The Shine Journal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Soothsayer

While I address the children, there's a way they gaze at me,
as though I am a mystic wearing motherly attire.

Sometimes there’s need for magic, as I go about my chores,
I'd tell them they are very wrong, but then I'd be a liar.

Since every day I whisper truths that ricochet about
I have been guilty more than once for not dispelling notions.

Escaping capture, I possess the cunning of a sleuth,
in knowing I've no hiding place to brew my sparkling potions.

It's only now and then erroneous beliefs are born,
performing wizardry with certain spells on dreary nights,

uncovering a miracle, allured by fantasy.
I've let them think I'm made of silver flecks and Christmas lights.

As tinsel trickles over apron strings, upon my feet,
imploring I am nothing more than me when I begin.

With thoughts of whimsy from their lips, of dreams they pray come true
their wishes carry beauty, giving hope, and so I grin.

 

 

 

On Our Way Memorial Day

 

 

We drove that day beyond the meadows

away from home, passing all the broken boughs

sweeping eroding roads,

moving towards wherever branches go.

 

They’re always traveling from last night’s storm,

collecting under a Cherry tree.

There’s nowhere left we need to see.

No place will surprise me anymore.

 

We’ve dropped through every secret hole

landing in paradise once or twice,

weaving through peach orchard tails

where the scent of Bellini’s laced the air.

 

We’ve supped in Venice, slipped through alleys,

ducking in and out of rain, tasting voices all the same

 

and Venice is my forever now.

I have pigeons here at my feet,

though I’m far from Saint Marco’s square.

 

If you hide your riches high,

no thief will ever find them there

 

Oh Galileo, magnifier of Heaven

I’m swinging like a pendulum

yet unaware of any length,

hanging from a point that’s fixed

 

and always ends, at seven.

 

 

  

 

Call to Mind

 

 

 

I told her we were there last week;

had Greek coffee in her kitchen,

 

she was dressed black again

just like she has for forty years.

 

We checked the closets for lost

ghosts and told the nurse

 

her favorite channels, both of us

covered in a patchwork quilt

 

with the heater cranked to ninety.

She squeezed my hand extra hard;

 

pressed it like a piece of fruit,

kissed my face on either side

then twice as we were leaving.

She said she had forgotten that

 

wondered if we’d be there soon,

I could have told her anything

 

as long as I said, yes.

 

BIO:

CAROL LYNN GRELLAS is a Northern California-based writer. She attended Santa Clara University where she was an English and Art major. Her Chapbook: Litany of Finger Prayers will be released in 2008 from Pudding House Press. Her second Chapbook, Object of Desire will be released in 2008 from Finishing Line Press.  She has had dozens of poems appear in magazines and online journals, including most recently, The Oasis Ezine, The Oasis Online, Las Cruces for Poets & Writers, Munyori Poetry Journal, Words on Paper, The Pregnant Moon Review Moondance, Dogzplot,Twilight Musings Anthology, The Verse Marauder, A Tender Touch, MSU Great Falls Literary Guild: Writings from the River, The Storyteller Magazine, Kingly Blue, Ken*again, Chanterelle's Notebook, The New Mirage Quarterly, Silenced Press, The Hiss Quarterly and Flutter. She has poems forthcoming in The Oak and Bend Review, Octaves Eight and The Boston Literary Review. Her first book, I'm Packing Things for Heaven was published in 2007. She is a moderator of an online writer's workshop, The Critical Poet. She lives with her husband, five children and a blind dog named Ginger, who inspire much of her poetry.

MOTIVATION: "My children, faith and love..."