Recently poet Ann Christine Tabaka published her ninth book of poetry and first chapbook, No More Hallelujahs. Tonight I'd like to publish the poems that she sent me. Enjoy!
Beyond the Reach of Time
sings a song
unknown to man.
Vestiges of life
fall from the sky
like winter snow.
Existence comes into being.
Dawn bursts forth,
Stars blink their goodbyes.
So it is said, so it is done.
The guardian steps forth
as light emerges.
Time lapses …
Burgeoning worlds converge.
The sky is alive.
I hear his song.
Black crow flies off,
Beyond the reach of time.
Saturday morning, cleaning house,
the sun streaming in.
I find it tucked away, in the back of
a shelf of dusty old books.
Slowly releasing it from its place,
it falls open to the precise page.
There lies the white rose pressed flat, now
browning from a time almost forgotten.
Memories flood back to that day, I can still
picture your face smiling at me with green eyes.
You surprised me with my favorite flower.
The first of many to come.
I carefully tucked it away to preserve
for forever, well, at least for today.
Too many years have passed, and the
young hand that first held that rose is
now wrinkled with age.
But with just a single touch of that token of
love, I am once again young and alive.
overwhelmingly sweet scented
childhood memories. Sucking
down sticky drops of nectar.
Dodging yellow jackets and
bees competing for same.
A bramble of multiflora roses,
our fortress against the invisible
enemy. Battling monsters in a
stick-sword fight of epic proportions.
Rolling down grassy hills.
Splashing through woodland streams,
searching under rocks for crayfish.
Days that would go on forever, a
single scent brings them all back.
The pungent aroma of wild honeysuckle.
Winter at the Door
Softly down it floats,
kissing the ground white,
growing ever deeper.
Into the cold of night.
Glittery and pristine,
crystalline beauty to behold.
The sound of falling snow,
holds a secret I am told.
A glacial wonderland
lies before my eyes.
Such beauty blankets all
from the frozen skies.
Ever bringing forth
a desire to explore,
the wondrous season of
winter at the door.
What Truth is Spoken
Retreat into the darkness
oh oracle of the night.
Your perverse proclamations
confounding common speak.
from your mouth do spew.
Hearken to the naïve maid
who believed in your foul discourse.
Was there no hint of certitude
in anything you proclaimed,
or do your heartless speeches lay
quiet among the decaying?
Ann Christine Tabaka has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and their two cats. Her most recent credits are: Pomona Valley Review; Ariel Chart, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, Oddball Magazine, The Paragon Journal, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine, Ann Arbor Review, The McKinley Review.
*(a complete list of publications is available upon request)
I think I'll continue with Emily Remler's music. She was a jazz guitarist from the 1980s. Unfortunately, only her music is with us now.
Here is her "Hot House" with Hank Jones and Buster Williams:
For a change of pace, here is her "Snowfall": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OuKQCJybnVc&list=PLIvQtZmuyaE2o_YklvRk_vkaVuWB4DBvf
If winter is here, can "Joy Spring" be far behind?
I'll finish with her "Catwalk": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OjjkywlSMXU