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    Echoes: Poems of Life
    Echoes: Poems of Life
    Echoes: Poems of Life
    Ebook220 pages1 hour

    Echoes: Poems of Life

    By Marla C. Erselius

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    Through changes in my life came particulars in writing. Amusing myself with presuming self-confidence, yet peeking into what may lie ahead in years passing quickly came Grey hair as On the other side preceded a space where I once strolled as a much
    younger lady and carried inside all this time.

    With the dizzying, up in the air, Can you cook, a vehicle boiling with me inside it to viewing a remembrance of years past in the Italian village surrounded by the big city where I grew up in They were there. I can vision it today and odors that leave with me as I walked through the door.

    As some of my poems seem a collage of a large, colored puzzle, they have met as a quilt half way through a journey not easily put together. Such poems from my heart, such as Frozen steps, Pink days, and many others, I have a heartfelt passion for always in my love, for homie.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherXlibris US
    Release dateSep 21, 2011
    ISBN9781465352323
    Echoes: Poems of Life

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      Book preview

      Echoes - Marla C. Erselius

      Copyright © 2011 by Marla C. Erselius.

      ISBN: Softcover    978-1-4653-5231-6

      ISBN: Ebook            978-1-4653-5232-3

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

      This book was printed in the United States of America.

      To order additional copies of this book, contact:

      Xlibris Corporation

      1-888-795-4274

      www.Xlibris.com

      Orders@Xlibris.com

      102906

      Contents

      PART 1

      On the other side

      Peter came by

      Circles through the hall

      Butterflies in the room

      Touched by jewels

      Spinning girls at the fair

      Missing you

      Grey hair

      Polish

      Cold thoughts

      Melting

      Marbles on a picnic

      Caught by colors

      Dark features

      PART 2

      Burning benches

      My world as an interpretation

      The hole in the wall

      Cukoos

      Grits laughs no more

      Dense concepts

      Twit twot

      Just a few minutes

      Ladies of lace

      Emptiness

      Pink days

      Me

      Raw pain

      Splintered

      A walk by the sea, for free

      PART 3

      Can you cook

      Hidden

      Breezy

      Thunder and petunias

      Rise above

      Hiding

      Dancing crystals

      Cherubs visible

      Kitten in the night

      Leave me, I ask

      They were there

      Hanging free

      Virgin slumber

      Hollow

      Oh, daddy

      Corners

      Rapture

      Engaging hours

      Frozen steps

      PART 4

      Analysis

      Justice

      Anger

      A silly day

      Medea unleashed

      Bag o’ chips

      Nowhere

      Myth

      Lay me down gently

      Coming around

      One day and gone

      Surprise

      Compromise, now

      Catch the liar

      Surgery

      Two and one

      PART 5

      Baby steps

      Uncertainty unsure

      Digging

      Still here

      Nightmares for the daytime

      Solace most wanted

      Numbness surrounded

      Thoughts on the road

      Shadows

      Ragged decisions

      Unsure friday

      Renewal

      Yesterday came first

      for homie

      PART 1

      On the other side

      12991.jpg

      I gathered purple petals

      spread on a path I walked

      far from a place I once found home.

      many were empty of deep color.

      I rubbed them softly, gently

      capturing color of fuchsia

      blending out of them.

      I know it occurred for my fingers

      showed the shiny residue when I

      caught blue morning glory in

      late afternoon. true time limits

      showered me full of minutes

      I had lost when far from a place

      I once found home.

      a bridge nearing me,

      elderly in its boundaries,

      yet classy, now with crisscrossed

      splintered boards settling loose

      as would needles from pine trees.

      will it crumble into Centours creek

      if nature eats it from under me?

      not in my lifetime, I doubt;

      for shortened days upon me

      as I grow elderly just as my

      shortened years pass with me

      even quicker. it all began from a

      place I once found as home.

      so I continue on, feeling safer

      on the other side of the creek.

      I stumble onto some uneven rows

      of engaging liatris; snap a few off,

      hope cool air hangs them straight till home arrives.

      my neighbor’s carriage slows as

      I turn an open space on the road;

      carry me slowly, please, the day’s

      ending so soon. leaving it behind,

      I’ve been there before, yet I’m

      finding my way back from a

      place I once found as home . . . .

