Jackie Allen Poems

You were not invited, yet you surreptitiously walked in during the morning hours, the shower in the background and Madonna dancing and singing, while I cupped my hands and....screamed! You were there, and for months you had accompanied me, wearing such clever disguises that no one recognized you, though I had had a suspicion.

You were there, hiding, minute by minute, growing in confidence for the moment you would strike the final blow.
...

Like some decision sitting on a fence,
the day is cold, chilly, changing colors.
Alternately, snapping to attention,
it poses at the photographer’s bidding.
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A scene for romance, a bottle of wine,
Ripe olives, some pasta, any kind of dance
Takes me back to long ago days of my youth,
When as a young girl, I dreamed of romance,
...

Inside. Outside. There’s work needing to be done.
It matters not whether the cost is little or a lot,
Whether it’s sunny or stormy, cold or hot.
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heavy with clouds
the sky... beneath winged feet
the scented air..
a honey-suckled breeze...
...

The streets are smeared, slick and wet,
Rivulets of screaming madness crash
Against the peace. The night is too harsh.
One could end up in a discarded heap.
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I wonder, does time truly heal the wounds
of loss, of emptiness? Can it heal pain,
Sorrow, grief, the wailing of self-blaming?
The truth is a stain. It colors the bruises I wear.
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When mornings are born each day and anew...
And skies are painted a crystal-clear robin's
Egg blue, the sun dances and kisses with hot
Lip's breeze, the shoulders of the loving-tree.
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Over the chilled landscape
the flakes flutter slowly and softly,
laying down a blanket of purest white~
ah, such striking beauty
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In its serenity, the morning is painted
In shades of misty gray, in shades
Of fading green, in shades of dripping wet,
Persevering. Waiting for relief.
...