"Summer Wooded Landscape" by Barend Cornelis Koekkoek‘Blue Star’ and Other Poetry by Sally Cook The Society April 12, 2017 Beauty, Culture, Humor, Poetry 5 Comments Blue Star Mama painted calm and clouded landscapes Before she wed, blue-green and grassy shapes, But these went by the board just after she Jumped off into the matrimonial sea. Later, Bach rocked the house and Chopin too, For as we grew up, that was what she’d do, Bringing us through each illness, helping heal With steady beat of fugue and bell-like peal. The gathering storm of every polonaise Cleared out the cloistered sick room’s turgid haze. Her music stays, surrounding me, and when It melds itself to where I once had been, I see a landscape blue-lit from a star Illuminating memory from afar. Veiling Fine snow enfolds the smallish town, Veiling the walks, and leaves no trace Of concrete, while its icy down Crafts rounded shapes with gentle grace. Consider that it might be good For snow to come in summer’s glare To soften all the brittle wood, Decaying leaves; to veil despair Which knows no season and no hour, But rampant runs dark streets by night As, one by one, fresh starts go sour. And none can think to put them right. Snow always veils sharp narrow spaces, Makes lovely the forsaken places. Drowning the Dresses After the suicide of his lover Constance Woolson, Henry James tried to assuage his grief by drowning her garments in the Grand Canal of Venice. Fearing in grief that he might be banal, He led her wardrobe items to their slaughter, Tossing them in a dank Venice canal Where they swirled round and bobbed upon the water. Some petticoats resisted his attempt. The well-made dresses distraught Henry James Flung in refused to sink, and showed contempt For all his silly faux-Romantic games. Poor Henry whacked at stuffing, buttons, bone, Yet failed to drown a lace-and-buckram sail, While taffeta retained its stylish tone Floating on billowed platforms of percale. A pointless, futile gesture, and it shows He could not sink his memories with her clothes. Talking To Thieves Oh, Woodchuck, do not munch the parsley — It’s tender, and is growing sparsely. First cousin to a germ-filled measle, Leave off the basil, you fat weasel. Oregano, where did your leaves go? Only furry knaves and thieves know. Surveying stalks of harried chive, I’m stunned to find some still alive. Must I go on? When I observe The weakened state of each fine herb, Mourning the mangled leaves of lettuce, I question where this talk will get us. All of the above poems were originally published in TRINACRIA A former Wilbur Fellow and six-time Pushcart nominee, Sally Cook is a regular contributor to National Review, and has appeared in venues as varied as Chronicles, Lighten Up On Line, and TRINACRIA. Also a painter, her present works in the style known as Magic Realism are represented in national collections such as the N.S.D.A.R. Museum in Washington, D.C. and The Burchfield-Penney, Buffalo, NY. Related Post ‘A Love Sonnet’ by Jan Darling after the style of Petrarch The aching of your leave clings sadly, still And pangs of emptiness I lone endure But slowly I ascend towards love pure... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail 5 Responses David Hollywood April 12, 2017 I am very taken by the observational and illustrative skills in each poem and found myself affected by the need to be in the moment with them rather than reflective of the themes. Marvelous. Reply Dona Fox April 12, 2017 What wonderful poetry! Thank you, Sally Cook, I’ll be reading those many times and looking for more. (And thanks to The Society for bringing these to my attention, now where do I renew my membership?) Reply David Watt April 12, 2017 Thanks Sally Cook for your captivating poetry! The settings are well illustrated in each, and as effective poetry does, makes me believe I am there as an observer. Reply Daniel April 13, 2017 Wonderful work. Reply Bob McGinness April 14, 2017 Talking to Thieves – an inspiration. A perfect gardening poem. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.