Wednesday, December 31, 2008

January 2009

Photo courtesy of Dave Rubio, CA

Happy New Year!

This month features Sandra Kegebein and Michael Estabrook

Sandra Kegebein

It's Like...

I am amazed
at the way you make me laugh
at the silliest things
when all I want to do is scream

you reach down
inside the deepest part of me
(that buried part of me)
and pull out all my dreams

and show them to me
as if I'd never seen them before
(or at least, not for a while)
and I smile

as you catch my tears
like they were falling stars
and put them in a locket
(that you keep in your pocket)

and say they'll make you
feel less lonely
on nights that you miss me-
It's like you kiss me

as the words from your tongue
tenderly intrude
slowly, madly, deeply,
into my heart so sweetly.

- - - - -

Tainted Sky

Capturing the flame
that simmers
beneath my heated breast,
the angry sun ignites the sky
with erratic oranges and reds-

A catastrophic craze
of wrongs exchanged,
splatters above my head
in bold flashes-

A choleric outburst of words
scatter their last remains
along the ill-born plains
of strange unrest.

In shivering protest,
my fainted heart allows
that all of love that's left,
are bitter-tainted clouds
and cold ashes.

- - - - -

Picasso Fiasco

Be it surreal or actual fact,
I cannot let go,
or even bring back
the sweet savor, that once flavored
the little things

like promised rings of time
spent loving and needing.

On times feet- fleeting,
we watch love die
as it lies bleeding, forever misleading
two hearts into thinking
their love is awry.

Are we sinking
too far to be saved?

I still crave that smile you gave me
when we bravely
stepped into the abyss
of that unforeseeable kiss.

What brought us to this place
of two abstract hearts

I rarely see love's face,
though sometimes
a taste of its sweetness seeps through
...when I look at you.

What cubistic craziness is this?
What have we missed?
Has our love miscarried?
Touch me now and remind me
of the woman you married.
_ _ _ _ _

This Too-Heavy Blanket Of Cold

It's this too-heavy blanket of cold
covering the gold
that bound us together once,
that has an inward hold on me now-
like frost-bite to the heart.

As you depart for work each day
I sit at the window
and wipe the frost away
from my mind.

Is it time that binds all seasons
into one?
When it comes down to it,
aren't they all winters, in disguise?

Like the spring-crocus
breaking through winter's ice-
will our love suffice
to bloom again, somehow

Or lose its will and succumb to
this too-heavy blanket of cold
that has a hold on us now?

Sandra resides in southern Georgia with her husband and an adopted cat named Fancy. She considers herself an amateur poet who is enjoying the journey of discovery on her way to becoming a better writer. More of her poems can be seen at-

Michael Estabrook


Asking you to go steady
with me on our very first date
in high school
was the best thing
I ever did in my whole life.
You said yes,
because you liked me enough
and felt it was the proper thing to do.
Then two weeks later
you changed your mind,
gave me my stupid ring back,
telling me I was going too fast for you,
telling me you needed your freedom.
But it turned out to be
the very best thing I ever did because –
over the next year and a half
you didn’t date anyone else but me.
We became boyfriend and girlfriend,
dating each other exclusively
and that was that – until college
when your need for freedom
reared its ugly head yet again.

The worst day ever in my life

Winter, the end of
our first semester away at college,
I decide to surprise my girlfriend,
take the train like usual,
meet her in her dorm lobby.
We sit and talk, but she’s nervous,
not looking at me,
one pretty leg folded under the other.
A beautiful girl, so collegiate, so confident,
fresh as the new winter snow outside.
“I’m so sorry, Mike” she says,
“But I can’t see you today.”

I’m stunned, didn’t see this one coming.
We had been together
since high school, two years now,
and were serious, at least I thought
we were serious. “I have a date
today with another guy.”

My heart sinks to the bottom of the sea.

“I need my freedom
to date other guys to be certain
you are the right one for me.”
I’m dumbfounded, shattered, I shrug.
What could I do? It is useless to protest.
But before leaving the campus
I slink over to the cafeteria,
spy from an upper window
as she and her new boyfriend
come in for lunch, she all giggling
and playful, throwing little snowballs
at her new beau, her lustrous
brown hair catching the sun.

What if I didn’t leave after you sent me away?

But what if I never left you that day
when you sent me away?
What if I simply shrugged and said,
“Well, OK, Patti, I hope you have a nice time
on your date with your new boyfriend.
But I’m going to sit and stay
right here in this chair in your dorm lobby.
It’s a free country isn’t it?”

I suspect you would have become flustered
and upset, asking me again to leave,
perhaps even pleading for me to leave
to not embarrass you in front of your friends.

But no, I would be a real man this time
and I wouldn’t go. Instead, I’d stay right there
minding my own business in this dorm lobby chair
and watch as Bobbie introduced you
to your blind date, watch as he shook
your sweet, soft hand and maybe leaned in
for a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.

I’d watch as you tried to ignore me, tried not
to look across the room and see
the devastated look on my face.

And then I’d watch too as you followed
your new date through the door, followed along
behind him outside, out, free, to your freedom
from me, to enjoy your blind date all day,
some lunch in the campus cafeteria,
asking clumsy questions trying to get
to know one another as fast as possible
so you could enjoy your precious time together
at the game and then in the back seat
of Bobbie’s boyfriend’s big old car.
What if . . .

Mike Estabrook lives in Acton, MA. His latest project – The Patti Poems, poems (and some prose) are about his wife. This project will be his magnum opus, what he plans to spend the rest of his life on. It is all he cares about, all that is important to him. It has become a bit of an obsession, so far becoming a collection of 21 books.

No comments: