About Gay Reiser Cannon

Writer, Poet, Musician, Mother, Grandmother, Nature Lover, Book Lover, In All Things Curious - a dilettante - somewhat eccentric - but not too far out of the main stream.

Souvenirs – a Décima

Dissolved in watercolored hues–
the acts that touched, the words that soothed,
the days that stuck, the nights that moved.
And with the years the paint came loose.
The images, remain in use —
the joy, the gains all met with smiles;
the lost, the cuts, the days of trials.
Stacked albums sing a life’s refrain,
keepsakes of love, looks of disdain.
A trail of life — bright and diffuse.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 4.2.16 * All Rights Reserved

Pain

Beside the door the reaper waits.
The seasons change, the winds still whip.
Some days slide by and others strip

themselves to shreds, then lie like slates
upon the floor. Our hearts are sore,
we seek the peace that culminates

in sleep that lies beyond our fingertips;
still by the door the reaper waits.

An Octain invented by Luke Prater – posted for Olivia’s d’Verse post on Octains

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 03-24-16 * All Rights Reserved

Vignettes Inspired by Pina Bausch

saxplayerPART II  IN TEN SCENES

The hotel melts onto the Champs-Elysee;
Rome’s ashes float eternally on the Tiber.
A tea-dance stops in Berlin.
An Englishwoman fires at Hitler.

Mannequins in pink rehearse with
the corps de ballet – float through nine lives
Jeté en air
float on clouds
land in New York.

****************************
A princess ran away —
she left luxury in a forest.
Her life was a Czardas
played on a violin
by a peasant who
once sank into a swamp,
but rose to marry the princess who
danced with their son as they
migrated to strange lands.

Their trails crossed time and melodies;
their shoes multiplied. They learned
from passing sheep and random cows.
Potatoes raised from the earth, apples
fell from the trees. They danced through
color and blankness..pioneers–
leaving behind angels and broken promises
going forward to find the horizon.

******************************

In dreams I am weightless
gravity becomes visible
I change, grow wings, fly.

This architecture seems emotionless,
also weightless; freedom flows
construction as fluid as
water, invisible as wind.

******************************

Words dancing – language moves.
Partners become one
through elemental feelings.

The NOW elongates,
the past feels closer,
the future turns on the wheel.

Lightning strikes, thunder cracks!
Outer roars meet inner screams –
sleep’s a path to peace.

******************************

Summer settles like wet mush
steam rises as the moon wanes
the soul sheds its skin.

Ghost thoughts fill the void.
Sentience appears behind the veil
The movement changes yet moves on.

There souls turn weightless
spinning through summer leaves
one may find its mate in the light of a new moon.

******************************

Sword leaves saw edges
cut sunshine to splinters
falling shards splinter time

Talent filled colors
flow from the sun’s descent
art’s fierce paradigm

shadows deepen history’s secrets
a sense of deja-vu
dark matter permeates thoughts

twilight’s like sailing through stars
where ghosts exchange melodies
all harmonics rearranged

*******************************

Deception deep in DNA
That life has no limits
Stretches beyond horizons

Like perpetual gyroscopes in motion
our minds explore new ideas,
an endless phantasmagoria of thoughts

********************************
Birthday dance of fireworks
freedom bursts in colored sparks
born at dawn’s light in cold and mud

Strings sing while feet dance
Behind the veil a girl moves
the urge to begin again is strong

********************************

Caught by a rose’s thorn
shredded by the western wind
wrapped onto a wagon wheel
love holds on against nature’s force

********************************

Thread your ring
onto the crescent moon
as the quadrille begins.
Join Venus, Sirius, and Jupiter
to music of the spheres as galaxies arise

©Gay Reiser Cannon * 3/9/16 – All Rights Reserved

If you haven’t read and care to read Part I it is here:
https://hollyheir.wordpress.com/2016/01/22/vignettes-inspired-by-pina-bausch/

 

 

 

Vignettes Inspired by Pina Bausch

PART I  IN TEN SCENES

Agony cavorts nightly at the bar
while songs divulge lost dreams
and broken expectations.
Notes clatter to the floor
as waiters wobble.Tables and
stools collapse. Patrons continue
to enter careful not to step on
limbs and organs lying there.

