Halloween Costume

This and Other Realities

Halloween Costume

My head softly pillowed,

I’m snuggled in my bed.

Curtains open to blue-black sky,

I watch the shadowed trees

sway gently in the breeze

as they slowly mesmerize…

Before my eyes, ghost clouds pass by

in vaporous, ethereal shapes

like costumed children having fun,

imaginations run wild…

A meteor streaks across the sky

to join the fun at play

by lighting up the night

too fast to cause a fright

as it adds wonder to my delight…

Between the clouds, the twinkling stars

now become more than distant lights.

They beckon me to where they are

above the glow of city lights,

above the ghostly clouds of white,

above the realm of Earthly sights…

I’ll close my eyes and leave behind

the dreams of humankind…

I’ll wear my body of bright starlight.

I’ll dance among the stars.

I’ll twirl and swirl and sway

until the break of day.

Then I’ll wake upon my pillow

still snuggled in my bed.

October 30, 2021

Shelley Wilson

Fact or Fiction

Fact or Fiction

Gone are my glorious feathers,

my terraced gardens, my treasures of gold…

The Neza…hual…coyo(c)tl, I was,

like the god-king Pharaohs of old…

Gone are the ‘Feathered Serpents’,

Feathered Wisdom, Divine Right…

We have outgrown these Myths of Power,

this Day of computers, distant Space flight…

I stood in a Museum, perhaps in ‘72 or ‘73,

writing ‘flower poems’ of love in my head…

Shocked, I saw my ‘Flower Poems’,

my‘Victory Songs’ of an Aztec War I read!!…

There was my ‘Book of Life’ open before me,

one chapter, the Neza…hual…coyo(c)tl, there!

My poems and stories are tracks through time.

Call it ‘fact’ or ‘fiction’, I really don’t care……….

January 26, 2008

shelley wilson—‘ariel-shelley’

The Party Souvenirs

The Party Souvenirs
Je Suis Enchante
You charm and entertain so well,
I left feeling like a voyeur
catching glimpses of your lives.
A Short Story
I’m sorry there was nothing written
between the beginning and the ending…
except a little pain.
Je Regrette
You were looking for a tequila shot
but all I offered was the salt and lemon of my life.
A Poetry Reading
You didn’t quote your poetry to me
but I read it in your eyes.
Je Me Souviens
kidnapped from my bed…
hit by a look and run…
inspected like a curious antique…
wine and food and fun…
December, 1997

The Porcupine

The Porcupine
He moved through life’s wild and challenging landscape
displaying his defensive, threatening weaponry—
sharply pointed quills able to instantly pierce
another’s mind and heart like arrows into the flesh.
Each quill was a painfully clear message—
a demand for physical and emotional distancing.
He sometimes yearned for a transformation
of these sharp barbs into Cupid’s arrows—
arrows of romantic idealism
celebrating sexuality and love’s mystery
with adventurous, eager innocence.
He longed for such Romance,
but when it appeared in female form
he purposely ignored her subtle invitations,
ignored his own yearning,
and fought with well-aimed piercing barbs
to fend off her quietly seductive charms.
Romance died, and he moved on…
August, 1992 revised April, 2004

Poetry

Poetry
I’m a well-spring of ideas bestowing wealth…
a mirror revealing you to yourself…
I’m a bridge to the future—
a bridge to the past—
a breeze that speaks to the sails at your mast…
I’m a haunting whisper in a mist at sea…
a mother’s cry—a political prisoner’s plea…
I’m your Spirit in a different disguise
seeing Life through Poetry’s passionate eyes.
January, 2002