DEBORAH GUZZI - POEMS

Deborah Guzzi writes full time. Her third book, The Hurricane, is available through Prolific Press & at [email protected]. Her poetry has appeared in: Shooter, Allegro & Artificium in the UK, Existere & The Ekphrastic Review - Canada - Tincture, Australia - Cha: Asian Review, China - Vine Leaves Literary Journal – The Scarlet Leaf Review - Greece, mgv2>publishing - France, Ribbons, pioneertown, Sounding Review, Bacopa Literary Review, The Aurorean, Liquid Imagination,  The Tishman Review, Page & Spine & others in the USA. 

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Weards & Wards
​

​behind pomp-adore his gelt he guards
with grasping hands from D.C.—he fouls the air
with base language, his truths lies, he lies truths
milking the poor—the one-percent rise
 
she stands guardian of the flame, her arm
held high a gift of hope from foreign shores
to light the way with cherished verse
to guarantee all the downtrodden liberty
 
beneath a foil of fool’s gold  woven to protect
an uncrowned pate, an unearned crown, right
or wrong he profits from or loses US allies—an
insanity of greed and endless need, he strides
 
a symbol tarnished, a message torn still stands
protecting seven seas and continents, a true ward,
on N.Y.’s Hudson river, she glares beneath a diadem
protecting all her children from mercenary plights
 
she wards N.Y. harbor, our Ms. Liberty—a symbol
though tarnished by his false bravado—still
she stands, protecting seven continents and seas
from this momentary blight in US history
 
 

Bill’s Diner
​

​I have been where time has stopped
 
It’s here.
It’s near
 
where Greeks walk
where chrome shivers
where the once were … immigrants
gather
chatter.
 
In this lost space, I’ve found grace
where masons banter and Mexicans grill.
 
In this found place
between and beneath striped awnings
and flower boxes full of red impatiens
 
time stops for the dark grind
Greek coffee
cheese Danish
and soda pop.
 
The aged and aging linger
in vinyl booths
idling like
vintage Harley’s.
 
It’s here.
It’s near.
 
Veterans’ tell their stories.
 
Here where time has stopped
American’s are home grown.
Here where they dream of the good king
the great white father and bound themselves
to a buffoon without looking behind the curtain.
 
 

A Withering Reign
Inspired by The Bayeux Tapestry 1077

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​Clouds, top stitched with crows, smother a cruel sky.
The tapestry of morn captioned with flying glyphs
glowers at the assignations of allies?
Across the tundra, a Russian bear lopes
standing to shred the welkin with claw and
fang while the eagle sleeps with the Kremlin’s gifts.
On the bleached bones of the weak, the eagle gnaws
its baser side feasts on the kills of others.
Ruled by gold, its Aryan leaders once abhorred
demonstrate the state of hate between brothers.
Let rebels rise, Betsys with needles in their hands
to mend the standard of our founding mothers.
Pierce the sky at this cruel time, right demands
the return of light and justice to this land.