Thursday, July 31, 2003


Beside me subtle wheezing
of toddler-scented breath

on the other side, the deep inhale
of her father, who forsakes for once
his odd, arrhythmic snore.

A gentle rumble, not quite purring
from the ball of fur who's pinned me
in another awkward prone position.

I stretch my mind, I feel in the bedroom just beyond
bump and swish, the heartbeat of my son
slumbering stonelike in his bunk.

From downstairs
sporadic scratchings
of dognails against the hardwood:
Retriever recreates
squirrels and rabbits of her youth.

Why was it that I woke?
I wish I could remember
Perhaps solely to serve
as witness to this peace.


I am summoned to the window by a gleaming length of wire
stretched across the pasture
aglitter from an ice storm
which compells me to remember
your brittle

In elastic goodbye moments
foreshortened yet too long
a twisting scar of tightpressed lips

That smile a jagged shard
wedges edgily between
unwelcome dual daggers
poisinous guilt
and green relief
Rubs raw the howling wound
your final whispered words
"I wish-"

Wednesday, July 30, 2003

Solstice Grey

Through the kitchen window
a flash of something red
wish for glasses by the sink
left after morning brush and wash.

(twin spots of steam against cold pane
press close to watch the cardinal
feel friendly kinship
for fingerprints and noseprints
silent straining testimony
children pulled from petshop glass)

This evidence, this crimson bird
throws into sharp relief
looming drear of winter's
unwelcome second half.


If you are brave
then go
make landfall then
and prosper
If the land is one of bounty
Double bravely
venture back
take notes
and pay attention
Surprise us by arriving
Guide us
and hope heartful
So less brave
we venture

Twelve September

Arab or Israli
Indian or Pakistani
the gunman didn't ask
or bother covering his face
just Bang Bang You Bastard
as I tried to tend the store.
Life leaking onto lemony linoleum
I am a victim of
an unsubstantiated war.


Beside the road a crow
plucks at a freshly fallen

Further down a vulture
pecks the carcass
of a crow

How civilized they are
how cultured
how refined

To refrain from feeding
until the body's


groping greeting hand
reaches space
a back not there
squeezed tight.

Soft steps gentle dents
on fluffy cover

Fur against my cheek
Purr against my chest
changing pitch and rhythym of
from my heart.
February Moment

On crisp sparkled grass sharp steps
of tail that follows floppy feet of half grown hound
northbound geese belie the bite of bitter air.

Mushroom mass of exhale
crocus strain from frosty sod
window to admit impending Spring.

March 2002

32 feet per second/second

Orange thunder rolling up behind
how long is a decision?

At the window, someone else.
Eyes meet
Hands meet
A smile briefly pasted over panic.

Searing noise and roaring heat

one final bit of comfort from
what is sure to be a short acquaintance.

October 2002

Summer Solstice

Too hot for Spring
but Summer's yet to peak
by counting, it's
half over
but sixty one days later
the heat
smells like eternity

July 2002


Restless night in bed
pulls pins of logic from my head
til I am unhinged
mind ajar
flitting thoughts like
inside my glassbowl brain
backlit, flicker
assuming luminescence.

3 April 2003
Blue Eyes

Sky a pair of eyes
cries tears of joy into the bay
thunder drum the rhythm
of a heart-
lightning flash a splash,
a smile,
flickering, flies away;
frowning heavy clouds
vocal grumbling grey:

storm delights at night
sun sears, soothing, during day.

28 July 2003

There once was a lawyer named Luke
Who could out drink most any young puke:
In towns far and near
He'd match beer for beer
Folk from Dundalk, Dublin, or Dubuque.


It was his mouth that broke me. Never mind that it was sweetly shaped, with a hitch at one side for a smile. Never mind that the slim twin line of lip revealed that he never revealed anything. Never mind that I’m a big girl and should have known better. Maybe I could have kept him in the Big, Beautiful and Dumb category if he’d never moved that mobile mouth. But once he did, I was over the edge.

Imagine for a moment I never noticed his length of body draped across a chair that seemed suddenly inadequate. Pretend he wasn’t wearing introspective black and third chakra yellow, and that shaggy loner look that drops my stomach like a too-fast elevator every time. Every damn time. In the end, though, I was caught by THAT MOUTH.

Words fell from that mouth like exotic blooms tumbling out the door of a florist shop: a velvet rose, an iridescent orchid, a cluster of delicate violets. He played the texture of language, tossing out “adorable” “delicious” “fragile.” How could I, I? -when language is my love my weakness my fatal flaw- be expected to stay safely far from that thrilling treacherous edge?

He pushed me over with a voice that felt like a fox fur pelt, stroking rough and smoky over the back of my neck. His weaponwords, both banquet and assault, dove straight and clean through my senses, nothing but net into my erogenous zones. What organ it is that arouses prickle tingle shiver of hotcold anticipation, I don’t know, but mine was plunging into uncharted depths. Appallingly obvious as I always am, no wonder I got sandbagged, snowed, seduced. And him a capital O Operator, not that I noticed.

I couldn’t say with certainty the color of his eyes. We didn’t talk books or music. I’m not sure he knows my name. But that luscious, lethal mouth of which a taste was just a tease… wish now I’d taken a bigger bite.

Evidence of premeditation notwithstanding, I still enjoyed the fall.

Sunday, July 27, 2003

In early moisture-laden hours I wait for day to begin, day that is dampered by the ripe weight of cloud cover, clouds that threaten: day may never begin. Cheerful airborne whistlings refute this dolesome threat, crying "sweetwater, sweetwater, sweetwater" sound carried further, reverberating against walls of wet, than ever on a brilliant wholesome day. In these moments, not night enough for rest, nor day enough for work, sitting wrapped round steaming teacup, I read and think how sad it is that sadness is its own reward. I claim no ownership of melancholy, believing Love and Joy to be emissions through two nostrils, the Breath Divine. To spurn this is to cast a stone at God.

18 June 2003
It is only FOUR STEPS from FEAR to FATE.

I FEAR change, and am immobilized by my fear.

I HEAR pain caused by refusing change- I notice my state of being, and focus my attention on it.

I HEAL pain, accepting change: I give myself permission to care for me, to return me to a healthy frame of mind, and do what it takes to get there.

REAL is what I create of my life, the world I live in and as each perspective is different, so is each reality. I choose what mine will be.

I RATE and have value in the Universe: I am in some way valuable. I deserve all the wonders I desire, and will treat myself as worthy.

FATE is living the specific life that the Universe has planned, for which I am best suited: I look towards my Fate with hope and joy, anticipating the feeling of rightness and fulfillment.

It is only FOUR STEPS from FEAR to FATE.

Cybele Pomeroy

“This or something better
Now manifests for me
In totally satisfying and harmonious ways
For the highest good of all concerned.”

- affirmation prayer, Shakti Gawain, Creative Visualization


Lips and body thrum and hum
vibrate in constant dance.
Soul expands, singing to escape my skin
seeping through

seeking you
my breasts ache
to nestle like young birds
in your hands.

Tension II

Unfamiliar quiver
shivery delicious
hotcold prickle tingle
nuzzles nape of neck
tickling my jangle-jingle nerves
(fingertip to fingertip
meeting hands
mate meeting minds
echo beating hearts)
toss off a too rough sheet
seek the softness of your breath
against my pulsing cheek.

6 June 2003


Oh, let us leave this parking lot
go to an all night diner
drink coffee til we're sober
(or dawn, whichever's sooner)
then you can kiss me
until I'm drunk again.

6 June 2003


Faced with your will
your starchpressed self control
I am ashamed
of my shortcomings, as
I have little
little left
or none.
Like an open wound
I weep or ooze
involuntary carnage
No bandages can cover
what I refuse to cover
and still I turn
from the shameful self I see
reflected in your face.


You don't know?
he said to me
when I complained I had
no work
That girl you trained
he said
the one you send to jobs you can't
(don't want to )
do. She charges
less, he said, you sent
her to your agents
I thought you knew.

I have accidentally
my throat
with a weapon
by myself.

9 June 2003


A cherub-faced teacher introduced herself as Mrs. Donaldson on my first day of Junior High School, claiming to turn a cartwheel and climb a tree on each birthday. I had no idea that she would change my life. I was ill prepared for the sixty something dynamo who insisted we keep journals. With reluctance, I began, and at year’s end, I chucked the spiral notebook into my closet. Less than a month into summer vacation, shamefaced and checking to see that no one was looking, I dug it out. Over the years, I added one spiral notebook after another, fresh replacing dirty and dog-eared. The old notebooks were treated with an odd mix of disregard and reverence. Cleaning Mother’s attic, I found it possible to discard dried up prom corsages, but horrifying to consider consigning old journals to the same fate. They reside in a file box in my basement, of value to no one but myself. In fact, they are of limited value even to me since some of them are illegible from either poor penmanship or water damage, and what is decipherable is often quite painful. The traumas of a pre-teen, teenager, and young adult are no fodder for the faint at heart. I find my former self pathetic, embarrassing and naïve. And yet, I value her, for she was also more brave, more passionate, and more unusual than my present self.

City Plows, Broken or Not

They don’t plow my street
so I am forced to meet my neighbors
as they trudge past with canvas bags
to the corner market
for cigarettes and eggs
and milk
and diapers.
They don’t plow my street
so I fiercely wield my shovel
because I like my mailman
who’s a man, so I can say
though postal carrier
would work
but with less music.
They don’t plow my street
so I lean in concentration
on a sturdy wooden handle
listening to the quiet
that’s only superficial
rhythmic drip the loudest
layered over backup beeping
atop a far-off diesel engine
laced with laughter, car doors slamming
burst of salsa music
from at least
three blocks away
now drowned out by the scraping
of a shovel against asphalt.
They don’t plow my street
so though my back protests
though it’s inconvenient
I dig both hands into winter
smelling icy crispness
keep my gladness secret
They don’t plow my street.

Cybele Pomeroy, 19 February 2003

A Star Was Lit the Day You Were Born

Dream your dreams
Clap your hands
Build your castles in the sand
Here is here
Now is now
You're ship and captain, star and prow
Make a wish
See it through
Let the light that shines be you.

Cybele Pomeroy, 23 February 2003

I Stand For America – C. Pomeroy, 11 September 2002

I stand for America and I stand with pride
I stand for those liberties for which my fathers died
I stand with my head held high and my arms open wide
Because I stand for America, where we all stand side by side.

Each one can teach, each one can learn
Each one can do at least one good turn
Prosperity that we can see results from what we earn
Caring leads to sharing which tenfold will soon return

I stand for America and the right to speak my mind
I stand for education so no one’s left behind
I stand for the happiness that all of us can find
I stand for Americans, every color, shape and kind

I stand for America and for equality
I stand for independence and responsibility
I stand for my opinion and your right to disagree
I stand for America; I stand for you, you stand for me.

I stand for America and I stand with pride
I stand for those liberties for which my fathers died
I stand with my head held high and my arms open wide
Because I stand for America, where we all stand side by side.

Saturday, July 26, 2003


After Power’s betrayal
Head wreathed round with shawl of Shame
Felt cold fingertip of Anger
And the white hot hand of Blame
Suddenly, no subtlety, too obvious to miss
Comes softly, softly, softly
Lethal, loving kiss.

Suspicion sears a second
Mouth on mouth and breath on breath;

Is this poison of Forgiveness
Or forgiving arms of Sudden Death?

26 July 2003


In a tree beside the highway
White plastic bag is
A chuffing, puffing bird
Inflated by damp breeze.

Squirrel-like, skittering styrofoam skates
Across the glossy pavement.

A saggy cardboard box, much like a doe’s-
the broken body of a doe
The color of wet cardboard
Sprawls awkwardly along the gravel shoulder.

I smell exhaust
Acrid in the sodden afternoon.

Night Gust

Wind blows strong through dingy streets
So up a hill I take my kite
City spread beneath my feet
A sparkling carpet woven of bright lights.

From my hands I let it fly
It wriggles like a living thing
Dodging up to dusky sky
Twisting, yanking on its leash of string.

And my heart goes with that kite
Feel it flutter, feel it flow
Dancing frantic in the night
A black thumbprint against pink urban glow.


Spring Cleaning

It’s been a week of April showers
And as I seek out foul brown eggs
The dogs have hidden
Among silky tufts of grass
I wonder if there’s gas enough
To fire up the mower.

I can’t forget to prune the roses
This year like many others;
Although I like the flowers, are they
Really worth the scratches that I get?
Also, my garden never matches
The pictures in those glossy magazines.
Well, I promised someone long ago to tend them.

I hear behind the birdsong
Not too distant sounds of traffic
While the sun fries a violent red streak on my neck.
My nose and forehead gleam with the season’s first unlovely
Yes, it’s honest but unlovely
Yes, it’s sweat.

Done its duty as a towel,
My shirt drapes floppily atop a thorny bush
No longer clingily adorning
My moist and untoned torso
If the neighbors mind my sports bra as I work
They’ve never said so.

Roots and rocks and random wrappers
Willy nilly and haphazard
I rake, will later take them to the trashcan
With the rudely stinking booty
I have gleaned from lumpy hummocks
To be hoisted in the morning by hefty, noisy men.

It isn’t tea and cakes and fancy hats
Still, it’s mine and I will thank me
Later having coffee on the deck
With weeds I like (call them perennials)
Clustered cheerful near the steps.


As we go round and round, I wish you well-
Brass ring seek, or other Joy to find
Through ups and downs of this, Life’s Carousel.

A broad back carried woes when darkness fell
One high, one low, reversed, but never mind:
As we go round and round, I wish you well.

Tightly clutching hands as music swells
Together we may ride, if Fate be kind
Through ups and downs of this, Life’s Carousel.

How long til end of Song, I cannot tell
But you nor me shall not be left behind:
As we go round and round, I wish you well
Through ups and downs of this, Life’s Carousel.


Sun shining hotly on my back
grass dry and crackly to my toes,
swallowed by the shadow
of a shining silver bird
Who is swooping-I have seen it-
to a station where it feeds,
discharging vermin from its belly
before leaping once again to its lofty, lonely hunt.

Here beside the body of a still and wholesome creature
I am ruffled by the passing
of a noisy noxious demon
who despite its piercing eyeballs
never seems to see at all.

More of its kind roar past me
spewing little things that rattle
belching foul and choking odors
whose presence yet will linger after nightfall.

Oh, speak of filth, and speak of stinking,
of disease and lurking ugly
but a gleaming screaming demon
made a kill all unconcerning
left it sprawled unwanted here
where it surely would be wasted

Were it not for me and mine.

April 2002

Check out, which is one of my favorites. There's a bit of a scam going on, but isn't everything? And there are resources galore there.

You can get feedback on your work posting on this one,

Winter Sprite

Stepping out, I mark the crispness
clearfresh crunch surrounds my sole
as I sink up to my ankles
sole drinks up the flavour
stop a minute now to savour
clearfresh frozen water
gathered in the air
from places I have never heard of, never seen.
Toes taste squeaky sweetness
I run along the walkway
on tiptoe, like a fairey
in my bathrobe, I'm a fairey
it's past midnight, I'm a fairey
glitter falling on my hair, my lips, my chin
coldfire on my feet
I'm barefoot, I'm a fairey
dancing barefoot in the falling, fallen snow.

Cybele Pomeroy, 28 February 2003

Peek Through The Curtains, Lenore

Strident voices in the street
attract my interest to the window
irritated plowman in his plowtruck
(yes, a plowtruck!)
shouting at a neighbor
to move an ill-parked car.
Right behind the snowplow
(a snowplow, well, I never!)
comes the garbage truck
and the crew I haven’t seen
these several weeks it’s been since Lincoln’s birthday.
Clapping like a child
I wave thank you to the plowman
blow kisses to the trashmen
tip my face up to the cloudy, clearing sky:
The trash is gone, snow all you want now!
Like applause, fat flakes come flashing
frozen motes of laughter falling on my face.

Cybele Pomeroy, 28 February, 2003

Rock Candy

Glittery gloss
on barren shrubbery
grainy crystal fragments
crunch like heartbreak
beneath my slippered feet.

Holding Hefty Gladbags
in hopes Garbageosaurus
will lumber down my
sugar-slickened hill

my heart howls like winter wolves
for swish and pound of surf
on suncrisped sand.

29 January 2003

Scattered Showers

Smacking spatter
sizzles against
sheen sparked
under streetlamp.

Smoking steam
swirls, ensnares
itself in swishes
of a skirt.

Sticky scent of
sodden summer
city street.

5 June 2002
The Show

one cloud, pink candy sugar
stretched and twisted from its cone
hung heavy on horizon
sun pulses orange
glowing radioactive effervescent
humans buzz round pampered
thunder rumbles, lurking

25 July 2003


I stoop to smell a flower, cupping petals in my palms
petals, stamens, pistils, pollen gilded gold
turn into tigers, chase tails, turning, twisting
spin into a circlet
that I clasp about my throat.

23 July 2003

~17~ Gift

humbled by a gift
trembling hands hold pulsing warmth
treasure tender heart

23 July 2003


Clouds rich like whipped chocolate
so dense and bittersweet
scent of moisture waiting for release.
Agony of wish and hope fulfilled
twice wet tears and kisses
mingle with the rain.

10 July 2003


Body left behind
I fly to where you are
sitting in a canvas chair
watching water hurl itself at sea
glass of wine beside you
there is no chair
there is no wine
for me.

I have no body, I don’t need them
I stand behind you, touch your shoulders
warm skin ripples under unembodied hands.

Purr of rainpour meets snarling surf
streak of lightning splits the sand
thrum of thunder all around us
skinless yet I feel the misty spray
your cheek is damp. Your breathing soothes me
in my dreamwalk, I will cling to you til day.

Cybele Pomeroy 1 July 2003

I Am For You

It is my honor
my pleasure
my delight
to have had a chance
to engage
and dance
this dance of joy;
to share with you
a moment
you found sweet enough
to keep.
xox, Mimi

7 March 2003

I From My Perch

iridescent shimmer
spheres undulate


of Joy

rain on
grubby faces
of children underneath.

Downpour, Spring, 2003
(Waiting for Jim)

Listen to the sound
rain falling down
Gutterspout pours a constant stream
Rattle tattle drizzle
sizzle slap
The sky-ball
in my eyeball
is a greying opal gleam
Tick tock pitter patter
was watches hares and hatters
steady drip drop
steady plip plop
woke me from my dream
A rivulet is trickling
and tickling
sloshing running washing my feet clean
Hear the air
and touch the mist
The grass is glowing green.

7 June 2003


doe lies twisted in a ditch
someone hit her in the rain
Her white hill belly exposed
a dark line
streams down it to her neck
head pillowed on the pavement
water drowns her nostrils
and her eyes.

7 June 2003


Tumble off
and frantic hits
strain and yearn and reach and thrust
twin fiends
of hope and desperation
gnawing at my neck,
fearful certain
nothing’s there
to catch me
if I fail to fly.

4 June 2003


Steam flees before a beaming sun
from uneven dingy heaps
to race in knee-deep streams
across the gleaming street.
Two brace of geese veer off
fly opposite the forming flock
Eastward, I drive, and wonder
who travels in the wrong direction.

2 March 2003

White Attack

Swirling smears of snowdust
paisley patterns on the pavement
following a tourbus
loosing jagged bits of snowcap
organic angled shrapnel
explosive puffs of powder
on my path.
November 2002


(icy mist enshroud me
prickle stick to cheeks and chin
dizzy swirling windy whirl
shower clouds of powdered hush
embraced by blanching thrill
frosty breath
of chilly God)

Cybele Pomeroy 16 February 2003

*17* …haahhh

swirling windy whirl
shower cloud of powdered hush
frosty breath of God

Cybele Pomeroy 16 February 2003


thirty five words plus
one your name so vicious in
its finality

27 June 2003

17: Wet

Light filters through, ashimmer
Distant horn a mournful moan
Fog rolls in.

Cybele Pomeroy, 21 February, 2003

Almost Innocent

Mouths parted
hitch one bite of
sizzling air
meet soft
and tender as a fresh
cut peach
so sweet
it was two days
before I felt like eating.