Poetry by

GA . Scheinoha

 

                        HIGH HURDLES

   She's an obstacle to the course; the iceberg
your Titanic cannot steer around, the Sequoia
always driven through, like a nail in the wind,
bark that rubs you wrong, more a howl than
baying, nocturnal song, lyrics so familiar,
plucked out of the ether, yet neither of you

remembers.

 

SWEPT AWAY                        

Her heart                               
pulses                                   
with the                                 
confident                                
strokes                                  
of a clock.                              
Her soul keeps                      
pace beside                            
like a fine                                
Swiss movement.                    
Her mind forges                      
ahead                                     
with the lonely                         
chime of                                  
a Seth Thomas                        
in the night.                              
But her body
lags behind,
the advance
of time
just a sweep
second
or two
off midnight.

 

LOVE IS A FOUR LETTER WORD

It falls like an expletive
across
our lives,
a curse stinging
the senses
with that
sudden moment 

of silence 
the babble of conversation
resumes. . .
as if there
was no 
of sound
touching
our virgin ears

 

 

                                                       BLACK TIE

   This isn't a formal occasion. You needn't don the finest evening attire. You won't find him dudded out to the cuff links or arriving by sleek white limo. This isn't a $1000 a plate dinner. There won't be a grand ball afterwards with a big band to belt out brassy tunes. He won't dash in just in time to provide a happy ending to your 1930's black and white romance.
   But if you're ready to accept the fact he can't, won't promise you
tomorrow, then you'll walk out arm in arm beneath a canopy of stars
stretched tauter than the entrance awning at the finest hotel and enjoy a moment or two here and now.

 

PEBBLES IN THE STREAM

Her heart
is a trestle
high above
the riverbed
of our lives.
We cross
and recross
that bridge,
never pass
the same way
twice.
Drop
a bit of ourselves
each time we lumber
over the splintery
timbers
into the stream
below, watch
for the faintest
of ripples
before, like pebbles
they're carried off
to heaven only knows
where.

__________________

Copyright 2006 GA Scheinoha

 

Whether it's a life impossible to reconstruct or the court jester: the poet, each of the enclosed trio handles these concepts by means of either free verse or the prose poem.
   When not working as a Cryovac sealer in a warehouse or caring for an aged parent, I pursue a third, more public life as an author. My prose poems, short stories, plays, reviews and verse have appeared in magazines in Australia, Canada, England and all over the U.S.

 

Read Public Execution by G.A. Scheinoha on Skyline Magazine