Teresa Ann Frazee is our January 2010 Featured Poet

You can email Teresa at: teresafrazee@yahoo.com

WINTER DUES

Bare limbed trees wait
   An entire season to recover
Leaves flung below
   Like clothes of an unforgiven lover
 
In one degree, rain turns to ice
   As if it has sinned
Unrelenting hail like BB’s
   Assault my tender skin
 
Broken spirits shiver
   In their huddled position
Surviving winter’s icy grip
   Becomes their sole ambition
 
With each step, a shell
   Of frozen ground crunches
Fierce howling winds
   Whip around with sneaky punches
 
Flower beds lie dormant
   Tucked in beneath blankets of snow
It’s a wonder how anything
   Delicate could ever grow
 
Bleak endless nights
   Consume our light
Abiding by winter’s curfew
   Is our plight
 
Food is scarce
   We are merely skin and bones
There is no limit
   To what mother nature condones
 
Atop roofs, burrows and branches
   Snow drifts swell
A communal burden
   Wherever you may dwell
 
Freshly covered tracks on a path
   That lead to nowhere
Summoning more dismal thoughts
   That I dare not spare
 
Winter barged in
   With brutal insult
With it’s shareholders
   It never did consult
 
Winter lashed out
   With raw determination
Evicting inhabitants
   Through selective elimination
 
Memories of soft pinks of summer
   Locked up like gems in a vault
Responsibilities shared in many places
   It’s not entirely winter’s fault
 
There’s a chain of command
   Under the powers that be
Each have their orders
   Just like you and me
 
Even angels, ashamed
   Hover above ominous clouds
Play a part and hide
   Behind their celestial shrouds
  
So I understand our days
   Good or bad we cannot pick
But it seems right now
    I’m holding the short end of the stick
 
With this knowledge
   I feel somewhat consoled
It’s simply old man winter
   Doing what he’s told

SPIKED SKY

Spikes of black wrought iron
Pierce the soft atmosphere
Share this private place
With life that’s growing there
 
The heavens are witness to
This most lordly match
Trust enters the gate
When leaves open the latch
 
Licking flora spirals down
To a sun born kiss
In this Gothic garden
Of paradisiacal bliss

MISCAST SHADOW

My shadow comes from another dimension
    One of darkness and restless form
She preyed on my innocence
     On that very first sunny morn
 
The wanton things she does
      I surely could not do
How vague her weightless eyes
      Her hollow heart, I see through
 
Blurred in her unresolved place
      Bound to cross the line
I stand foreign in her rambling shoes
      The feet she moves are mine
 
Black spit emits from her inarticulate tongue
       Indifference is in pity’s place
From this fragile order of power
       I stumble to keep the pace
 
I’ve heard it in a homily
       Do not give in to fear
And lose to a sufficient end
       To all you once held dear
 
Upon witnessing my shadow
        Do those many deeds unsaid
I call to a godly ear
        But she’s always a prayer ahead
 
And soon after the sun has set
        An unholy hush stills the air
Caught in a metamorphosis, I smell
        Her blasphemous breath lingers near
 
The street light pours over me
        I stiffen while she bends
Her wild arms flung around me
        As if pantomiming old friends
 
Candles flicker from twisted wicks
        Casting phantom postures black
I look straight ahead of me
        But I know she’s looking back
 
Placing bets with mortal stakes
        Stranded on the outskirts of luck
Fate sinks deep beneath the mud
        Where the wheels of justice are stuck
 
But I’ll master my own identity
        Ultimately live void of light
Stoop to her ecliptic level
         And simply drop from sight

OUT OF GRACE

Pretending everything’s alright
With anonymity’s wasted skill
Trading memories with the dead
While monitoring my free will
 
Ferryman’s paid with pennies
Stolen from their eyes
Paid the Piper with promises
Saved from previous lives
 
Night shadows toy with me
Where broken-down gods play
Delaying the inevitable darkness
Mothering the light of day
 
Been told an immortal looks after me
With a silent translating tongue
Apparently an empty fable
Meant only for the very young
 
There’s a deaf beggar on Main
Well beyond his outlived years
Listens for the last list of miracles
From a voice only he hears
 
Through twisted peripheral vision
I can barely recognize hope
Beaten to a pulp now
With it’s back against the rope
 
And sentiment, spiked and bleeding
On the rusted west end gate
Can still hear a faint thumping
But there is no pulse rate
                
Heart-stiffed Sirens luring their prey
Waving fingers ringed by gold
With no thought of consequences
Souls are auctioned off and sold
 
Suspending the clockwork of reality
Through detached dimensions of space
Taken crippled down sequestered halls
To a room that’s out of grace
 
Blew out candles of past resolutions
Time is intolerant of vows
I’m sure there’ll be no encore
When I take my final bows

From Florida, Teresa Ann Frazee has been a visual artist for over twenty years, with juried and international exhibitions including solo shows in galleries, museums and other venues, receiving many awards and honors. At the same time, Teresa has been perusing her other love, writing. She is a published poet, and her works have been displayed in Skyline Magazine, Hudson Review and Poetry Shelter. Inside her world of make believe, she paints and writes what she knows to be true. Within her creative force, she leaves reality entirely up to you.