************************

Outside garlands festoon the roadway.
A girl in gray chiffon pirouettes along the avenue.
With her eyes shut, she sings lieder in toe shoes.
People move beside her forming a border to
her dance steps.

*************************

Random meets chaos forming art in the café.
lines overlay patterns –  abstractions of shapes
dissolving to nothing then reforming as something
else. Their shadows rise and fall disappearing
after they slither down the walls, moving to the
drum beat, they squat beneath occupied tables.

**************************

Blond man stands on an orange crate,
orders:
“Dance happy as trains
loud as a dog that’s barking
JaZZ at linden trees.”

His blue eyes pierce the grayness
shining like moonlight on a saxophone.
An old couple rumbas on a black lacquer floor.
Their hips transpose rhythms to signals.
Their movement transform time
into the value of pi.

Circles flatten
Spheres become cubes
the scene changes:

Sun drenched
the ballerina rotates in arabesque
(blood red) on a platform……………..
a clock flies by
a train stops
movement          glass
    design                            light
       structure                                 liquid

A green dress ripples and flows

**************************

En pointe she lifts factories
She pulls down dictators
Her hair reaches up to the gate that reads:
Arbeit macht frei”
The smokestacks are quiet
Their shapes darken our history

**************************

Their trails crossed
Their shoes multiplied
They drank French and Russian
from pottery cups
fired at 1300 degrees centigrade.

Meeting in skyscrapers
and on underground trains
noise wrapped them from view
yet branches of trees were
hung with silence.
Ancient fish awoke to
swim again.

**************************

Men began to fan their tails of a million eyes.
Girls hid all but their eyes behind large lace fans.
In a high school cafeteria,  a heavy black curtain
hides academic sins.

****************************

Workmen crowd at shop windows
Staring at undressed mannequins
Secretly they coveted their sisters’ dolls
and dreampt of undressing them.

The dolls could not sing, recite poetry,
skip rope, or turn cart-wheels.
They could never run away,
refuse them or call them names.
No fierce warriors, bringers of light
(or darkness)
They only open and close
their eyes and nod their heads.

**************************

I wake
covered with strings
Behind us roars a waterfall
A river below us leads to some sea
What puppet-master dances me there?

**************************

Red shoes stomp
Palms mop the floor
Paso dobles wrinkle with heat

**************************

Dressed in black
she dances through her pain
her stomach’s riddled with holes
swastikas plague her steps in vain.

The wall behind’s alive with the art
of Diego Rivera- guitars strumming
flamenco. Her dress outlines all
resistance.

November men balance on beams.
The light shifts
they live their dance before they fall.

*****************************

 

 

 

 

Last Winter

Winter icicles stretch roof to hedge.
Squirrels burrow beneath snow-covered leaves
for ungathered acorns. Texas snow is fleeting –
they’re never prepared. They chase each other
shaking off the dusty snow. Up trees, over roofs
their blood is up and their appetites excited.
Spring comes early..and so do little ones.
I watch them racing past late blooming roses
and a single flowering quince.

*   *   *

Our aging shrub blooms.
The dying season cuts short
the hope for bouquets.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved

My first haibun.  Hope it qualifies. I have written haiku for years..but still fall short of the mark.

In The Time Of Sand

I came from the dirt
in the time of sand.
Picked from our teeth
before and after meals,
sand sifted out of the air
each night to clear the way
for starlight.

The wind howled at the moon,
the sand-drifts covered
loam, rocks, tarry clay,
and scratchy white caliche.
It often burned but I didn’t
witness the glow.

My cousins and I played
marbles, baseball, dolls in it
kicking the sand that filled
our shoes, stuck to our skin,
and more. Moving, it hid
the broken and the whole.

Blinded eyes knew sand
shielded  monsters from the light,
piled up in front of locked doors.
Gypsies stole the keys and brooms.

Coyotes howled,
tracked through it
knew the moon
saw truth but wouldn’t tell.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 1/7/2016 * All Rights Reserved

Revelation

rosebud

I have touched roses
when only tiny buds,
on refined stems–
roses I would sometimes rob
of their primal bloom.
I have probed their
hidden textures,
their scents still green.