      13163.jpgKozzi-sunset-with-sailboat.jpg

      Peter came by

      12994.jpg

      I missed your letters, long ones

      from awhile ago. it’s now. it’s no good.

      peter visited yesterday. he said hello. he

      veiled your handkerchief on the dresser. it

      was pink. he didn’t care for pink. threw it in the

      basement. later on, I threw it in the trash.

      where were you? on the fifth week of loneliness,

      I ate by myself. all my meals. on the veranda.

      the one where we said hello. at first I turned

      away. far away and walked fast past the roses.

      you picked one for me. I threw it on my bed.

      I slept uneasy. you came in and couldn’t

      say goodbye.

      the boat was on its journey, without me.

      with you. peter looked away. he called

      your name but you just flattered yourself,

      kissed father so long, tucked a green kerchief

      in your lapel and you seemed so aloof.

      I whispered good riddance to myself

      and put my rose in my button. there will

      be more roses for peter and me. he’s

      been in the cellar a fortnight; waiting

      by the door, patiently by the door.

      your boat took a bad turn. the captain

      was heavy with liqueur. you ended a castaway,

      I was told. that’s why I missed your letters.

      bottles don’t travel fast in water going

      nowhere. peter told me the news and

      he went onto the veranda and picked

      a white rose for me and said hello once again.

      13166.jpg

      Circles through the hall

      12996.jpg

      Not sure what’s been going on,

      weeks, months, days

      are the damdest pits,

      supposed to give a rat’s ass for that roof,

      over my shriveling mind:

      the one that deplores

      the creepy crawlies fading mindlessly

      down the hall of uselessness;

      whoops!! it spins me around ever so quickly—

      wonder where the other part leads me . . . .

      not far, not far enough.

      should keep traversing—

      though the walls pause

      and no choice but to retrace the flatness

      that is snapping closer than i care for;

      that gnaws at the cells

      irreplaceable and dead.

      for restorative urges that once lived inside

      are stymied now by lifelessness,

      circling endlessly

      so i feel backwards,

      quivering with tomorrow . . . .

      for i feel the sniveling creepie crawlies

      will be waiting to dull more cells.

      i’ll still travel through the dim, fearful hall

      that still retraces

      the day of yesterdays.

      13168.jpgbutterflies.jpg

      Butterflies in the room

      12998.jpg

      As I was departing

      the room with no view,

      filled among it, flying butterflies;

      butterflies assorted

      of colors, of shapes, of movement.

      gathered there with

      the lady of butterflies,

      singing their unique tones, unheard,

      though, nevertheless,unique

      for sad souls who pass into the room . . . .

      pause, speak, cry.

      thoughts of wonderment

      entering their spinning minds so involved.

      the butterflies listen, they hear,

      they twitter unseen, of course,

      but devotedly, never leave those

      that ponder in hope, in faith,

      in all that glows

      between those wings

      of butterflies concerned.

      listen, stare at a favorite,

      she’ll be there for you.

      this, so says her butterflies.

      to pass through the pain

      of the day may perhaps

      awaken a sorrowful soul,

      by glimmering,

      by circling in its own

      matched path of the sadness

      passing through the chimed,

      stamped door,

      ever so just

      ever so steady

      ever so devoted,

      de butterflies begin as a

      frowned mouth goes passing

      through into their haven:

      closed tightly, lips wavering . . .

      where is my salvation?

      someday, as the days pass on and on,

      an awakening rewards

      the sadness in the spirit,

      and life begins anew, brightly,

      carried onto a glamorous leaf of birth.

      moms cocoons awaken

      to their new life,

      rewarded through cycles so pure,

      so absolutely magnificent,

      awaiting their beginning

      of flight, poise and security.

      13170.jpg

      Touched by jewels

      13000.jpg

      Can you catch me,

      oh no, I won’t allow it,

      oh no, she won’t allow it.

      no one can win.

      not even music is beautiful enough

      to net my runaway.

      fly away free mind revolutions

      per flash of incongruity.

      it was seen tomorrow,

      but yesterday showed it

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