Sample Poems From "The Feminine Voice"

Summer House
by Victoria Twomey

The empty house, clothed in the gray bark of weathered shingles
rests on the hill above the beach,
as silent as the changing of the seasons or the space
between words -
as quiet as the sleeping terns in the dunes.

All of summer has burned away
as the autumn leaves steal what golden heat is left in the sun.

There was a lively gaggle of bronzed children here,
running in and out,
slamming the screen door over and over,
smelling of ice cream, bug spray and sea salt.

Gone are the damp half-moon spots on the porch steps
where they sat in their wet bathing suits
exhausted from a day’s duet with the gulls.

There are no more warm, thick breezes
pungent with the perfume of seaweed, abandoned shells and   
    summer grasses -
just this house, the unceasing rhythm of the waves,
and the grains of memory and time that have fallen
   through the cracks in the wooden floor.

As the house dreams on through its winter slumber,
one can go beyond its gate,
down the steep wooden steps,
to the dunes grown cold as yesterday’s embers,
and hear the gulls sing on, alone.

Nominated for a 2006 Pushcart Prize:

Pieta
by Victoria Twomey

I see the warm flesh beneath the cold marble,
the sinew tensing within the rock,
the bones protruding outward,
wet tears just below the rigid crust,
something breathing within the icy stone.

Good mother,
your son is lost
and you are forever imprisoned
by a suffocating mystery.

In this eternal parting,
the rusty nails of injustice,
have left an empty space that can never be filled.

Behold the one, who like us, must walk his path alone.
Behold the other who must understand.

Michelangelo, you were true of heart but had not pity,
for in your blindness and your vision,
you tore the dead rock from the mountainside,
and in your fever of unrequited love, gave it life.

Did you not realize this stone would cry forever?

When Winter Comes To Claim You
By Victoria Twomey

when winter comes to claim you
and coats your hair with white
when its brittle cloak bends limb and branch

my love will be your summer meadow
blushing soft and fragrant 
my lips will smell of thistle and clover
my eyes will be a clear sky, singing

when winter turns its pale gaze your way
my love will be your red robin
your yellow buttercup
your pink rose growing wild
I will form a rainbow-colored butterfly of my hands
and make it dance, up and down
float to and fro, for you

when winter pours its December darkness on you 
and the cup of the world is filled with night 
I will blink and sparkle in the trees
like a thousand fireflies
telegraphing secrets with the stars

then, my darling
when winter freezes time to ice
and the pendulum falls mute
I will be with you
for I have been saving a bit of the summer sun each year
so you can watch it rising in my outstretched palm

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