DEBORAH GUZZI - POEMS

Deborah Guzzi writes full time. Her third book, The Hurricane, is available through Prolific Press. 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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mirrors unavoided
for mother returns therein
she lingers faint in my scent
mother kept violets
with petals like my thin skinned hands
how we loved to watch the sky
​

Just Me
​​

​Perhaps, you see
what you want to see, who knows?
Around me there is beauty, gathered,
culled, sorted, bought, given;
enclaves of beauty.
 
Sitting in an earth-colored room subdued
in shades of gold and rooted in brown;
my pulse subtly throbs in a
raised blue-purple vein,
waiting, wanting         not.
 
At times, when the sun’s bold,
I walk in the green,     full,
absorbing the jade of moss,
the yellow-green of a frog’s skin,
the emerald of a spruce.
 
Chin-tilted, bathing in cornflower-blue sky,
my eyes englobed in white search for
the cumulus effect of yesterday’s brisk-
winded, absent, warriors.
 
A gray-gravel path provides
a stumbling lure for my rock-hunter soul.
How its crumbled mica flecks, salt and
pepper stark, call me back to younger days.
Ground, down, as the granite, walk
to a finer state than youth.
 
The comings and goings slow,
the bursts—the peaks—level,
red blood-rushed angst dissolves
in being, no more wishing,
just me.
 
 

​Affettuoso
After: - Clair de Lune by Debussy

​tentative          we touch—gentleness a brushed lingering
rising waves  of repetition unfold  aching   with intensity
crisp as wetted  bell-glass   engorged             we listen
 
heartache drowns, satiated with longing   life races forward
toward the thin petals of skin—to quicken lust—to fan orgasm
on-point emotions pirouette   death spirals in languorous flames
 
trailing across  tympanic membranes  feathered vibrations--
string—sliding-up and down scales   invoking cacao kisses
darkness’s G-sharp allure    ivory keys tone chained reminders
 

​Cheeky Summer Comes

​Deadheading the golden pansies—spring’s leavings in summer’s heat roil.
Gray days of dew-plump strawberries—Robins in flagrante delicto dine.
Sea breezes draw me hither to sand—other cheeks are exposed.  

Cloud Cover Halleluiah 
​

​A late afternoon sky bruises the horizon, concealing
what might have been and soon would be, a maleficent
sun—hiding in shades of cerulean.
 
Rain falls fitfully, unsure, above a glassy ocean—befuddled
by the lack of constancy, scolding burgeoning clouds up
on the breeze, shooing them toward landfall, as Sol
 
bursts free posing rainbows on the horizon. The vault of
heaven rises majestic, multi-hued as crisp spring air dances
waywardly—a blatant tease. Lightening blues, the blackness,
the golden hour begins.
 

Imperious
​

​Sitting upon the piano bench
on a padded chair, attempting an astral
high-jacking of the Lord’s
Amen
Hallelujah,
the conductor signals.
 
The choir’s clappers
belt out high C’s.
 
Mouthed platitudes rise from a pasty face
his bald pate shines. A Soft smile cajoles.
 
How many packs of pickled Peter’s
had he ploughed with parsimonious
platitudes?
 
Voices rise to orchestrations call.
Patched colored chords rise and fall
like maple leaves drawn out by painful
promises of future solos.
 
Across the ivory keys, past the teeth,
over the tongue, and behind the ass of
weekly worship,
spinster sisters
hum.