Author Archives: Lisa Rosier
Difficult Art
All the nonsense to receive
Mantas and tenets rising up
Ancient foundations to revere
What architects are responsible?
Live right, I accept
Love well, all the more
But call me not lover for a season
God didn’t build me to let go
If He tells me He did
I’ll tell Him He’s a liar
Time
Do you, as I, daily perform an unending juggling act with the hours, grasping at fleeting minutes, feeling, by sundown, famished for time?
Who of us doesn’t wish to artfully turn the wretched clock into origami art that would sit silent and still on the wall and evidence beauty instead of lack?
Were it possible, I would wave my surely magic arms, and weave into the moments a stop gate, then take eternity to tell you, thank you, you were right, and I love you.
Vajra: A Haiku
I have a secret
A magic switch I might flip
And you have one, too
Fireworks, Baby
Count yourself among the many
Who do not care to consider my midnight musings of any value
To know my heart-wrenching pleas for your return
Sent unrequited out
But what you need know
My last diary entry was a mid-summer date
Immediately before the fireworks, but after my hope expired
Your birthday, baby
Jester: A Haiku
Tonight, my hat hung
To be of good cheer again
Tomorrow’s intent
Love Language: A Haiku
Nothing less tragic
Than unintentional pain
From speaking the truth
New Native
The Canarsee, then the Dutch
The English, then the Continentals
The Liberty Enlightening, then Her
1919’s newest native
Born to hope-filled immigrants
First-born Grecian blood
Taught how souls are one with land
Detest the thievery, love the thief
Gave me new-world Explorer’s eyes
Revolutionized, thus, Liberated me
My hair flowing out her crown
I call her fire my hometown
Manhattan girl, my whole world
‘Twas my Thanksgiving to be hers
Bid me to breathe free
Original Thought Credit: “The New Colossus,” Emma Lazarus
Over
There was that night
An only slightly dimmed light
There was that song I sang to you –I believe you sang back– about being crazy ‘ bout you
An ode I’m inclined to replay over and over and over in my mind, in hopes that I’d grow tired
There was that us celebrating love
An honest Thanksgiving
Nice boy