Poetry by
Debra Tenney
Who am I?
I am...
I am...
I am...
I am...
I am...
I travel the universe and beyond,
“I am..
I am...
I blithely “go where
Simply put...
I was recently diagnosed with advanced breast cancer, this is my first attempt at writing about the experience.
A STITCH IN TIME
In that space
Heaven is a two way street
Us mortals like
Metamorphose, eternal saga
Like the Pharaohs...
In that moment,
UNRAVELING GRAY
The smell of old
HOUSE OF JOY
Beneath the canopy of this harbor
Pilgrims dip weary feet
There is no collusion
Tarnished egos are no longer
Within this vortex,
Compassion releasing
Satin visions melt from
Adieu sweet dreams
THE GIFT
You enfold me,
Energies exchanged
I am drowned in
You lay awake
You adorn me in
this gift so rare
until you awaken
LA PEQUEÑA MUERTE
The descent was abrupt.
An arroya
I adorn myself
Chasing a mirage
Embracing the full moon
I am dangling by my teeth
Black on white
draping itself
caught up in
Your arms encircle me
Your dusky
and I am the Phoenix
Photo by Debra Tenney
PLAYGROUNDS
Whatever happened to the playgrounds...
Sidewalks...the boundaries, to
The playgrounds...
The playgrounds still ring with
Pirate ships no longer sail
Playgrounds mark boundaries,
Their heroines and heroes
Blood feuds and boundaries
Humanity propels itself
Beneath this scarlet fan
We celebrate technology
We know...
We know...
We know ...
We know...
We know...
We know...
We know...
Yeah, we know!
Photo by Mihajlo Filipovic
EARTH SONG
The earth sings,
Desert storms carry mating calls
Solitary jays chatter lyric
If
Scarlet red, passionate anger
Warm ocher, benevolent spirit,
Blue spruce greens, stoic patience,
Canary yellow, brilliant mind
Terricotta brown, the potter’s clay
Sky blue, calm constancy of thought,
Jemez red, earthy warm humor,
Emerald green, flashing prisms
Royal purple, regal bearing,
If
Hot Java
The tube chants
In the laundry room,
In flip flops and
With eggplant resolve,
To view more of Debra Tenney's poetry online visit the sites listed below.
Welcome to the Poetry Pages
QUANTUM LEAP
atomic particles, molecules...
evolution’s tools
which scatter in seeming chaos...
second by second,
hither and thither,
in random projection...
rock to fish, table to air,
insect to rainbow,
entity to non-entity...
endless assimilation of form.
new meaning...a being
one with the universe,
composed of atoms,
which make up clay and mountains
air and space, encompassed
in one minuscule grain of sand
on the farthest star.
A part of cloud, raindrop,
lightening and wind.
sacred text, written
with a drop of ink, in which
I am...
but a dwarf of it’s essence.
the essential part of steel
tempered to make
compliant new form...
in the tear drop
of the new born babe,
as I was in the fluid
of its mother’s womb
or in the water
flushed down toilets and sinks.
Manifest in life or death’s decay...
the molecule that exists
in the tip of a finger, claw, hoof,
or fin.
existing as everything or
nothing perceived by humans.
you and you are me,”
“the walrus, the egg man
cu cu ca choo...”
existing in a quantum reality
of which you know little..
but through my existence
you exist...
creating all that is ,
and was, and ever shall be
AMEN.
the universal blood
which flows and binds
the creator to the created...
incarnate in the
petty thief, holy man,
perpetrator and victim alike.
Partaking in the role
of sage and fool...
neither race, creed.
nor philosophy
create a boundary to the
I am..I choose as my
interim domicile.
no humans have gone”
and yet
where all humans are
destined to have
come from and return.
I am.
where origin and consequence
collide...
I embrace this uninvited guest...
observing the Sphinx's Riddle.
a shooting star heralding Ceasar’s
ascent and the descent
of a savior.
an unwitting Herod
grappling with the
kismet of both,
jackals, eating
flesh from bone,
the remains transformed
into promise
upon the desert floor.
rearing its onerous head
in this inevitable dance.
I have built my monument
upon the shifting sands
of occasion...
weaving a perennial dream,
spun with gossamer and stone...
Cleopatra and the asp
caught between eternity and moment.
purpose unraveling like
thread in a hand stitched quilt...
caught between the stitch and
the seamstress...
clings to the room,
like yesterday’s newspapers
the Monarch outside this glass
invites me beyond the gray
woven rug,
outside
red between thorns
born from dirt
Heavenly Blues and child
dance the morning
embracing sunlight.
"A tin can of buttons"
spilled on the rug
dust in sunbeams
spiraling upward past
wishing book pages,
curled edges
folding in on themselves.
Shadow and intent collide
and through the pane
butterfly and child
unravel the gray
weaving sunbeam
promise into tomorrow.
moon flowers surrender their essence
finding refuge in oblique harmony.
into your pool of kinship,
clemency poured
like starlight from ethereal
crockery, washing clean
jaded relics of sorrow.
wafting from this cross
of ancient wisdom you offer.
tempted to reiterate tragic myths.
comfort exists, freed
by a knowing look.
from bondage,
the fragrance of truth,
brazed in pearl and lavender.
afterthoughts of
dark velvet and
blueviolet surprise,
strands of dusty rose,
stealing into
a crystal dawning.
do not weep,
for daylight will wane
and once again confide
those naked places where
the heart embraces
the sacred flame.
Love and other Maddness
and all that is left
is a trembling moon
lost in
penumbral release
smoky brown on white
melding into
opulent serenity.
innate expressions
of
interwoven passion.
Piscean mystic,
free of
the moon’s hold,
sated beneath
this gift of
domain you bequeath me...
embraced in tender sleep.
engulfed in
full moon frenzy,
a sphinx guarding
the sacred tomb...
a cloak of
eternal knowing...
shall
illuminate my nights...
the moon again.
after July thunderstorms
plunging spring’s covenant
against canyons of
limestone and granite.
in this gown of
prickly pear
bequeathed me...
unwilling Penitente
to anguish
stonewashed roadkill
upon this alter
of banishment
buried beneath
ash and silt,
gray on ocher,
resonant coma of sorrow
haunts the anvil heat of
summer’s scorched timbre.
rising above the sierras,
coyotes serenade the sorrow
echoing the desert night
of my soul and
my heart joins them
in their mournful song.
from a rope
suspended in time,
erasing the distance
between us.
jazz drifts through
the December chill,
filling discordant spaces
between breath
and heart beat...
satin smooth upon
a pillow of sighs...
saxophone rifts,
invading both
our sanctuaries,
as the clock ticks
synchronistic harmony.
and I awaken
like a hiker
on the edge
of a cliff
surrendering myself
to free fall,
agate tumbling
beyond itself
revealing
the estate within.
sunset fingers
tracing
on white canvas
trembling landscapes
as if from
an artist’s palate
preparing it to
embrace
terricotta canyons
arising from the ashes
of my desire.
Issues
filled with fantasy and dreams,
where all the neighborhood
children from
across the street and
down the block met
to play kick-the-can
and hide-n-seek.
Never Never Land, the Wild West,
palaces, jungles or Mars,
limited only by imagination.
forbidden to grownups,
who appeared only as villains and witches
come to drag home
unwilling spacemen and princesses.
gunshots...
but today....children fall
shattered like Humpty Dumpty
never to be put together again.
the jewels buried are children.
speeding cars sail by spitting bullets
followed by black cars,
filled with eyes that wail and moan.
Childhood fantasies buried by children
who never heard of Winnie or Owl
never dreamed of Oz
peddle dreams in paper
and cellophane.
defined by city blocks and playgrounds
in cities of lost souls...
lost dreams...lost stories.
fragmented
we are encased
in low resolution
headline hysteria.
World under a dome
tweaking gray matter
speed learning
stalking the small.
toward
a color coded
genetic promise.
Internal modem
ignoring premonition
in a treacherous
double jointed
theology of stewardship.
of illusion
the planet’s
most dangerous
species sleep walks
in its quest for power...
hazardous
waste vessels
extending
accelerated enhancement
within
a pathology of violence.
create a social contract
lost in
feedback loops of
thinly veiled sexual
metaphor.
Corporate administrators
promising to bring the dead
back to life
in rented wombs.
Teutonic voices
shining flashlights
in the eye of
conscious connection
straight body shots
feeding our hidden
dependency on
self mutilation...
splitting the
atomic nuclei
offering reed-slender
covenants...
blanket Band-aid cures
for global discord.
Population explosion
multiplying in triplicate
like sheaths of paper
xeroxing Id,
in a bureaucracy gone
to lunch.
Endless lines of humanity
wrapped in neat packaging
of Sure and Crest.
Secure in the knowledge.
appropriate attire
for the appropriate time
in the appropriate space
with the appropriate person
equals success
On and On....
where we are going
and why
need to get there before
the deadline
and all will be OK.
White Rabbit treadmill.
Be all that you can be.
You got the right stuff
baby, boomer meism
Hunka Hunka burning love.
Good ole boy joy ride.
Rush, Rush....
the way
headlong into the future
appropriately picked out by
society, family and friends.
Entombed in
stucco, brick and wood.
I wish I were an
Oscar Myer Weiner
hot dog idle
before the boob tube
In the appropriate town
on the appropriate street
in the appropriate house
with the appropriate trimmings
Good, Good....
the truth,
enshrined in
churches temples and mosques
holy writ, Betty Crocker
mix and match em
sure fire way to bliss.
Embedded in subconscious,
by TV, magazines, movies and billboards.
Roote-tooten cowboy
pleasure palace
do you wanna dance the night away?
Can’t take it with you.
Faster, Faster...
what’s right.
Father Knows Best
He with the most toys
and all that jazz,
the golden rule.
Go to the appropriate school
get the appropriate paper
which states
got the appropriate knowledge
to do the appropriate thing
at the appropriate time
within the appropriate parameters
God given right.
More, More...
what we want,
bigger better, faster,
new and improved.
Rolaids spells relief
mentality written in neon
across our foreheads.
Have I got a deal for you.
Baby Grand Prix
round and round we go.
Nami nami nami
my lawyer can beat up yours.
Hurry, Hurry...
our rights.
Real men smoke Marlboroughs
The breakfast of champions.
We treat you right.
Run for the border.
Buy American,
Flash that card.
Halloween, Fourth of July,
Easter parade your finery.
You’ve got it made.
Bend over baby,
here comes the big one.
Consume, Consume...
Odds and Ends
faint song of yesterday's
dream from the desert floor.
Dulcet hymn of creation
floats off canyon walls
wind currents whisper
of long forgotten seas.
of whale in phantom chorus.
Stone walls plunge to canyon floors
reverberate down labyrinth corridors like
waves crashing on ancient shores;
recite a melody of time
gone by, remembered verse
entwined in cosmic recall.
chronicles of dolphin lore;
remembrance of bygone days
shared with companion tenants.
Raindrops reveal seashell,
transposed to
stone by time and drought,
each drop mourning
lost ancestral friends
spirited away by cosmic force.
Oceans spit out by ascending mountains
as new land mass girds
marine depths into unpliant domiciles.
Each stone recalls, as in song
he winds sweep up it’s verse
and wafts it through the firmament.
PLEASANT
I were to paint a portrait of you,
what colors would I use?
Black and white to portray
the poignant balance of your being?
at an unjust world which left you
and so many you loved, crippled or dead.
Your humanity incensed?
carrying you past, youth shattered
broken bones fused, quiet pride
took you beyond your bodies frailties?
womanly strength, endless vitality,
obstacles defeated with a charitable sigh,
a knowing glance your ammunition?
illuminating dark corners, versatile
a trapeze artist turning in midair
to catch every nuance of life?
smudged on your cheek, you work the clay
into dreams and visions, while you listen
to me read my latest scribbles.
through the years you retain
innocent dreams and hopes, belying
stalwart devotion to truth?
chivalrous hearth fire aglow in your smile,
sentimental, despite life’s fiascoes
yearning for what might have been?
echo the many faceted jewel that is you.
Compassionate friend, soul wisdom your trade,
adaptation your forte, your armor?
patience, humility, age old wisdom.
Nostalgic memories picked clean of regret,
mourn only the living dead?
I were to paint a portrait of you,
not a full spectrum of rainbow colors
could encompass, enhance
the beauty that is you.
early morning crisis
caught between sunny side up,
and scrambled egg imperatives.
Yesterday's burnt toast dressed
in lumpy oatmeal
has found its way into
a trash can, over-full with
coupon madness,
milk cartons,
unpaid bills
and Tuesday's
eggplant
on a suicide mission.
Regis and Cathy Lee mantras,
garbage disposal humor
grinding its way
through the early morning chill.
Pop Tart commercials and Barry Manalow
render their greatest hits,
assaulting the mind like
a Waring Blender set on puree.
Rescued to the trash
Tuesday's egg plant,
finds new meaning to life,
slithering again to the floor
vowing to change its ways.
the washing machine
kick boxes it’s way past
boxes of classic Tee shirts,
posters espousing 1970’s rhetoric,
and Tuesday's egg plant
spills out its soul
on the kitchen floor
with soap opera abandon.
oversized sweatshirt
cracking eggs
onto cast iron and oil...
crack an oral whip
over my bleary eyed crew,
I flip the eggplant
back into the trash,
flip the last egg,
and flip off the tube...
shooting a raspberry
at the harmonic duo
as they pixelate
back to Never-Never Land
delivering morning's manna
to my bright eyed brood.
I pour myself
another cup of hot Java
midmorning mania.
bracing myself...
for round two.
