Fleur de Lis Quilts and Accessories: Poetry

There are words inside me

Words that are mean, hateful,
bubbling with righteousness and sin,
bursting balloons weighed down with
steaming thoughts and midnight mullings.

Gaseous words inside me
burp and belch
a quick taste of bile in the back of my throat
words spit up like a formulaic baby,
hiccuped in front of company,
an unexpected fart escaped,
leaving a telltale sign of embarrassment.
Words should say “excuse me,”
“sorry, I didn’t mean that” but
I purse my lips
pretend, a hurt actress defending
insane words.
Be right for once, even at times
when words make sense to no one,
myself included.

Rogue words inside me
built in a house of cards,
places I never wanted to be
where pain and death are certain
where disgrace scurries from room to room
leaving droplets of discomfort, discontent, distress.

Wounded words inside me
tears quickly swiped away with the back of a fisted hand,
sometimes left to drip off my chin
while my nose fills so one tissue cannot do the job.

Prayerful words inside me
begging for help, relieve, change my fate.
He hears them but the answer is always the same
fate inevitable
life means death and all that.

Catalogued words inside me
regret, guilt, anger, sorrow, grief, failure, loss
walking with me by day,
lying with me at night, interrupting sleep,
bringing dreams with their tears.
Heavy books of memories, photo albums of
bright pictures and panoramic views
of the cost of love.

In a Lifetime

Our first years

were difficult.

We had nothing

except love

and a mortage.

In the middle of nothing

roads are long

futures are vast and open

a scary plane for two

treading alone.

Then the children came

bringing noise and confusion

taking up space.

They narrowed our path

filled the nothingness

recorded the time--

before birthdays

after holidays

once in a while

all the time

We found friends

time became precious

lives intermingle

dates fill memories.

Suddenly all seems lost

time, future, tomorrow

are reclaimed

as children leave

to fill their own futures.

The emptiness is a void

where grandchildren skip

play is reckless and

nerve-racking and

leaving is as special

as arriving.

Close to Home

What is the protocol

one might ask.

What is the appropriate response

everyone needs to know.

What does one say

when no words can answer.

Impossible to reason

discern

moderate

There are actions

occurrences that do not happen here

where life is laughter and clinking glasses.

Slow paced Alacrity

does not move with fervor

where bayous ramble deep and wide and slow.

A loner who is not alone

has powers unspeakable

when turned on others.

Apathy converts with vigor

furnishing Acrimony and Fear

like snakes threading their way into steely hearts.

Emotions overwhelm

dripping Confusion

like Spanish moss-covered oaks

blackened with aged lichen.

A new pestilence on the city

one loner is a loner still

among people who wade through waters

deep in culture and belief and hope.

No loner has power

over the lives of a people

whose stories are swamped in Heritage

of exile and transcendence.

Like Evangeline waiting in the forest primeval

Austerity sits for time

though abnegation occurs not.

In response to the Lafayette shooting on July 23, 2015

poet and poem

They sit, quiet

thoughts whirling, brains engaged, hands busy

Difficult, this work, messy, thought-provoking.

blank paper stares back for much too long

pen smudges, crumple, toss.

One kitten curls in tight on herself

but still the words come.

A zebra of lines, doodles, words sits

wanting more.

Ah, aha, awe! more and more

words come—

simile, symbol, synecdoche

connotation, consonance, conceit

archtype, alliteration, assonance

poet and poem emerge

March 2013

Your dreams and God’s will

Do not match.

Your dreams involve great things

house of gold maybe,

money somewhere,

vacations in exotic places.

He will let you see California one day

but houses of gold make no sense

except in heaven—

a just reward where

Money is worthless.

How disappointing for you

until you realize the truth,

perceive the worth of smallness,

understand the power of little.

How old must you be

to relinquish everything?

How much pain is required

to appreciate a death?

Why pray for peace,

hope for rest?

Small lives feel the answer

suffer the knowledge

tend the need.

July 2012

Pace upon Pace

What if

You listened to my words

understood my meaning

remembered my thoughts.

What if

I spoke only truths

built on hope

dreams that we shared.

Who knew

our lives would entwine

encircle, enrich

each other.

Years

passing, crossing, altering

who we are

who we were

who we become

who we hope to be.

What if

energy, momentum, power

left me

standing, immoveable, fixed on your arm?

more weight than you can endure?

Do not

make promises yet.

follow faith

allow hope

sustain love.

dance

pace upon pace

despite direction.

For Richard

Pen

Writing, doodling, noting,

on paper

on skin

on parchment.

Always thinking

an extension of my fingers

with no connection to my brain.

July 2012

Needle

Sewing, binding, making, repairing,

on clothing, quilts, artwork,

on skin, organs, transplants

Sometimes necessary, sometimes life-saving.

Always pricking.

Pulling bright thread into fancy knots.

A versatile eye that has never seen a haystack.

Fear
In my childhood
I was a frightened girl
Abused, hungry, lonely
like a kitten
cowering in the corner
I mewed myself to sleep.

In my teens
I gave everything for survival
Abuse, hunger, threats.
Men filled my waking hours
Drugs fill the others.

