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Lightning
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Teresa Ann Frazee

Teresa Ann Frazee is our February Featured Poet

You can email Teresa at: teresafrazee@yahoo.com

Teresa Ann Frazee

BACCHIC CRAZE

When a lightning flash flung open the temple gate
The loud echo of naked footsteps in the halls
Released a wanton wail from the shadow of sound
With a pitch that pulsated through secret chamber walls

Sultry phantoms danced before a roaring fire
In a Bacchic craze they summoned their ancient god
Then raised a cheer, drank to madness and ecstasy
All bowed their heads with an immortalizing nod

And so he awoke, from the tedium of death
Rose up, still woozy, tossed aside his burial gown
Flashed dynastic bands of gold around his wrists
And a wreath of grapevines he wore as a crown

A satyr guided him to the room where gods feed
Past rancid nymphs trapped in streams of corridor light
A mischievous cult of souls awaited their host
To quench their wildest thirst in the wells of midnight

SUN SHADOWS

Late, when the scent of dusk creeps upon the trees
Deep in the misty grove, goddesses play
In- between stray sun shadows they appear
Where only dreams know such a place some say

Wreaths of light above their heads whirl a spell
In hazy motion they dance round a flame
Ageless sisters bound to an infinite time
Even the laws of nature could not tame

But again they will be obscure by dawn
Mythical legends pressed between pages
Words written in forgotten dialect
For storytellers all through the ages

But if there would not have been a witness
To the goddesses who’ve come from afar
Today there would not be a true tale to tell
About the woods where the immortal are

EVENING LIGHT

Among the fields where blackbird shadows pass
An old scarecrow stares from a far off place
A bitter chill creeps up his tense straw spine
As the wind beats against his burlap face

Trembling open arms usher in the night
With passing time struggles never seem to change
He can’t scream, even if he had a mind to
He is stricken mute, a voice with no range

Evening light glows on a lopsided grin
Cold limbs shake, dancing on his wooden stake
They dangle and sway above the damp earth
A watchman neither asleep nor awake

Only God knows how long he’s been out there
This man of straw, alone to bear his cross
But someday he’ll break loose and come undone
Free from living men and be his own boss

BOHEMIAN BORN

Woodland transients wandering in dark rhythmic motion
Sought a haven in the shadows of the outskirts of night
Liberated from the jurisdiction of social rule
Instinctively led through oblivion by an inward light

Anything is possible inside a soul’s wilderness
Laws of indifference pave the pedestrian tracks of day
Found a direction in a corner of disrupted Eden   
Again, spontaneity has led fate hopelessly astray

Down where the hollow’s overgrown by the passages of time
When the restless hounds of midnight are in a savage state
They unleash a thunderous outcry loose upon the world
In which only the bohemian born can relate

A visual artist for over thirty years, Teresa has received many awards and honors. Also, she has been pursuing her other love, writing. She is a published poet, including Skyline Magazine, Literary House Review, Poetry Shelter, Death Head Grin, Aphelion and the books Twice The Terror: The Horror Zine and What Fears Become: An Anthology from The Horror Zine. She is the Poetry Reading "Art & Literature" series founder and host, at the Boca Raton Museum of Art. Inside her world of make believe she paints and writes what she knows to be true. Bound by the creative force, she leaves reality entirely up to you.