Webmistress Note: Sometimes life doesn't seem fair. It is one of those times that Debra has vividly captured here at right. Read, absorb, read again.	The Tapestry   12/25/00 © D. Tenney In that space where origin and consequence collide... I embrace this uninvited guest... observing the Sphinx's Riddle. Heaven is a two way street a shooting star heralding Ceasar¹s ascent and the descent of a savior. Us mortals like an unwitting Herod grappling with the kismet of both, jackals, eating flesh from bone, the remains transformed into promise upon the desert floor. Metamorphose, eternal saga rearing its onerous head in this inevitable dance. Like the Pharaohs... I have built my monument upon the shifting sands of occasion... weaving a perennial dream, spun with gossamer and stone... Cleopatra and the asp caught between eternity and moment. In that moment, purpose unraveling like thread in a hand stitched quilt... caught between the stitch  and the seamstress.
Desert Summer        Shredded tire rubber          strewn along highways, evaporating          into forever mirages,          token pools of cruel illusion.          Tin cans, broken glass swept          along sand, dry arroyo beds          offer windless shade          to torpid lizards, scorpions.          Seared watering holes, cracked mud          adorns mesa tops like desert lace.          Castoff refrigerators,          chicken-pocked with 22 holes,          coolness bled dry          beneath gathering          summer clouds, spitting lightening          - unfulfilled promises.          Fervid sunsets boil like swarms          of red ants, soothsayers of preordained          fire-storms, purging          parched mountains.          Buzzards pick clean          the bones of decaying carcasses          shielding dormant seeds, coiled          like rattlesnakes          in sand and ash          awaiting          the first drops of rain.        © D. Tenney        In the Next Yard        Between the rhythm        of a rocking chair        and hard wood,        loneliness cries out          . . . in the next yard        a robin, red on brown        lights on a limb,        paling green with spring,        dichotomy running        sweet and sour        sequestered        in each note        the bird sings.        Peering        through metal links,        which embrace exile        within exposed symmetry,        sitting beyond        the edge of gray        a tulip blooms,        solitary        inside a whiskey barrel . . .        splintered by thirst.        Its fragile bloom        wilting above        the dripping faucet        as weeds lap up        the moisture below.        © Debra Tenney        Awaiting the Bus        Dragonfly wings whir          to the thrum of the city.        Sky leaking through        the cracks          of downtown monoliths.        Circular hum of          rubber churning asphalt.        Honey bees buzz          around patches          of color trapped          inside geometric stasis,        creating  harmony          in the midst of          discordant structure.        Singular atonements        in this connect the dots        labyrinth of          one way mayhem.        Transformation        The argument was a mullein dream        deep violet on emerald,        velvet passion cut short        still drooping        from years of drought.        A mute swan,        broken wings beating        within the ken of my desire,        I found myself drowning inside tears,        those sapphire sisters of pain,        engulfed in lovers pride,        consumed in crystalline despair.        You reached out        limitless in your compassion        transforming iron pyrite to gold        gently unraveling the filigree cage        which bound my heart,        breathing essence into stone,        impregnating it with joy,        making it transparent        beneath your gaze        and I am lost in free fall        your tenderness the mossy bed        into which I surrender,        at peace at last.        © D. Tenney		Ode to Poets Lines                       explode like hailstones, remembering the joy the pain the love despair, tender moments,                             eruptions of rage. Moments captured Blow          by   blow caress by caress. Words woven into mosaics, like origami birds,             folded twisted            into static form... seeking to contain emotions which strike like                        lightening then evaporate. Leaving ghostly notions      an aftertaste, vague memories spun dry of essence by time. Making poets of average people, who try to capture in words this fleeting moment called life.                             © D. Tenney Angles I awaken to a bed devoid   of sharp angles & deep furrows   and I am reminded   of a light house   on a windy strand,   September waves   rolling over its base,   and of yesterdays   when that was enough.   Of time when   the chilled wind   of February   did not fill me   with spring longing.   buried beneath this desert   of tangled bed,   in which I am drowning,   in a space once my asylum,   I am a winter cottonwood   surrounded by tumbleweeds,   static form amidst chaos.   I lay awake   and drink deeply   of your pillow's essence   hoping as the first hyacinth   purples March's burnt umber   I will hear your footsteps   in twilight's first blush.                            © D. Tenney Stasis Suspended in time, I sit here    in trembling stasis   between twilight fever   and remembrance.   Your being explodes through plastic and   passionless wire,   voice rekindling the fervor   of a day old  touch. This current  raging,   feeding itself... fire and air, until the water bearer   spills her urn upon the crystal pool which is your domicile Intoxicated by every nuance, I am drowning in the   golden umber of eyes   that look beyond  my soul, exposing me to myself, naked and unashamed beneath your gaze. These are the moments   that myths are made of, the obsession that sends young men into battle and poets into eremitic frenzies of verse,   The Authurian chalice,   from whence pours the sweet nectar of  Gods.     © Debra Tenney - - - Visit more of Debra's poetry !