I have held roses
at their loveliest,
clad with dew drops.
Their fragrance filled me
with an unknown longing.
I sought and found answers
for their concentric turnings.

I have tasted ripe
roses in full bloom,
dispatched the flowers
devouring them hips and all.
Immersing myself
in their sultry luxury,
I inhaled their thick musk.

Wound in roses
I continue to contemplate
their complexity
and their source.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved

Dark Wings

DarkWingssm

Starless, endless night.
Dreams of thickets filled with crows;
morning shines black jewels.

Paisley etched headaches
scarred by tree dreamed slashes;
shadow shards define day.

New percussive beats,
metal clanks between heartbeats;
ragged breaths paint fears.

Dark stillness pervades.
A portentous quiet crawls.
Time runs down the trees.

Horrors stick to buildings;
the crossroads speak travesties.
The earth remembers.

Injustice rustles
sheets of anonymity,
shreds to expose them.

As gloom-filled sorrows
weep, blithe memories of light
stream through forest boughs.

Day breaks like eggshells.
Blue jays shatter silent leaves;
clouds re-ink rainbows.

Crows now fly away,
I begin to breathe once more.
Fog lifts; we emerge.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 7.30.2015. All Rights Reserved

TIME IN THE MEASURE OF NINE

Photo of my cat from British Museum.

Photo of my Egyptian cat from British Museum.

“Time’s measured in a thin line on a cat’s back.”
“O sacred cat! Your mouth is the mouth of the god Atum” *
Nine lives, “tick //TocK//tick” clicks the art of

space and form moving first largo then allegro vivace.
The andante sonata of life becomes the sound of
the way Rome looks, stays as eternal as love.

Purple-ribboned skies extend the emperor’s roads.
Then shadows, dark as catacombs,
frighten the bravest of crows and chanticleers.

“Let no Chaldean clairvoyant compute your
time of existence” nor guess your chosen one.
Cats and men have died for love–

but for living we are born,
not to worship fresh fears
or build shrines to cool starlight.

Feline grace scrapes against walls of slavery,
the terrain tilts.  As the poles waver at twilight,
rain settles and sleep silences.

Drip-drops even-out the hours,
turn minutes into eons,
count the grains of star dust.

Pain arches, bell-curved like the cat’s back,
intensifies and diminishes, a life wave.
Corinthian columns march,

dreams creep onstage, move
to the center mark and wait
while the spotlight stops.

There “make-believe” enters stage right
waits on an iron balcony
by a wall of red bricks.

The masquerade proceeds.
Where birds perch,
day mews on the night.

1. Egyptian hymn from the 4th Century BC*
2. Horace *

From Claudia’s Poem: 2 lines: ” time’s measured in a thin line on a cat’s back” and
“tick //TocK//tick” to respond to the challenge prompt to use a line from Claudia or Brian’s challenge poems. Posted for d’Verse Poets Pub MTB challenge 2/26/15.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved * 2/25/2015

Heritage

vintage_italian_antique_gold_metal_tole_rose_w_long_stem
She’s tall and elegant with fairest face
her history dates back before these times.
She changes through all ages yet remains
mellifluous, mysterious, and fine.

She’s herald for the royals who played at war,
a gift to salve an aching mother’s heart,
a tribute from the poor when laid in prayer
a pledge of truth and troth when lovers part.

I give to you this sign of family,
a symbol of your beauty in repose.
Its lines are drawn on all you sanctify–
on vases, jewelry, furnishings and clothes.

Great love has left its imprint to disclose
and mark you as a Woman of the Rose.

Y’all may have to read this with my Texas accent. Royals and prayer should be read as a one syllable word, and jewelry as two to be “impure” iambic pentameter.  Well, that’s how I pronounce them, ok? This was written for my granddaughter Valerie’s 17th birthday. She speaks Florida, but she should understand this pretty well.

It’s being posted for Björn’s MTB article on Voltas. A Volta typically happens on line 9 of a sonnet and means a turn from the original statement of the poem.  It’s where the poem “heads home”. Here I change from the history of the rose to giving it symbolically to my granddaughter.

(c) Gay Reiser Cannon * All Rights Reserved * 02.16.15