HOTT Poetry Night and Open Mic
Snowstruck - by Barb Germiat
I could comb Roget’s Thesaurus,
search the edges of my memory,
hunt for words to tell you how this snowfall
honeycombs the dome in which we breathe,
saturates the air with quiet crystals,
muffles customary noises.
Or I could whisper
Black Pearl - by Al DeGenova
I hear a faraway cello
legato tone as long as life itself it seems –
the horsehair bow turns
on edge, the timbre winces
to the wind, to the thunder.
The Pacific reshapes miles of beach
overnight, sometimes in minutes. Waves,
their sucking recoil, the salty tumult
teases me today
with nothing more than a bruised hip –
how dare I rest against a rock.
From within the splashing crash
I hear a muffled baritone’s tempt, what
waits for you within the churning wave?
I’ve heard love sound like this. My god
is not this heaving brute of sea, but a quiet
black pearl in the shell of my heart.
I feel the hair on my arm move as it dries,
the flies bite my ankles. Too much love
in my one stormy life to ever deny god.