~
~Magician~
The
Perfect Homemaker,
She
had all the poles with plates a'spinning on them,
like
the jugglers on the late night show.
Yet
one fateful day,
while
running to and fro
attempting
to keep them all
spinning
wildly afloat,
she
let one slip.
In
the attempt to keep that one
from
falling completely,
she
let go of another,
and
another
and
another,
till
all she had left
was
a floor filled
with
broken promises,
clattering
pedestals
and
didactic platitudes.
Company
for dinner?
Only
if they bring a broom.
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose - (Marsha Steed)
Back
to the Menu
~~
Weight Lifter~
Lifting
Weights
I
once saw a picture of Atlas,
Holding
the earth on his back.
sometimes
I feel like that too
when
difficulties seem to pile
Do
you think I could pause
under
the burdening weight
and
ask someone else
to
shoulder my world for awhile?
Marsha
Steed ---<--{© Chantaclair Rose
Back
to the Menu
~Perfected
Soul
Unfinished
Why
can’t you love me?
"The
mirror doesn't lie,” they say
"You
are what you think" I'm told.
Labels
are many
And
acceptance is hidden from view.
I
don't know whom to believe
What
I see, or what I hear from you.
Is
it so difficult to look in my eyes?
To
see *me* inside of there?
Are
my failings so monstrous great
And
my efforts so useless, so frail, so poor,
As
to render them
Worthless
on every score?
I'm
struggling too, you see
Trying
desperately from day to day.
I
know that I fail to be all that I want to
And
still, I'm able to love me,
Unfinished
Why
can't you?
---<--{©
Marsha Rose
Back
to the Menu
~;Doctor
The
Surgeon
Niama
Williams says
'We
cannot move forward
without
knowing who we are.
In
the viscera,
In
the blood."
So,
in knowing who I am,
I
draw from my own
meager
life's experiences.
I
suck the blood
from
the veins of memories
and
the succulent morsels
of
my own past.
Sanguine
remembrances
flow
through vessels
of
how I describe 'me'.
Where
then to begin?
Do
I take the path of the analytical?
See
where my life has run
off
my desired path
to
success and glory?
Do
I pause
looking
over my shoulder
in
fear and loathing
of
the difficulties,
and
pains
that
follow me
like
some ghastly disease?
Perhaps
I turn outward,
examining
surface flesh
well
toned and wrinkle free
describing
my 'perfection’s'
completely
ignoring
flaws
and lines
that
defines me
different
from anyone else alive.
If
I have something to contribute,
surely
others do.
Perhaps
I am not
the
wielder of a surgeon's tool
to
sculpt and offer
cosmetic
alterations
to
what's been
life's
experience.
Perhaps
I would be the X-ray tech,
who
looks deep
into
the inner workings
and
broken pieces
of
my most intricate
foundations.
Whatever
I choose to be,
however
I choose to present who I am,
I
remain... myself.
Complicated,
simple,
hungry,
charitable,
selfish
and
inexhaustibly thirsty
for
knowledge
and
more
of
life's experiences. .
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose '99
Back
to the Menu
~Incubator
On
having a child...
It
is a near impossible
of
a thing to describe.
There
is nothing
to
liken it to.
The
sickness,
the
difficulties,
the
fears,
oh...
the fears...
the
inadequacies,
the
anger,
the
despair...
The
elation,
the
miracle,
the
peace.
The
amazement,
the
euphoria...
the
sense of accomplishment.
The
pride,
the
unconditional love,
the
extension of self.
All
things
And
yet
the
most difficult thing
I
have ever, or ever expect to do.
Would
I recommend it?
Yes.
Feeling
connected is
a
very self-less thing..
a
baby loves,
because
it does.
A
child loves...
because
it knows nothing else.
A
teen loves, because it is self-gratifying...
a
young adult loves,
because
is mutually beneficial.
A
woman loves...
because
she must.
---<--{©
Marsha Steed
Back
to the Menu
~Mother
Fistful
A
fist filled with dandelions
A
face smudged and damp.
A
smile beaming with innocence
A
body needing a nap.
A
mother with much to do
A
child with a lazy afternoon
A
day's lackluster passing
A
moment gone too soon.
"I
brought you something mom"
"I
picked them all myself"
"I
thought you would like them mom"
"B'sides
I think I saw an elf!"
