Poetry

It was only days,
not day to day, just a
finite number
old friends together
new memories to gather --
new memories to cherish.
They ate idlys, sambar,
curries, coconut stews,
Kerela appam, crisp and soft,
chocolate marzipan and
namkeen while drinking
whiskey and wine; cups of tea.
They napped (or were napped)
in the heat of the afternoon
fans whirling vivid dreams
into sleeping minds.
Ghosts around a table, a girl
waiting to drop into life.
They sang songs remembered
(once the first line appeared)
on key or off key with abandon.
She, Saroj, sang verse after obscure verse,
her shoulders moving to the beat of
an unseen orchestra.
(We listened, grateful,
in awe of this still vibrant women,
pivotal to our lives,
toning lyrics from a musical score
long gathering dust
on some archive shelf)
They talked and talked (too much?)
of love, life, places and people past,
some long gone.
They laughed and laughed
dwelling not on when or if
they would meet again …
either in this world or the next.

April 2023

The arrogance of those young,
ignorant, oblivious who use words
‘in your generation”
“at your age”
seemingly safe in their supple
bones, in their shroud of invincibility.
I mean, how dare they render,
as with a wand,
those with higher
numbers into invisibility!
They know nothing of the magical
Age Invisibility Clock
donned to view the world, unobserved.
Do you recognize us on the street?
Perhaps not as we pass unnoticed to
sleuth the unsuspected lower smug numbers.
They have no idea,
absolutely no clue.
Safely stowed under the sheen
dreams realized
wisdom hard fought
joys understood through pain and loss.
we slip on the cloak with ease and grace
strong and powerful in our number.

Carol Larivee
March 2, 2021

Caligo Eurilochus landed on my
blue shawl, his wings clasped
together in fright? or prayer?
brown, beige-black fanning from
dark blue eye rimmed in gold.
We journeyed together
among mask-clad humans a
cacophony of swirling colors
backdropped tropical plants
the air moist, hot, water trickling.
A good omen, said my friend,
viewing a photo of me,
my precariously perched butterfly
clutching my blue scarf
surrounded by masked creatures.
I will take a sign, any sign, in these
days of doom and gloom fires,
pandemics raging
politicians raging amidst
chaos and fright.
We journeyed together
for almost ten seconds before he
took wing, a blur of inner blue.
It was a fleeting relationship.
I named him Oscar.

Carol Larivee
Bodensee
September 17, 2020

I see a wise old man
etched on canvas, not
scattered feathers,
the carcass
of a dead bird.
I taste comfort kisses
sweet, a place where
you can sink your soul,
not, somehow, spoiled
but dark past neglect.
I sense loss of what
could have been
hand in hand in age
now only fragmented
moments along the way.

2004

We found her, finally.
An unmarked mass grave
200 co-mingled sad stories
Parkinson's, cancer,
MS,
aliments of despair,
aliments of collateral damage,
and scientific study.
We, the three sisters,
imagine Ann
dancing
jitterbug laughing
center of this small
universe;
a Rusty Nail, or martini
in hand.
He was found.
Forgotten in the carport
old tires, decaying lawn chair
empty bottles.
caught in the warp
of abuse, despair,
remorse
regret.
Now,
under a simple
marker,
hopefully
together again
as when they first
loved, first dreamed
of endless
possibilities.
We, the three sisters,
grieve again
for ourselves.
For them.

Carol Larivee, June 22, 2014

who is not dead but
knows the hallowed grounds
where luminaries rest
like Madam knows where
to find a baguette in Paris
They are everywhere!
Scattered through the boroughs.
Charlottenburg to Zehlendorf,
Kreuzberg to Stadt Mitte,
(skirting the Huguenots)
one finds the Dorotheenstädtischer Friedhof
here the magic happens.
Teeming with talent
Brecht breathing life into Eisler’s notes
ever a stones head above an
unhappy Helene Weigel.
Hegel and Fichte in somber
philosophical discussions.
Newcomer Gerald Wolfe learning
the ropes of death from his
long departed wife Christa.
It can be a cacophony of whispers,
humming and buzzing
if one pays attention.
Especially under the Maulbeerbaum
where one can eat cake,
read the tomes of the greats’
while the leaves tremble
with spurts of spirits
salivating with every fork full.
Larivee September 30, 2023

The second date.
Open, talking about
who you ae, your life, your dreams
not yet holding back and cautious as
after dates four or five or six
when the real layers of the soul
could be exposed
vulnerable, questioned.
The second date.
To kiss or not to kiss;
to touch or not to touch
brushing shoulder with
hand, feeling for
solid muscle, that charge of energy
when skin touches skin
the chemical, physical.
The second date
ending with an awkward
hug, bodies stiff and unsure,
mouths missed in clumsy
kiss as the surreal of strangers
sharing mixes with
the potential of possible
potentials of what could
or could not be.

