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Best Poems From
DONNA QUESINBERRY
(06/05/1957)
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1.
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Art In War - The Munitive
That Moral Law and code, now
Lacks pretense and virtue
There is no morality, there is danger.
The moral law, she died.
Night has become day.
Day has become night.
Seasons are skewed and tearful.
Heavens a quandary herself.
Between life and death
There is no measurement.
All Slovaks say they dont
Want children. Death is in living.
The new commander is the old
Commanders arch villain, glorified
and refrained from rooftops. Defiling
mother earth and she is vanquishing angels.
The ground is no longer marshaled.
It is congealed and regurgitated upon.
Masters are artificial greens keepers and
God is a melancholy agent of a past tribe.
Donna Quesinberry
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2.
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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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3.
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Gurgling And Choking His Eyes Reddened And Swollen
the deal of the century
involved a young christian
male delivering a new ride
to a man in a suit without
desire to know or care about
the overnight excursion of a
youthful soul trying to impress
the leige of quasi-corporate
types who sent him to trevail
a snowstorm with ice abounding
free of the wreak of pot lashed
youthful bliss, touting a bible
and engagement ring. he toiled
through the day to the dusk to
the darkness, nearly home
to reunite with an engagee
anxious and abundant as only
a youthful man is for the woman
or girl he professes love to. off
the road over blackened ground
and ice to air of 50 feet landing
in forest, without airbags,
suspending his brain in a torrent
of spin cycling. wrongfully treated
by 'the man.' and left to dry out
brain devoid still conscious in
a frozen land far to the north.
exalt the auto-stave the human.
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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