A
busy mother stops her chore
To
look closely at her boy
The
day transformed suddenly
From
dull to a fistful of joy.
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose '97
Back
to the Menu
~Angel
Halos
How
do you yell
at
a six foot tall boy
who
teases and pokes
at
his brother and sister
when
in the middle of
your
well tempered lecture
he
holds forefinger and thumb
over
his head in a
temporary
halo?
---<--{@
Marsha Rose
Back
to the Menu
~Disciplinarian
Chores
Eyes
filled with hate
stare
back at my face.
Words
wield a blade
gashes
they place.
What
have I asked
that
is so terribly tough?
Do
I make demands
that
are much too rough?
I
thought being a mom
would
be kisses and light.
I
found it can bring
arm
loads of spite.
Perhaps
I'm a fool
to
think I’m able
to
nurture and cherish
beyond
what I'm capable.
I'm
a flawed person
I
know it is true
your
actions can wound
and
silence devalues.
I'm
told it is worth
the
tears, pain and sorrow
but
I'm finding it hard
to
hold on till tomorrow.
Chantaclair
Rose ---<--{© '97
Back
to the Menu
~Homemaker
Snowed
in?
I
heard my friend was stuck in the snow
He
grumbled and fretted with no place to go
Now
I look around at the dishes undone
beneath
the window which is lit by the sun.
Living
in California gives us a green covered ground
If
it is cold, we wear coats, gloves and a scarf all around.
So
I sit looking at all I must do
Wondering
if by the year 2000 I'll be through.
Scrap
books that need to show pictures of myself,
poetry
that shouldn't just sit on the shelf.
I've
fed three cats, six fish and the dog
Put
away Christmas things and taken a jog.
I
wonder what peace I would find in a day
Where
I could just sit around and work until May.
"Come
and get me at three" one child said.
"I
need to go there, or else I'll be dead!"
I
run to and fro so often it seems
my
tires are breaking through at the seams.
I
hear about days where my friends must just sit
and
forgive me if I simply covet a bit.
So
I finish my errands and look at the mess
Hoping
tomorrow I'll not just repeat this I guess
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose Marsha Steed ' 1/99
Back
to the Menu
~;Nurturer
Too
Heavy
A
golden haired boy
of
just three years
struggling
with a load,
he
sheds some tears...
Blocks
are falling
all
over the floor
a
castle broken
recognizable
no more.
He
looks up at me
with
those eyes of blue
askin',
"Momma,
you
can fix it can't you?"
It's
too heavy
for
the child.
He
can't carry
the
load he's compiled.
The
same little boy
After
a few years more
Straining
with a heap
of
books from the store.
Dropping
them all
the
jaw is clenched
resolve
is set
for
his offense.
He
carries the load
of
philosophy
Business
and Law
and
a duty or three
But
it's too heavy
for
the boy...
He
can't carry
the
load he’s employed.
Then
time wears on
and
the boy faces life.
A
man lifting burdens of
the
house, job and wife.
The
duties pull at him
from
all sides it seems,
come
crashing down
In
broken daydreams
Where's
the joy
he
was promised would come
Why
isn't he good enough?
He
grasps for wisdom.
For
it's to heavy
For
the man
He
can't carry
all
life demands.
A
voice from somewhere
beyond
this world's care
settles
around him,
Whispers
"I'm here"
There
is someone there
who's
burden is light
Who
lifts every weight
who's
strong in might.
It's
not too heavy
for
Him
He
alone can carry
the
burden.
It's
not too heavy
For
the Lord
Let
go and let him
Lift
the load.
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose
dedicated
to a man ... I love.
Back
to the Menu
~Cook
Dinner
at six?
"My
second lunch," claimed the redheaded boy.
"Just
a snack," said the youth with mixing bowl.
"I'll
just have a salad" Spoke the teenaged beauty.
"I
picked up something," offered the apologetic beau.
I
put back the pans, measuring spoons and books,
and
called my favorite restaurant. "Table for one".
Marsha
Steed --?{@
Back
to the Menu
~Laundress
Folding
Clothes
Some
women may complain
about
the mounds of soiled clothes.
For
washing, drying and putting away
are
seldom delightful chores.
