The truth is we don’t know
what you are or how you do
what you do—fill the space
behind the light, be everything
we don’t see and can’t help
but feel. Bright minds seek
to unmask your mass, contain
your essence within elaborate
calculations like a pet canary.
But the universe is no gilded cage
and human genius is no match
for a force greater than gravity.
I am content with your mystery, to know
you are (everywhere, always, around)—me.
~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013
Sleep, My Dear
You were my first taste of love,
adored before these lips knew how
to suckle sweet milk from the breast.
Last night you crept home past
midnight and I shivered against your cool
breath. You’re more distant than Pluto,
as unpredictable as those quakes that split
the earth. The long-cold nights stretch endless
and I stare wide-eyed into the unquiet
darkness, wild thoughts my only company. I want
to go back to those evenings when the smooth
of my cheek met your caress and my body
exhaled next to you, to those rested
mornings when my eyes blinked
away the sweet remnants of dreams.
Lover, come back to our bed.
~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013
Evening Calls
And just like that
you appeared below
the sickle of moon
and Venus,
that dark goddess
of evening.
What type of
fickle magic
conjured
this Adonis
among men—
his rugged frame,
distant eyes and hollow
voice that shakes the owl
from slumber calling
who, who, who?
~ Pamela Taylor © 2013
In Autumn, While You Lay Dying
This poem has been published in the Fall 2013 Issue of When Women Waken (Theme: Grief).
Lessons in Commuting
Erzulie Dreams
Her heart sits below the waist
in an open drawer, boxed in
by nothing but air. Her useless
arms have fallen off–there’s no
curve in her hips, only bone.
With shut eyes and mouth, she dreams.
A coiled necklace quiets the screams.
~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013
~Inspired by a mixed media sculpture by Renée Stout in the Virginia Museum of Fine Art
To Be Abelia
Like the shrub I bloom best in full
or partial sun and ample rain, surrounded
by buzz and flutter. But loveless years
have pruned back hopes, cut fairy-tale
dreams to the ground. What will grow
from this stub of myself? How much
longer before flowers return?
~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013
Inspired by “You’re an Abelia,” on Story Shucker.
Once again, I’m writing a poem a day in support of all the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) writers in their challenge to produce 50,000 words in 30 days.
Tree in Abscise
From the window, I watch you become
inflamed as if shamed by the sudden
rush of your own beauty. Not long ago you idled
in the heat of summer’s yawn, camouflaged
in tender verdure. I thought this was your true
nature, but now I see the way you draw the dew
within, shed what won’t last through winter.
~ Pamela L. Taylor © 2013
For three straight weeks, I’ve spent Sunday afternoons in a small office on the 4th floor of UNC Davis Library. I’m thankful for this space and for my generous German friend who keeps the key to his faculty study in a place where I can find it. This is why America should maintain the trust of our German allies.
Typically, I spend about 5 or 6 hours there revising some poems, writing blog posts, researching literary magazines and book publishers or a little bit of all of the above. Yesterday’s goal was to assemble the 10-36 pages of poems that could possibly become a chapbook. Last week’s session whittled down the bulk of my writing to 43 pages, which completely covered the limited desk space. Then coffee arrived and chatting ensued, leaving the poems to talk amongst themselves.
Poems need this time to get to know each other, figure out how to arrange themselves, and decide whether to be part of the group. Forty-three pages became 27, including the four that called out to be revised in the middle of the process for a literary journal submission. Some of the poems in the Group of Twenty-Seven may not make the final cut. I see two distinct themes and about eight poems that bridge these ideas but are not wedded to either camp. And so the process continues.
Back in January I read my poem, “Transit of Venus,” as part of Poetry Scope, an event hosted by the NC Museum of Natural Sciences that featured science-related poems. I submitted this poem to the Carolina Woman Magazine‘s Mighty Pens writing contest and won second place! The poem is featured in the magazine’s June issue:
And here’s the second place prize, courtesy of Margo Froehlich of Brooke & Birdie Interior Design:
A Poet's Double Life 