Writer. Educator. Artist.
A Favorite Song-arlene s bice
There are too many
in a long life truly lived,
to choose only one
when each has its own
memory, treasured
impossible to write new
while listening to the old
that keeps pulling me back
into the past, to re-live
with tenderness.
Edgar Allan Poe & Me-arlene s bice (with more apologies)
It was many and many a year ago,
in an ancient village of Wales
That a man there lived whom you may know
and I knew as well as thee
And this man he lived with no other thought
Than to read and write along with me.
I was a child and he was a child,
In that ancient village town
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and this man of my dreams;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
we read and we wrote, this man and me.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of this man and the time we spent;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of my loved one so close to me;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my eternal love, a love that never died,
In his sepulchre there in that town,
In his tomb where he lays in that town.
After the Rain -arlene s bice
with the earth washed clean
dirt and debris sent away
time to begin anew
peppermint refreshed air
scents released as I walk
a solo wooded path
leaves still dripping
softly reminding me
the storm has spent
peace uncovered.
The Tree-arlene s bice
In my walk in the wood
It calls to me
The tree
Tilted, inelegant
Its wounds showing
Survived, yet again
A beauty of its own,
Waking from winter’s rest
Buds bursting
Leaves filling out
In dark greens and light
Dressing its bones
With a spring outfit
Birds nesting
Offering a symphony
A hug is appropriate.
The Drunken Petunia-Ellie
It rained last night
And the petunias got drunk
With their purple faces
Shining like midnight stars
They lapped up heaven’s wine
Without an ounce of guilt
They are trying to pretend
It didn’t happen
By looking bright and beautiful
But I can tell
Their breath smells
Like God’s winery.
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Listen Up! Warren Artists Market
This is our first publication, 2013, a chapbook for the Senior Center Poets group.
We have published 7 anthologies since and have our 8th in the making.
One poem featured in this chapbook:
My African Prince, 1972 –by Carlo
Remember,,
when we first met,
on that hot day at the beach?
Boy
were you all wet!
Me,
lying there
in the sun,
playing it cool.
You,
tall,
bronze
beautiful,
emerging
from the sea.
Our eyes met.
I held my breath,
I must be dreaming.
This cannot be happening.
My heart is being captured
by this creature from the sea.
(LaVerne Gardner)
I met Erika DeRuth at IWWG annual writing conference
and bought this chapbook from her in 2000.
A few poem titles with in:
cha cha pinsprites
questions fly
spraypaint on art’
silence
ballet in cowboy boots
apples and underwear
who am i
Crossings –Jude Dippold
Jude writes of losses, letting go, death, dying, mourning, mostly remembering; bringing remembering to me, though my memories are always there in my shadow even when I have no shadow. I feel the depth in his writing as it encourages me to take time to write a poem for each of my own many losses.
Clearly I see the portrait of his sister he writes about, my dear friend Anne, younger then, with the simple beauty of daisies and the sun lighting her hair. She adored her brother.
Fortunately, each of my lost loves i.e. ancestors, parents, siblings, sons, and friends, has come to me at least once, a few have come often but each time has been comforting. Life after life and all after love. This is a special chapbook that has important insights to give you, written in many different ways.
From the late Judy Beach’s Ritual Writing IWWG
One poem:
Spell For A Desired Position
arlene s bice
Cast a circle
lay a blue cloth in the center
with a blue candle in a blue dish on top
of the blue cloth. Enhance this with a blue
ribbon, let scented citrus oil permeate the air. Be
sure to have blue underwear on. Lay a section of
the newspaper that is desired to be publish in, be-
tween you and the candle. Lay your article on top of
the desired newspaper. Light the blue candle. Begin
speaking gently to Mother Goddess: “Please merge
these two that I may become the writer, published
routinely, desired by many readers, appreciated
by editors. Send the power, wisdom,
make way for my path. My grace
to you with thankfulness.
Blessed be.
Writing What You Love Loving What You Write
From the late Judy Beach
Ice Cream and Love
arlene s bice
It’s more than a childhood memory;
the texture, the flavors, the taste
rolling around my tongue, melting, creamy
soothing my throat, adding to my pleasure.
The biting cold stinging my mouth.
Strawberries freshly picked in spring,
chunks, dripping with sweet juices
lay over the mound of French Vanilla
in a fancy glass rimmed in gold
like kisses laying on my lips.
A summer-ripened cantaloupe,
hollowed out and filled with scoops
of Chocolate; blending, melting
with the juices of warm fruit
coming together as one body.
In the autumn when spicy flavors
of Pumpkin and Buttered Rum tease
the palate, tingling the tongue
licking the drips on the cone,
my fingers wrapped around it.
Cold winds come in winter,
volcanic hot fudge covers the
heaping icebergs of Black Walnut
like your hands caressing my
breasts with your touch.
Seasons define the years,
flavors define the seasons.