Yet
as I lift each pair of socks
and
fold blouses, white church shirts, and jeans
I
remember each childish face
the
activities enjoyed while wearing these things.
I
can't help but smile
at
a tear, a stain or two
Or
quietly smell the 'blankie'
though
it is shredded through.
One
day I'll be left,
with
only my things to fold
It
will be then, I'm afraid
When
tears will fall untold.
Marsha
Steed 1999---{--{© Chantaclair Rose
Back
to the Menu
~Seamstress
Word
Weavings
Let
words take passage on tongues carriage fair
Some
vicious, some worn within beauties breast
Rolling
forth come they without burden's care.
Sent
on a journey poets pen without rest.
Time
knows all things, grandfather to wisdom.
Tears
are like rain . . . they dry, but come again.
Exacting
ransom from our private prisons.
Travel-worn
lies, drink the furl of our pain.
Lumbering
o'er
a pathway gnarled, concealed
what
thoughts found the heart their cradle to be?
Visions
rushing by with the breathless to yield
Life
travelers grasp words from byway's to see.
Opinions
of those that matter . . . matter much'
Opinions
of those that don't... don't as such.
---<--{©
Marsha Rose
Back
to the Menu
~Beautician
The
Shower
Kids
calling
phone
ringing
dog
barking
cat
scratching on the floor
Water
cascading
warmth
flooding
soap
soothing
nerves
calming once more.
Thank
you Lord,
for
a shower
scented
lotion
and
locked door.
---<--{@
Marsha Steed '99
Back
to the Menu
~Den
Mother
The
Eagle's Nest
There
they sat
the
men I admire
faces
shining almost like a boy's.
They
blushed a little
when
their names were called
and
yet the reward was within their joy.
I
watched carefully
the
youthful smiles
that
took in everything that was said.
Years
of service
Moments
of struggle
All
for a medal and official letterhead.
A
mothers face
with
a soft sheen
a
son's eyes glittered a forehead kissed.
May
my younger teen
one
day stand as tall
as
the face of the newest eagle dismissed.
If
I see him there
I'll
know the tomorrows
will
be safe within pockets of integrity.
It
will be my face then
with
misty eyes and a grin
Looking
at a boy who personifies decency.
---<--{©
Marsha Rose
Back
to the Menu
~Storyteller
The
Squeaky Wheel
There
was a squeaky little wheel
On
the train that moved in place
Other
wheels clicked spokes and sighed,
Yet
he showed not a bit of grace.
He
shimmied and creaked,
whined
and bemoaned
the
others watched carefully
as
their duty they droned.
He
quite often received
attention
and grease.
Oil
was poured liberally
Conductor
toiled to appease.
If
a little squeak was rewarded
with
such abundant care
Would
a creak bring more notice
while
others worked without fanfare?
So
he murmured and wobbled,
groaned
and abased
The
others watched bemused
as
he was finally........ replaced.
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose ' 98
Back
to the Menu
~Shopper
Maybe
Robert
Fulgrum says
that
life is a
possibility.
The
'Shoulds'
are
mixed
with
the "should nots',
like
groceries on a shelf.
Ultimately
it
is our own choice
to
do
or
to do not.
I
like that. Maybe.
Possibilities
Open
doors
Choice.
It
reminds me that I can
do
anything
that
is up to me alone.
Anything.
It
is merely prices
and
rewards.
What
we are willing to pay
for
whatever it is we think we'll get.
Possibilities
in the
checkout
line
of
our personal
action
mall.
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose ' 99
Back
to the Menu
~Teacher
Opinions
Crying
he came into the house,
this
child with hair like mine.
I
opened my arms and offered him
solace
for a time.
"What
is it son?" I asked my boy
as
I dried the tears of pains.
"The
others, they don't like me mom,
they
tease and call me names."
"Oh
little son, can't you see
that
those that point and jeer
are
not the ones a boy like you
would
wish to be quite near?"
He
looked at me, with big brown eyes
the
tears now still and dried.
"Do
you suppose *their* mamma's forgot
to
hold *them* when they cried?"
I
kissed him then, this little boy
with
guilelessness and grace.
He
enlightened me in innocence
about
those who would abase.
Happy
now he climbed right down
from
mamma's nurturing knee.
The
lesson learned was not by him
but
offered from him to me.
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose '98
Back
to the Menu
~Decorator
-Colors
of Age
Pink
and Grey upon her breast
Silver
in his hair.
Painted
rose on time-worn cheek
A
bow-tie tucked with care.
Fingers
brush over wrinkled flesh
myopic
eyes twinkle bright.
Dulled
ears still hear his smile.
and
faded vision views her light.
Coal
black suit on ivory chest.
brown
age spots caressed.
decades
together sharpen senses
time-robbed
of their best.
Nearby
a babe, pinkend cheeks
plump
and round and new.
reminds
the couple of their lives
difficult
years passed through.
One
envious smile fades away
as
his hand cover hers
would
they trade a moment of time
for
the baby's promised years?
Pink
and gray, wrinkled and smooth
Silver
and dark black coal
Rosey
cheeks and deep brown eyes
entwined
in young and old.
Though
what remains may only be
a
day, a month secure
the
culmination’s of lifetimes shared
precious
as youth's allure
--<--{©
Marsha Rose ‘99
Back
to the Menu
~Chauffeur
Innocence
in the Suicide Lane
I
cried a tear today
but
probably not why'd you think.
Driving
through the hurried morn
with
thoughts moving near the brink.
Scurried
and flittered they moved along
from
one thought to the next,
first
of what I had to do, things I'd like to do
then
on to what I wished to best.
The
traffic was moving at a fine clip,
They
probably had places to go
They
didn't have a moment to pause
and
look at the pedestrian flow.
Do
you know that center divide?
Some
call it the suicide lane.
It
is for turning from one direction
to
the next without too much a pain.
There
between the bustling throng
of
drivers just like me
was
a lone figure with a metal lunch pail
I
noticed his posture, turned to see.
First
I zoomed on by him,
as
fast as you may please
but
soon my healthy conscience
wouldn't
let me continue with ease.
I
saw in his eyes,
softly
slanted, aware
a
boy in a man's body,
who
was trying to get somewhere.
I
looked back o'er my shoulder
Passing
by I didn't get far
before
too long I turned around
in
my new seven passenger car.
"Good
day!" He spoke,
in
a sweet childish slur
"Well
hello there,
are
you trying to get somewhere?"
"Yes'm
I am,
across
that there street,
though
the cars are too many,
and
I don't dare move my feet."
I
begged him get in,
so
I could take him to his stop.
no
more than a yard and ten,
a
jump, skip and a hop.
He
thanked me so kindly,
after
telling me his name.
Speaking
of his job proudly
like
he was someone of great fame.
The
tear fell quite unexpectedly
on
my cheek as I drove away.
He'd
never quite know how his genuine smile
brightened
a hurried day.
---<--{©
Marsha Steed
Back
to the Menu
~Electrician
Ruminations
on Modern Mail
"Friends
are like angels
and
Rocks and trees."
Soppy
and dripping with
platitudes
they tease.
Pen
a new rhyme
it
doesn't take much
just
a few thoughts
and
adverbs and such.
Then
with a flash
and
a click of the mouse
o'er
the Internet
it
speeds to each house.
Time
and again
to
my box they come,
little
gnats forwarded
with
a flick of the thumb.
Send
me no promises
of
untold wealth,
Paint
me no pictures
in
ASCII for health.
Don't
warn me of
the
latest virus threats
or
beg through my morality
of
my meager assets.
Send
me a line
of
heartfelt thought
or
pages of news
from
your own Camelot.
Please
spare me the speed
and
the ease of the type
So
my time saving mailbox
Is
more than mere hype.
Write
me for sure
yet
to my words avail
don't
make me rue
that
I e'er heard "E-mail."
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose ' 98
Back
to the Menu
~Pharmacist
Headache
Pinpricks
against a darkened scape.
flashes
of color, needles of agony.
Tightening
nerves diminishing lucidity
gratefulness
for acetaminophen.
---<-{©
Marsha Steed
Back
to the Menu
~Trainer
Helpful
Male Tale
You
would think that a man,
who
is his father's son,
would
not rush around
when
things were undone.
But
run he does,
when
the telephone rings,
and
the party is changed from
June
to this Spring.
Up
go the sleeves,
and
out come the glad bags,
garbage
is tossed and
dishes
careen.
But
tell him it's changed,
and
the date is not yet,
back
he returns
to
the Television set.
---<-{©
Marsha Steed
Back
to the Menu
~Fitness
Expert
More?
I
often wonder at the capacity of a heart
To
draw in a wounded bird or a child, or a sweetheart.
Is
it possible that this fist-sized blood pumping muscle
can
expand so far as to embrace an ideal?
What
happens when it is filled, with things and people and memory?
Does
it close and put out a sign that says, 'no more room Henry'?
Through
pain and breaks and giving and overflowing
still
pulsing and pushing and pumping and beating.
Perhaps
after all, I do understand infinity
when
I realize how much my heart can embrace,
still
take in continually
---<-{©
Marsha Steed
Back
to the Menu
~Lover
Love
Making
Essence
and Spirit
Body
and Soul
Love
without loving
Half
without whole.
Choosing
a path
Difficult
to climb
Standing
alone
Choosing
is mine
Slick
sweet promises
Quiet
spoken vows
Pledges
unnumbered
Showing
me how
Touch
and be pained
Remain
and wilt
Ask
for fulfillment
Leave
without guilt
Tell
me no more stories
Sing
me no more rhymes
Wish
me no future
Need
me all times
Kiss
me quite softly
Speak
low and clear
Know
without knowing
Flesh
pleasures here.
Succulent
scents
and
sweet rumpled satin
in
soft whispered bindings
Night
flies like a phantom.
--<--{©
Chantaclair Rose Marsha
Back
to the Menu
~Wife
Sleeping
Beauty
Softly
the footsteps caress the carpet.
Tired
bones long for a caress..
a
sweet peace only one can offer.
Still,
night flows over
the
busyness of the day,
and
her image
alights
his mind.
He
knows what he shall find,
a
sweet brow
beaded
with moisture
from
sleep.
A
tired woman,
his
hearts desire.
The
covers are pulled back,
dare
he waken her?
Is
his need as great as her own?
Selfishness
makes him brave,
and
yet he pauses,
so
tired is she...
So
sweetly and peacefully
does
she sleep...
can
he take what solace
the
night has brought?
Quietly
he slips in beside her,
his
fingertips brushing
the
sweet flesh
of
her uncovered belly...
There
will be other nights...
his
desires will be filled,
but
tonight, he wishes...
to
be noble.
:
.... he lets her sleep
as
his thoughts carry him
into
her dreams.
---<--{©
ChantaclairRose ' 99
Back
to the Menu
~Romantic
The
Perfect Date
"It's
my first date mom, do you think I look alright?
Will
I know what to say, will my company delight?
He
looks so handsome Mommy,
What?
Roses... just for me?
I
can't believe there is a limo outside!
How
wonderful he looks, how dignified.
Martinelli
too? Dinner by candlelight?
Is
my skirt too short, is my smile nice and bright?
Can
you possibly think of a better date Mother dear?"
"Of
course not sweet one, I married him, to keep him near."
---<--{©
Marsha Steed ' 99 Daughter's first date - with her Dad
Back
to the Menu
~Beloved
Until
Once,
I thought love was an idea
until
I heard you speak to my heart.
Then,
I thought love was a word
until
you touched me softly apart.
Then,
I thought love was a touch
until
your lips met mine.
Then,
I thought love was a kiss
until
you held me close divine.
Then,
I thought love was an embrace
until
we became one flesh.
Then
I thought love was holding all night
until
I awakened afresh.
Then
I thought love was forever
until
I realized what is true...
I
never knew love at all
until,
I knew it through you.
---<--{©
Chantaclair Rose 4/23/96
Back
to the Menu
~Friend
Another's
Hands
Like
a child
seeks
help from a parent
my
fingers extend.
Reaching,
hoping
that
my life will be more
than
the little I can be
alone.
Other
hands,
some
wrinkled
some
soft
extend
to me
as
I go about my days
What
joys have they known?
What
child have they touched?
What
pains have they born?
Like
Michelangelo's Adam
reached
for his Father's hand
I
reach tentatively
for
another's grasp.
Can
I share something?
Can
I feel as another does?
Can
I learn to find joy?
Hands
are the tools
sent
with loving purpose
offering
us heaven
from
our mother above.
---<--{©
'Marsha Rose '99
Child
The
Misunderstanding
