Poetry Showcase by Zachary Guadamour

Nature, Art, Mist, Tree, Forest

Corpuscle

for the late Betty Howe who sent a magazine containing an article on coma and after-death states which invoked some very personal  memories. This is very personal for me, and is a description of being in a five week coma. I am sure it is unique to me, and everyone who survives something like that will have their own unique experience.

1
An intense white light fills the surgical theater
bloody gray matter in the patient's trepanned head pulses
the gloved and masked surgeon probes and picks out pieces of skull
sets them aside on a glass tray
embedded helmet and gravel tossed into hazardous waste

The surgeon works for hours
jigsaw of skull pieces fitted together 
skin sutured back 
takes a deep breath and looks to heaven
crosses himself
knows he has done everything he can
life or death wait in a different realm

2
A bright white light 
veins and arteries branch off
float a corpuscle of light in blood

An intense tropic light in a rain forest meadow
scents of lush plants and fecund earth 
the intensity of multiple shades of green 
perfume of sweet red flowers permeates

Thin translucent violet wings buzz
crawl into the flower
powder yourself with pollen

Fly satiated to the emerald
shade of a rubber tree
trapped in oozing sap
stuck forever in amber
rain forest intensity of life

3
A corpuscle of violet light radiates from her eyes
glows in an amber rain forest
circles arms around her swollen pollen
gray matter of our lips find one another
can't wait to be born into her
experience the intense light
coming into the world through a birth canal
rebirth in multiple shades of green
with translucent wings
flying into flowers
movement in dream time
zygote in an ovary

4
The orange fluid trickles down the throat
impossible to move
tubes and wires connected everywhere

Better to dream
go back to her
the rain forest of her tongue
pollen
to wait forever in amber

So hard to pull the tube out the nose
stop the orange trickling
the green zygote of dream
the rain forest of nurses
checking pulse and temperature 
making the sign of the cross
and you want to leave

5
The ride home
the world in dream time
intense white light 
unmasked and un-gloved amber time
a real world less real
a corpuscle of light
removal of tubes
intense filaments of jungle vine
those other worlds





Ciénaca

I ride lazy atop the mule Toby
as he unravels a deer path we follow
not knowing where we head
the morning crisp in a cloudless sky

A year with plenty of rain
I watch golden grass shimmer on hillsides
oak and mesquite meander along a creek bed
gray/green juniper smile on ravine sides

We come to a huge alamo
overgrown with grapes
swallows and wrens in full song
a blue jay scolds at the intrusion 

Toby drinks his fill of water
collected on a hollowed out boulder
then grazes while I lean against the tree
smile at the perfect wonder of the day


Alpes-Côte d'Azur

It looks to be a swatch of blue on the hillside
Beside a path along a zigzag dirt road 
Boots kick up saffron dust 
Swallows and thrashers chatter
A breeze blows in Mediterranean odor 
The vineyard awaits harvest
Small purple sugared grapes covered by bees 
Yellow and purple caterpillars feast on leaves
Riotous periwinkle and milkweed between vines
Monarchs swarm to a cadence of cicada music 

Quick charcoal sketch to envision the scene 
In the studio the wine carefully vinted 
Saffron and mint season colors
Small flower blues flavor the vision
Pointed green leaves stretch for light
Gnarled branches trellised and intertwined
Dusty reds from the zigzag road savored 
Canvas fills with birdsong
Smell of an afternoon rain on dry ground
Charcoal smudged wineglass memory

Keepsakes

Aunt Emily died in a bright June daydream
red cannas by the porch draw hummingbirds
the house musty with lavender scented talc 
partially masked by sachets of dried flowers

Lived by herself for forty-three 
years after Elmer passed
no children to visit and mostly deaf
read the works of Shakespeare and Yeats
over and over out loud to herself
etched them in her memory
until it seemed she absorbed their wisdom
quoting them at length to herself

A cello case stands in her closet
waits to be opened and taken out
leather buckles dried and hard
takes an oil soaking to free them

The red mahogany slim and delicate as Emily
strings totally slack and bow un-rosined 
I remember when she played
the instrument between her legs
blue eyes lost in a cloud of notes
arm moving back and forth in time
fingers straddling the neck
a Mozart lullaby filling the house
divine contentment etched on her face
an ecstasy of music made 
hummingbirds stand still

not wanting it aunctioned

I take the cello

Departure by Boat


Cicadas throb
the summer Mediterranean glows
in magnetic blueness
distilling the sky into water


Somewhere out beyond the horizon
lies Africa with all its wonder
maintaining a tenuous grasp 
on one’s affections
memories already refunding themselves
into a hazy forgetfulness

Behind one’s vision the scene changes
a slow unreality grips 
the outlines of the past
real humans cardboard cutouts
inanimate objects
as if their lives never existed

So soon evening and the clear night sky
dusted with the light of summer stars
I look into the mirror of myself
smoke an imagined pipe of sweet
apricot scented tobacco

give up on the life I lived
have no desire to change it
relive the good things in my mind
passionate kisses in the dark
even if the love turned out hollow

A Patch of Green

Papyrus reeds grow at the cienaca
dreams of being made into paper
writing words to describe 
talking with ancient ones who knew
bundled into a boat sailing on imagination
creating waters to give buoyancy 
cruising dream worlds of the divine
something for deer to graze on




Bio: Zachary Guadamour is a nominal blood letter of words and smuggles words with Latin roots into English. He lives nine blocks from the Mexican border in The State of Disbelief. In Los Estados Estupidos. He had the good fortune to study poetry writing with Richard Shelton, Steve Orlen and Peter Wild.
























By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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