Is this adulthood?
I sense a growing dread
Abuse, hunger, crying
Babies never sleep
mewing for milk
where there is nothing.
In honor of all abused children July 2011

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time
in a fairy tale
you played the prince,
broad-shouldered, strong, silent type
I played the princess in a light silk dress.

Once upon a time
in our fairy tale
your love was instant, the moment we met.
I grew to love you though time had no end.

Once up a time
in all fairy tales
marriage was the goal
the reason, the point.

A prince of few words has many thoughts.
A princess slow in falling plunges deep.
Together we rule a small dominion of three princes,
or they rule us.
They left, returning with girls in white lace;
and the destiny that is ours endures.
June 2011

Alzheimer's Dreams

The beautiful woman has know for some time
Her loss is that which steals the powers of the mind.
Anger, Denial, Sadness, Despair, Depression
These are my friends, my enemies, my release.
Her family is torn, ripped to shreds.
They come to grips, the disease wins, loses, wins again.
Together they talk -- the only point of conversation --
Together they plan, discuss needs, determine wishes, realize lost dreams.

Sadness, Despair, Depression

These are my friends, my enemies, my release.

She is lost -- lost for words, lost in thought,

Lost her glasses, her keys, her pen.

She laughs, shrugging it off.

She cries, feeling the pain.

She screams, releasing the anger.
Sadness, Despair, Depression

These are my friends, my enemies, my release.

Her only release is sleep.

Dreams and memories intermingle

In that winter

When she could no longer remember.

c. 1998

I Celebrate this Place

If you would find yourself, look to the land

you come from and to which you go.

-Walt Whitman

Water moves slowly,

human eyes and the duck weed cannot sense its rhythm.

An alligator moves, making duck weed tracks,

brown water curving around stumps and cypress trees.

An gros bec, a great beaked-bird, swoops down on a dragonfly

feasting on mosquitoes,

its grayish brown feathers move silently through the heavy, hot air.

Cypress trees tower overhead,

a safe haven for birds, squirrels, and opossums,

their greenness turning

brown like slow cooked roux melting into the heat.

I celebrate this place,

the quiet peacefulness,

nature's respite from all things

modern or moving.

I celebrate this place,

the soft bird song,

the drab muted tones of nature,

the soft sticky smell of summer.

1994

A Lifetime of Learning

When I was little, you towered over me, speaking in a big, booming voice
that meant business, and I knew security and safety. Sometimes I sat in your lap,
leaning into the crook of your left arm, as you read the newspaper, and I looked
at the pictures understanding the importance of learning and education.

As I grew bigger, your quiet determination taught me that I, too, could
accomplish my goals. You insisted that I learn to live with my sisters, that mean
words and fighting were not ways to get along.

As a teenager, I watched you hug and kiss Momma and learned how
relationships work. I witnessed your kitchen romance, heard your quiet laughter,
and saw longing when one of you was away, and I wanted a marriage of love and
laughter and longing for myself.

I began another family, finding a man who fit into ours. You accepted him
and cherished him and loved him, and he held you in great esteem, knowing
respect, seeing the importance of marriage in your example, wanting to stay, to
be a part of something wonderful and safe and lasting.

I gave life to others, doing the best I could with them, knowing that my best
was the only thing I could offer: my love, the safety and comfort of home, hard
work, education. I make mistakes, I apologize, I keep trying: you taught me how.

Now we talk about our lives and you teach me that I come from more than
just family--I share a destiny and past with a people whose culture and pride are
a part of me, and I try to share that with others.

So now, as you reach for the pinnacle of your life, I honor you. The
memories and images I hold of you have given me lessons and direction. They
help guide me in difficult times and help me to appreciate good times, family, and love.
They nurture me and ground me and enlighten me. I am today because of you.

Written for my father, Joseph Riley Bourque, for his 70th birthday, December 28, 2000.

Cypress Rose
Red Old Bienville bricks mortared
Together with sweat, love, hard work
One door forever slamming amid
Cries of "Close the door!"
Sun beams in heat and light through
Triple-hung windows that showcase
Panoramic views of the lake, pond, nature.

Guys playing touch football
Leaves turning red and gold in
Autumn brown
splotches of
Grey oaks standing
sentinel against
Winter blasts trying to
douse
Red coals of burning wood
in a fireplace of
Red Old Bienville bricks
mortared
Together with love, family,
Hearth and home.
1992

In my twenties I was a hopeful mother
But now I pass
Children in play.
Babies lie
Sleeping
With their faces turned away --
Please forgive me for
Saying the mothers would not
Fancy their little ones in my arms.

Oh, perish the thought
I was thinking that moment.
All boys
The beautiful, strapping guys --
What a life? Would I trade it away?
No. Once I returned late in the spring
Tired of meetings
Yet, the adoption would not happen.
You'll say that the emptiness will end
But still at night, I cry.
1992

Categorical Aftermath

Camille, Andrew, Charley, Ivan, Frances, Hugo, Jeanne, Katrina

Lettered. Numbered. Categorized. Alphabetized.

Twist their way into human memory.

Turn their wrath on human lives.

Entwine the human psyche.

Devastation of

Shattered lives

Drowning in mementos,

Coffered in attics.

Hunger thirst death

Take their toll,