September 2002

The force,
the driver,
that illusive muse
lies deep,
deep under layers,
sediments, sentiments,
hurts, words said,
not said,
(why not said!)
buried in
unformed matter
waiting,
patient,
for age and wisdom,
love,
and...
a pneumatic chisel
to carve and dig
surfacing,
dust flying,
particles soaring
releasing,
making way for
new depths,
and...
amazing new
heights.

February 2009

Pieces of myself
strewn across
the floor.
Shards of hopes,
illusions, anger, love
and hate
jagged on my feet
as I
slowly, slowly,
piece by piece,
put back the puzzle
of myself
hoping for the miracle
of melding
back to
a whole.
August 1999

During the day,
a dream remembered
fragments stewing
resurfacing, emerge
demanding attention.
The essence of power of
a house embedded in
ancient forest, organic
evolving, walls exhale,
furniture creaks, grows,
centimeter by centime
over decades, millennium
sculpture in motion
The caretaker, an artist
hair wild and eyes deep
welcomes me warmly
to rooms musty, smelling
of earth, of age while
outside a wolf, massive
with fangs dripping,
teeth-bared menace
growling and howling
stalks the house.
She leaves me to deal
with my wonder and fright
to harness that wild force.
Mystical energy pulses
through air, walls,
my skin and my bones.
She remerges, laughing,
exhilarated, calm.
I wander through more rooms
adorned with vibrant color and
force.
At a window a red parrot
perches with eyes
piercing
blue.
I am drawn without knowing
to stand and gaze out.
Nuzzling my shoulder and
nipping at my ear,
the parrot
whispers
the secrets of the universe.
May 2006

stealing into a midnight park
by moonlight
to spy on beaver in the dark;
flat tails slapping the water.
alas no beavers, only moon beams
playing with the shadows.
June 1999

Apparently, no gems
nothing flashy
or substantial
earned by years live,
deeds done or undone.
Just cotton on the 2 nd .
Threads woven together
a shirt, slightly worn
remnant of new
hangs with comfort
with ease.
On we go, we hope,
to sturdier stuff
bronze, steel and,
if lucky, the haze of
tarnished silver.
In another life, perhaps
the hereafter,
we will shower
each other in gold.

Feb 2020

Hair puffed, shellacked,
suits and ties, crewcuts,
cocktails, Manhattan’s,
highballs,
wide skirts, red lips
matching shoes and bags
breezy laughter.
Babies in arms in
faded sepia.
Easter finery
laced white socks,
patent leather shoes
purses clutched
gleeful preening.
Large sun hats
broad smiles
shades rimmed black
plastic buckets
shovels pink and purple
striped towels
lounging carefree legs.
Bed jacket
blue or fluffy white,
wheelchair
legs hidden under
blanket
pale green
frozen smile.
October 2020

Another V Day come and gone.
Rose peddles dropping,
chocolate wrappers
flapping the breeze.
Another V Day come and gone.
Happy couples, some not,
cooed dove tones
smugly, snuggling.
Another V Day come and gone.
Uncoupled batten down
bombarded with love songs,
cupid’s arrows sailing past.
Another V Day come and gone.
Even sensible, solid, self-sufficent singes
heave a sigh of relief as
the floral dust settles.
February 2005

She stood at the steps
of the red brick
concrete rimmed tower
in tights, pink
brown overall dress
matching t-shirt pink
blue coat with buttons
new and shiny
shoes shiny and new.
For an instance
she looked up
at the clouds, the heavens,
to the world before this
small creature
clad freshly spring
waiting for a bell
and, in awe, wondered who
she came to be.
May 2021