Poetry Gardens of Fame

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Welcome to Garden 0807 in
ARTELLA'S POETRY GARDENS OF FAME!

Click the links below to read the winning poems for July/August, 2007.

Poetry Gardens of Fame Index

First Place
Second Place
Third Place
Fourth Place

FIRST PLACE WINNER

Patiricia A. Boutilier

Tapestry
by Patricia A. Boutilier

All my colors run,
bleed together
like a fine madras
the Fates have spun.
Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos
have woven faded hues of long ago,
pale threads I cannot follow.
Yet in amongst the warp and weft
lie knots of bright embroidery
where the Moirae gifted me with grace
and needled me in to mystery.

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SECOND PLACE WINNER

Ice Cream Colors
by Patricia Kennelly

In July
I dress her in
ice cream colors

today she's a
creamsicle
melting on
asphalt as we
tour
the farmer's market

she teases the
vendors
for silky slivers of
Crenshaw

chunks of
Rocky Ford
melon fill her
chubby fingers

smiles of
red-fleshed
sweet Texas
watermelon
stain the
creamsicle's
shoulders

when she stops
to watch the
roasting chiles
spin in their
smoky cage

at home, with
cherry-stained
lips we nap
on the porch
swing as the
late afternoon
promises
rain

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THIRD PLACE WINNER

Wildflowers
by Ami Kaye

Your name
fills my mouth;
it sizzles on my tongue.
You kiss the pulse at my wrist,
as a meadow of crimson flowers
embalms the afternoon air and
boundaries of self dissipate.

My eyes, reluctant to leave your face,
scorch secret intimations. Unruly
fingers move of their own accord,
and tickle your nose with a feather.
Your smile deepens, eyes still closed.

I sit up pouting, and gaze down at you
content and drowsy with the wine,
(and me, I hope.) Your murmur
streams with lazy heat -
I stoop down to drop a kiss
on your voluptuous words;
tasting raspberries and the sun.

The purple wildflowers
you wove into my hair
fall around us as you
drag me down, capturing
my unsteady laugh
in your mouth,
and whisper
my name.

FOURTH PLACE WINNER

Roots
by Barbara Gewirtz

Root yourself in this room.
Pull back all defenses within your reach
as they are but stubborn weeds.
Though born of the same soil,
They undermine the events of blossoming
That are to occur in this moment.
What comes to mind
Is an arboretum.
Temperature, light, humidity
All skillfully adjusted and controlled
For the best growth of potted greens and vines.
Some variegated, others not . . .
I am drawn to a familiar coleus
though there is much more to examine.
What I can do is to listen and observe closely -
There is no telling what I'll notice next.
Maybe I'll touch a prickly cactus or
happen upon a smooth jade plant.
Maybe I'll spend a great length of time unraveling
the hanging vine of a plant unknown to me,
while wondering why.
As I do, you might join me,
Unraveling and inviting questions . . .
The plant may now become more familiar to me.
All parts of it, or just some.
Possibly conversant.
Soon it may seem to unravel more swiftly.
Or not.
I may recall the size and shape of its seeds,
though I did not plant them.
Or not.
Maybe I'll guess at how deep the seeds
took root in the soil.
Maybe I'll be on mark, or not.
Plant by plant,
My inquiry into roots breeds comfort
Seeking sanctuary,
I begin to return to the arboretum more often.
It is there where I meet you
and we explore botany - and all else -- as never before.

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