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Best Poems From
DONNA QUESINBERRY
(06/05/1957)
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1.
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The Leaves of April
an ode to spring..
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leaves in spring are tender occurrences
sprouting heavenward with a vibrance
that the blue jay mimics at my doorway
a warbling kaw in ridiculous showmanship
he ruffles feathers and leans in with an intrepid
mannerism as if to dare me to mark his territory.
men and women preen and strut in springtime
as well, after a current of jumping rope and jogging
to prepare for the abundance of potential marketing
that can take place at happy hours, malls, and
in front of street vendors. Hoping Mr. or Mrs. Right
with traverse their path, view silkened tan skin
with fit muscles and lean masses of preponderance.
Then summer arrives like a rouse denoting who
has won the race to coupling before the fall holidays.
Donna Quesinberry
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2.
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Bitters And Soda Water
Nations-Buzz night:
DJ Dan pumps
connections and gigs-
hot
spun
tunes.
Nana raver opens
henna resin paints-
pink
blue
green.
Love artist renderings
cover ecstasies corpses-
dilated
respirated
touches.
Garcias' grateful dead
tripping devil god-
blacklite
fluorescent
reality.
Nana raver viewing
Jerry shining his-
well
strung
guitar.
Flapper theme night
skirts roughing air-
same
party
blues.
Donna Quesinberry
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3.
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Crafted Artistry and Hewned Woods
~<: >~<: >~<: >~
remembering Amsterdam
he opens the buffet
shuffling Viennese linens.
she'd smiled hardest
in her shortest skirts,
his attention allowed to focus.
lace cloth tucked under elbow,
he gathers a water lily vase
in compliment to her,
and crosses the terrace.
fichus trees cast vestal images
through wooden blinds.
buffing furnishings,
he sets accoutrements
on a formal chair.
butter almond English balm
moves through the rooms
with resilience.
hands steady.
he holds them
in front of his eyes.
his skin,
his veins,
his lean fingers,
manicured spoils of labor.
he sets a cloth aside
to draw water.
washing to elbows,
a bar of lavender soap
he holds close to his nose.
whiffing sensations.
water echoes
as vapors rise.
immersions his temptation.
he turns, checks a burner
and adjusts a dial,
unfolding the lace cloth
sets it on rich wood,
replaces his spectacles.
begins a new chapter.
waits in silence.
remembers she forgot her scarf.
~<: >~<: >~<: >~
Donna Quesinberry
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4.
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Ivory Twists
laying a dress on the mattress
she shakes wrinkles away.
rippled feminine hands
smooth remnants of drifting chiffon.
a sash is placed close for review.
she dolls up the frivolities,
somber movements apparent.
a sparrow lands on the sill, he
pecks her glass-as only males will.
she stops, she grins-
marbled glass muddles the reflection.
returning to the dress, she notes
satin heeled shoes with ivory twists
and looks under her knees to bared feet.
no visible abrasions, no resident obscurities.
ungartered stockings hang silken like
ties-made cheaper with modernity.
across the hall, he sits. in sight.
papers being quietly reviewed.
head does not lift.
the mirror says shes beautiful.
Donna Quesinberry
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