There is one hour in time
In the whole wide span of human history
One
I’d ever wished to collapse into
To behold
To hold
I needed to
And it has passed
Tag Archives: Poetry
The New Yellow: A Haiku
It is a coward
A coward who will do this
Not this, rather that 
It is a coward
A coward who will do this
Not this, rather that
Some Saturday
We’ll sit together, child
Should God give us time
To ask the Eastern light,
“Where have you been all these hours?”
To watch the Western sky
Blush on its behalf
We’ll struggle no more, child
Please God, give us time
With the why of why not
About the words we can’t use
‘less they begin and end
With the loveliest shade of love
The Consequences of Smiling
The Consequences of Smiling
by Lisa
You’ll always look four and twelve
Eighty even, but not forty at all
Kids will look at you funny for a minute
Then run to you
They’ll want to stay
Real adults won’t take you seriously
So beware
The eyes begin to go
Wrinkles at the corners
Nearsightedness -the good kind of myopia
You’ll see the treasure too
The up-close
The forest for the trees
Your own awe-struck stare at dawn
Your face will stay that way
Muscle memory (Mom was right)
You’ll be the light
In someone’s lousy day
On your own hard days
You’ll see your smile too
Its asymmetry…its perseverance
Smiles are feathers
Warmth for mind, body and soul
Insulation from frowns
Lift for the wings
Yours and theirs
Rainbow-colored plumage for this place
Smiles, like feathers that tickle
The Season of Fall
Before, we were The People
We wanted something closer to perfection
We’d die for our unity
Now We just want a break from it all
And a beer
Before, we knew to walk
We paid the price, the Cost of the thing
We’d spill our blood for posterity
Now The People talk nonstop
And ideas die
Hen House
If you felt in your beautiful bones
Your sister’s despair
How it’s crushed her own bones
Would you run to her, or from her?
Would you dress up pretty
Invite her out to play
To only creep slyly at night
Or instead to dance boldly at rush hour?
My Carolina Days
Joy was my best friend, ever
A passionate Southern accent
Kind, though
Clear blue eyes and a reliable car
“Clutch,”
It’s a compliment
The only one who came through
Who showed up
I hope her boyfriend made things right
There was nothing he was doing
More important than Joy
Joy told me the best joke
An immature, juvenile joke
The kind you still giggle about at 50
Maybe less a joke than advice
“Shave your butt and walk backwards”
It’s a compliment
That you made someone laugh
Especially at them-self
There’s not enough of us doing that
These days
I want to laugh with Joy again
Be the Giant
Will you mind, God
If I slam the door
On the life before
Will your ears think me discourteous
Given the paths you let me trod?
I’ve such grasping hands
Wrapped ’round the doorknob
Brass-cold but so familiar
I must let it patina, I know
And find my way to other lands
Each Of These
From the dusty nearby corner
An isosceles scrap-wood of a thing
Unintentional it seems
Crammed in its acute condition
‘neath the uneven crack
The lumbering, commercial door
Drafty on cold days
Chipped-paint, metallic creak reminding
Facilitating
Nothing more than standard deliveries
9-5, Monday through Friday
Plus angry employees
No special deliveries here
Only sweat and swear-word tears
I am
Of the field: A haiku
“I Love You,” conceived
In the approaching twilight
Of the longest day
LisaRosier.com 