dog,
seen earlier today and now again.
Drizzle and chill cannot dampen
spirit of the day. Tonight, discussion
of music and electric basses with
bearded member of the two-piece band
whose jazz and easy listening
helped baked brie and best steak ever
eaten go down nicely.
Picking up some fun things for
the grandkids, trying not to think
of the drive back, it's been grand.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

Antiques

Antiques draw me to another time and place,

richness of polished wood maintained

with love and care, built when things were

meant to last for generations. Vase that once 

graced someone else's table, heard conversations

about latest gossip, comments on fresh

flowers it held captive. Most antiques are

much too costly, but create a pleasant day for me

to browse and let imagination drift back

to when each thing was new, and life

was good, the future holding me a distant

dream. I have dreams as well, with few

things of quality that generation in

a hundred years might treasure, but that's okay.

Furniture is not the key to happiness,

but who is sitting on it, whose clothes,

scented with their essence, are lovingly

placed within the drawers.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013

FCAT Rhyme

Doggerel's a term of some disdain
unlike haiku, sonnet, or cinquain,
attempted humor or by accident,
poems containing limited literary content.
A doggerel concerning this week's FCATs
might point to the good possibility that that's
one problem with today's lack of education
but tomorrow's end will see much jubilation.



(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013


Today and tomorrow, Florida students complete FCAT tests. An enormous amount of time and energy is spent preparing for a test that might be better spent on actual teaching. 

Drama-free Digs

Suddenly, while thinking of a bed,
it came to her. A bed, of all things.
Not her own, not theirs,
but one in which she'd never slept -
on sale, according to the person who
had told her of the purchase.
All at once, no longer wondered she
about this place that seemed so pleasant.
It had no history, that was it! No arguments
or makeup sex, neither fond nor bitter
memories, just being there was free of drama;
this alone was worth a smile. The thought
came brightly as if backlit by the sun behind it,
dancing on the water. Although the concept
might be borrowed from the Helprin novel
she laid down beside the bathtub, stepping out
and drying off, the revelation was at once,
forever, only hers, as nakedly apparent
as her form reflected in the mirror.
The figure there returned her grin
as twins compared the lightness
of their refreshing and respective moods.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013


A woman I know is living in a new place, and ponders why, although it is not what she ever thought she would enjoy, she does. Sometimes we love a home because of the memories, sometimes in spite of them, but she discovered that it was the very absence of memories she was finding delightful and unique.

Disturbing Revelation

A drawing from the anonymous author
of this blog:
http://lieshurtmysanity.wordpress.com/

Unsettling, to come face to face
with ghost of monster that one thought
one knew, discover that the most
atrocious actions (the way that one believed)
were dismayingly,
discomfortingly
not.
Now there's grieving in disturbing revelation
of this nature, no doubt necessary to the process
of new closure, more to deal with, reeling
with revulsion, vision clear but thirty years too late.
Had one but spoken out about the evil things one saw
before one's eyes and mouth were craftily sewn
shut, if one had spoken up enough
when one still had the chance,
would it have made a difference
to the future,
tragic
circumstance?
One cannot know. But oh, one wishes,
with regret and wistfulness, that journey to the past
was possible, that one could change
some things once shrouded, now unmasked,
if not for one's own reasons,
then for those of other innocent who's spent
so many nights in
quiet
agony.




(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013


Have you ever known something was wrong but didn't say anything, and then after awhile you stopped thinking it was wrong? Did you ever wonder what happened because you were silent, and what might have been different? It was this line of thinking that prompted the poem.

Tax Day, 2013

There's nothing sure but death and taxes,
it's been said, but on this day both
reared their heads in Boston, Mass.
Runners wanting nothing more than
cheering crowds as they drew near
the finish line they'd worked so hard
to reach, heard something much
more ominous. They sought the wind
upon their faces, racing with adrenaline
so close to meeting goal, never
knowing as they made their way down
Boylston Street that it would
soon be bloodied. What cowards
chose this time and place to
show untimely animosity, will surely
become well acquainted with
the consequences of their deed.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013