Garden of Stained Glass
That gray cloudy sky turned to pink
as you stared past the stained glass frame
of your childhood on weekends.
Only the fruit on the orange tree remained
jasmine replaced the dingy sneaker smell
after each romp through the woods.
But now nothing is left to worry over
not even the sour milk
that was left sitting on the counter
the cat did not even bother to drink.
Instead of your arms being covered in dirt
they now wore bands of gold
gold for today
gold for tomorrow
gold for eternity
eternity passed into tomorrow and today.
One Way Ticket to Paradise
Sitting in the car late that steamy summer night
a mysterious light shone up ahead
dirt road wide enough for one car suddenly appeared
a parting of the trees by a hoot owl named Moses
I sat up in the passenger seat brushing off empty
hot dog and French fry containers
half empty soda cups
were far from being the end of our nightly picnic
when all of a sudden that lone single light
split into two then three, showing colors of a traffic signal.
You seemed amazed as if we stepped into a magical
fairy land where only the wolves came out at night
to howl and people slept soundly with the television set left on.
Not quite in a trance you turned on the ignition and started driving,
following the lights that danced farther down the path right in front of us.
Fireflies they were as I peered close to the windshield
the moonlight guided us into a realm never before seen by
anyone on this side of the earth's veil.
Winding up through hills the car climbed slowly
with the occasional tree root being felt under the tire
once at the top then we slowly went downhill past
the shadows of oaks and maples that danced in the wind
the only comfort I felt from your hand reaching over to
touch my left shoulder, unsure of where we would be taken
and if we would return home safely.
At the bottom of the trail I could see the rising sun in the rear view mirror
blood red against the still dark night
no bats coming to fly towards us nor fear of the unknown
just a blanket of warmth from the honeysuckle air
entering through the open car windows
and the vision of cherry blossom, jacaranda, and floss silk trees
deck out the emerald green landscape
with the sun smiling down
a lake of sparkling diamonds on the surface
nobody else present except seabirds to welcome us home.
Empty faces float around the deserted carnival
seeking a special one of their own kind
a young sixteen year-old girl
who had no desire to die under the maple tree
as the birds sang in the sunlight.
Ticker tape ribbons swirled
at her last birthday celebration
cascading over the forgotten graveyard
where only one headstone
chipped and broken lay
the winged skull upon it
eyeless and restlessly wandering
for its doe-like mistress
seeking a cool drink of life
from a pebble-bottomed brook
only to be startled
gaze upward at
a white face of death.
Julie Kovacs lives in Venice, Florida. Her poetry has been published in Children Churches and Daddies, Because We Write, Illogical Muse, Poems Niederngasse, Aquapolis, The Blotter, Danse Macabre, Silver Blade, The Camel Saloon, Falling Star, Blue and Yellow Dog, Veil, Moria, Nether, and Cherry Bleeds. She is the author of two poetry books: Silver Moonbeams, and The Emerald Grail. Her website is at http://thebiographicalpoet.blogspot.com/