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I Am Who I Am | Sandra Nguyen - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

I Am Who I Am | Sandra Nguyen

I am the scars that you see,
of broken promises and broken heart.
I am the tears that flow,
from wells of hurt and pain.
I am the treasure,
of falling stars and lost dreams.
I am who I am,
because you loved me.

I am the wings of eagles,
soaring in the sky.
I am the butterfly,
the change and transformation.
I am the sun, the stars and moon,
shining and twinkling with all my might.
I am who I am,
because I loved you.

More at https://www.facebook.com/sansmagic/.

A Previous Life | Donal Mahoney - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

A Previous Life | Donal Mahoney

It was their wedding night and Priya didn’t want to tell her new husband all about it but Bill kept asking where she had learned to walk like that. Finally she told him it was inherited from a previous life, a life she had lived many years ago in India, not far from Bangalore. She had been a cobra kept in a charmer’s basket.

When the charmer found a customer, usually a Brit or Yank, he would play his flute and Priya would uncoil and rise from the basket. Her hood would swell and she would sway as long as the customer had enough money to keep paying the charmer. She never tried to bite a customer but some of the men weren’t the nicest people in the world. You think they would know better than to tease a cobra.

Being a charmer’s cobra was Priya’s job for many years until she finally grew weary of the tiny mice her keeper would feed her so she bit him and he died. His family had Priya decapitated but she was born again later in a small village, this time as a human, a baby girl. After she matured into a young woman, she had a walk, men said, reminiscent of a cobra’s sway.

Priya told Bill she had been married many times in India, England and the United States but always to the wrong man. She would give the men time to correct their behavior but none did. As a result of their failure, she bit them with two little fangs inherited from her life as a cobra. They were hidden next to her incisors. Death was almost instantaneous.

No autopsies were ever performed. Death by natural causes was always the ruling. Priya, however, would move to another state or country before marrying again.

She told Bill she hoped he would be a good husband because she didn’t want to have to move again. She wanted to put down roots and have children. She was curious as to whether they would walk or crawl or maybe do both. But Bill had heard enough. He was already out of bed, had one leg in his tuxedo pants and soon was running down the hall of the 10th floor of the Four Seasons Hotel. He had his rented patent leather shoes in one hand and an umbrella in the other in case he ran into a monsoon.

More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.

Lady in the Snow | Donal Mahoney - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

Lady in the Snow | Donal Mahoney

I turn the porch light on at 4 a.m.
to see if a miracle’s occurred
and the paper’s landed somewhere
in the snow blanketing our lawn.
Instead I see a clump on the mat
a one-eyed cat dazed by the cold
looking at me as if to say
“Are you the guy I saw
a week ago before I ran?”
Every morning now I feed
two feral toms at our back door
but never a cat at our front door.
My wife might say okay
once she knows this cat’s
a lady in big trouble.
When I open the door
the cat runs across the street
turns around, sits on the curb
looks at me and says, “Listen, Mister,
I’m cold and hungry but we just met.
One quick peek is all you get.”

More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.

The Deli on Granville | Donal Mahoney - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

The Deli on Granville | Donal Mahoney

I lived in the attic back then,
and late those evenings I had to study
and couldn’t afford to go drinking
I’d run down to the deli and buy
bagels and smoked lox.
I’d watch the lame son
wrap each item in white paper
while his father, coughing at the register,
pointed to the cans on the wall
and screamed, “Serve yourself! Serve yourself!”
I’d grab a tin of baked beans and he’d smile.
Now, years later, I return to the deli
and find that it’s closed.
The sign on the door confirms
what everyone else already knows:
There has been a death in the family.

More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.

Maggie and Max | Donal Mahoney - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

Maggie and Max | Donal Mahoney

Our son married a flibbertygibbet,
my wife says, and I agree,
but he loves Maggie very much
so I say let’s keep quiet.
It’s not our place to criticize.
Max is 33, and not long
back from Iraq.
I remind my wife
that Maggie can cook
better than most
so let’s give her a chance.
Max works two jobs
and he’s never home.
Maggie’s young.
Maybe the baby will help
but I doubt it.
Too bad Maggie
didn’t take to quilting,
my wife points out.
The ladies at church
did their best to teach her.
But quilters, I remind her,
don’t go out at midnight
to places nobody knows.
My wife keeps asking
why Max married Maggie.
I don’t know what to say.
Finally I tell her I never saw
any woman walk like Maggie.
My wife says I never will.

More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.

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