art music poetry

Grace by Ron Olsen | A State of Grace Poem

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Grace Poem
Painting by David Michael Jackson

Grace

by Ron Olsen

For so long
A state of:
Anger
Distraction
Ignorance
Violence
Greed
A celebration of the worst
A feeling of abandonment
Realized by hate

The fever now broken
It returns
Like Spring’s first flower
Reason
Intelligence
A celebration of goodness
A state of Grace
Leaving us
No longer, alone

One flower grows into a thousand
And a thousand to a million

Faith creating reality
If only we can hang on
Seeing ourselves
For our potential
Bringing forth the best
And not the worst
Demanding more
From ourselves
And others

Once again,
Being able to breathe

© 2021 Ron Olsen – all rights reserved

 

 

malibu

Ron Olsen is an LA-based retired journalist who writes essays and an occasional poem.  More of his poetry can be found here.

 

Trophy Poem | Awards for the Soul

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Trophy Poem

by David Michael Jackson

Awards for the soul,
this
is the trophy poem.

Chosen for her beauty
to show my friends
how successful she is,
this poem.

Born in the evening,
after losses too sad
for the awards,
this trophy poem,
engraved here
and awarded
to you,

wanderer among irises,
planter of gardens.

She remembers me,
and turns
with a smile,
this trophy poem,

this single petal
awarded to a stranger
engraved with
her memory
in a droplet
on a flower
in the moonlight.

Image courtesy of Clarksville Taps

El Cazador An Audio Poem by Amparo Arróspide with Piano by Dave Jackson

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Dave M Jackson is the Admin at Artvilla.com where his works are featured extensively.
 
 

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Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published seven poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar, Presencia en el Misterio, En el Oido del Viento, Hormigas en Diáspora and Jaccuzzi, as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and in both national and foreign magazines.
She has received numerous awards. Editor’s Note: see also Poetry, National Literature Prize 2018, Francisca Aguirre, Translated from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop Her latest work Valle Tiétar is published by El sastre de Apollinaire Poesía,32 www.elsastredeapollinaire.com

The Vietnam Effect | Poem by Jennifer Schoch

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Vietnam Effect Vietnam poem

The Vietnam Effect
by Jennifer Schoch

The aroma of lilac drew me
away from my son
quiet as a crystal bowl in his stroller,
the early curious mosquitos almost kept us home.
Am I able to appreciate
this lilac,
her symmetrical perfection, without conjuring your pain?
I am fearful of this flower
I am panicked by her swift impermanence,
of my inability to hold her comforting fragrance
for those mostly marshmallowed mugs of hot chocolate days,
sequestered from the dirty New Jersey snow
where the radiators’ imbalance
from room to room
would make you yell when we opened the windows just a crack
“Goddamn waste of money!”
And the belts sang in their choir on the back of the closet door,
because the boys were fighting over remote controls again
And then, after my downward gaze had watched your darkness dissipate into the cracks
between the hardwood floors,
You would read me Shakespeare:
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Is this
why I ran away?
To places where there are no seasons
to the endless
summer days,
where flowers never seem to die.
Your toes were stained with cigarette ash the last time I kissed you goodbye.
Did I
even kiss you?
You hadn’t showered for weeks
and I was scared.
Scared of your skin
scared of your scents
scared of my
shame.
The blue of your eyes was bright
against the rivers of bloodshot.
Mom says your eyes were green
It’s like she never knew you.

Sad and lonely, you asked me to stay
“Live here.”
You said.
“I hate LA.”
Like my brothers also bound to plastic liters?
They were small like my boy,
like you were once.
I am fearful in the face of this flower and her reminders.
Your grandson screams now like a broken dish
and
I wonder if you are there
silently crying
out into the black jungle for God to spare you
for your mother
for a future with mom
for a future with me
with a grandson you will never meet.
How could you have known this jungle
it would never leave?
Dying on the old hardwood floor in May
did you make it to the yard that Spring?
The worst death you died is not your final fall
it is the tree outside our window
cowering with dainty, dusty stars
you could not notice.
Did you glance outside that morning
and think to tell me of the lilacs that had bloomed?
Was your fall swift?
A small, unopened purple “bud of May”
gently shaken free?
The pain you healed, my father,
by noticing the lilacs
reading Shakespeare in Irish accents.
The unfolding damage it has caused,
in the tiniest creations
this unreconciled war from long ago.

Jennifer Schoch is a recent graduate of the University of Southern California where she received a master’s degree in Social Work. She is currently staying home with her young son while contributing as a writer for a book on social work and the arts. She has written, performed and directed for the screen and stage.

The Vietnam Effect Copyright 2021 by Jennifer Schoch. All Rights Reserved.