Christmas Songs

Tis the season, yes, tis the season
for joy, strength, purity of heart, purity of faith
unity in family, friends old and new
sharing and giving unconditional love
...yet there is a distance in the feel
of the Christmas songs 
- at least for me
a detached sense of how blessed
we are all supposed to be
when the world is exploding
walls going up, fear and hate soaring
the eagles fly high - the eagle flies alone
and the baby's cry and a child's scream
mother, father, sister, brother
running into harms way instead of into the arms
of someone familiar, someone who shares - the same bloodline
maybe they are not hiding on my street
or bleeding in my city but there is a haunting howl
that penetrates and scars the purity of a holy night
and there is no sleep or restful place in my home
the sounds are loud, the sounds are clear,
deafeningly loud and crystal clear
the cry is there for all to hear - where do I belong
and what if we don't, what if we tune out
turn up the volume on Christmas songs
drowning out the cries; what if we choose
to remain detached - and distant
wrapped in the warmth, wrapped in the safety
of our own homes; not knowing where I belong
what if we choose to close our hearts,
and block the sounds that are drowning out - the Christmas songs

© 2015 TrilbyYates

My Brother

Your father is not mine
My mother is yours
We grew up in the same house
Your eyes are blue
Mine brown
We shared the same dreams
and nightmares
You carried yours
As a concealed weapon
hidden
Mine on my sleeve
A rebel flag
fully exposed
You ran with the wind at your back
chasing the demons away
I sailed with the wind in my face
as if being chased by the demons
You moved west
out of your comfort zone
I moved back east
where I felt at home
We both left the past behind
Never looking back
but never letting go
...I think of you often my brother

© 2015 TrilbyYates 

I Cry For You

Walking out knee deep
Fluid reflections glimmer
Walking out shifting sandbar 
Low tide is a slow rise 
The moon sits stoically
On a fine line drawn 
Across the horizon 
And I can only imagine 
What is beyond the curve 
Of this narcissistic planet - Earth 
Or the destination of shooting stars
First hand knowledge burn out
Slips beneath my own personal radar
The way love vanishes mysteriously
Into the stillness of a dark night
Or shutters as the light of day
Seeps into creases of awareness
Sudden winds blow like a cold slap
Chilling the hearts of lonely lovers
A harsh realization...bitter sweet
The dance leaves me senseless
Leaves me empty 
...I cry for you
East coast rainy Saturday 
Music playing in the background 
Lyrics that hit home 
Lyrics I should have written 
Back when life wasn't so convoluted
Flipping from page to page 
Familiar visions old photos 
Memories open the flood gates 
To those no longer here 
Outside of this sphere 
Loved ones that touched my heart...changed my life 
Loved ones and friends interchangeable affections 
East coast rainy Saturday
Leaves me empty 
...I cry for you

© 2014 TrilbyYates

Beach Boys

Hot steamy summer day...not a cloud in the sky; brilliant blue dome of color - a slight breeze floats by on the up beat of a song dancing through the air; off in the distance sailboats lean, lean, lean stretching canvas and rails dip in the salty sea - flashback summer sweat dripping kisses...glorious sight makes my heart race.

Beach scene high tide, scent of coconut oil is like a time chaser – burst of images black and white, Kodachrome edited memories. Families, babies, teens, college kids, Gran and Pop - fill the sandy shoreline with souvenir beach towels and beach chairs; radiant red, seafaring blue and lemon yellow umbrellas adorn the landscape making up an amazing painters pallet. Aroma therapy and visual overload - in this surrounding I am thrilled to be alive!

Strategically placing myself on the fringes – a space between me and the masses. A buffer from all the chatter and one on one contact - my comfort zone just left of everything and nothing - with one foot hanging over the edge; acting as an anchor keeping me from wandering to far out in an endless sea. A beach day to listen to music - drifting away on notes and combinations of words; all stirring emotions and pushing fantasies for later creative use – deep breath in/exhale - blow. Moments of "shear poetry".

A group of three “t’ween” boys invade my peripheral vision and my solitude. Soft images flurry past, intense energy…carrying plastic beach shovels – with definite intentions. There were no words exchanged, an innate plan was brewing and clearly understood by all participants.

As much as I tried to ignore this group of adolescent males, (they reminded me of boys from my past) it was impossible...I was captivated by the "boys club" dance - and felt privy after so many years being on the outside secretly looking in, never understanding what made them tick and now I had a clear up front view - camouflaging myself behind a pair of sunglasses instead of my naiveté . 

Quickly personalities started to pop...the shy one, the leader, the funny boy - these roles seemed set in stone, not interchangeable. Each knew their character and played it uncomfortably well. Pigeon holed for a moment in time.

I sat back, shades on, ear-buds in and observed with delight!

The boys started to dig a hole in the sand, within 30 minutes it was clearly going to be a very large hole. Occasionally a group of "t' ween" girls would slowly walk past; seemingly ignoring the boys...a little flip of their hair, arms linked and giggles...boys reacting, doing boy things - they jumped in the 4' deep hole, threw sand at each other, swore and laughed and dug faster as if they were just injected with high levels of testosterone.

The girls circled around several times, swishing their feet into the sand, hips swaying overly exaggerated this way and that as they walked by. Flirtatious glances exchanged, occasional eye contact and then the uncontrollable bursts of blushing red covered cheeks were a dead give away. A vision of pure innocent seduction; beach boys from long ago...summer in the city. Motown playing and dancing on the sidewalks - sweet delicious memories.

Off in the distance songs from the concession stand began to play summer songs, the hit list...Heatwave, Under The Boardwalk, Girl From Ipanema, In The Summer Time...on and on drum beat, finger snapping melodies swept me away finally into a deep sleep...

© 2014 TrilbyYates 

You Do Not Know Me

I am
a prisoner
of time and space
held within
the boundaries
of a sanctioned
God anointed birth
the law of the land
the law of religion
and unquestioned faith
the law of responsibility
to all those
that have come
before
and after
the psychological
weapons
chains of societal
norms
guilt, shame, selfishness
keeping me here
with one foot
always firmly
planted
in a place of
- non -
in a space
of absence -
conflicting presence
a calming heart beat
without
a detectable pulse
a heart beat
that keeps
the rhythm
and rhyme
with notes
and emotion
linked with
highs and lows
to verbs and nouns
I am
not merely
made up
of a past
and present
potential future
flesh and bone -
I am
emotions
sensations
feelings
vibrations
the wind
or lack of
I am
the unknown
the object
of your
affection
occasional
rejection
sequential reflection
yet you
do not know
me -
...have never known
anything more
than what
I
revealed
concealed
without malice
of  intention
but with
self preservation
adaptation 
innate
guided fate
all that my
limitations
could allow...
the past
moves fast
it becomes
a comfortable chair
that is
intentionally placed
by the hands
of a  
"gentler God"
with a story
how life
is learned
heaven
is earned
in a living room
of comings
and goings
adding this
or that
the past
knows
more
of its present
and future
than the
unpredictability
of life
all
unto its own
they
whom ever
do not know
me
and before
I
venture
off
to that
unparalleled space
of the
unknown
heavenly Grace
you who have grown
and have known
even less
and never
reverberate
or contemplate 
the reasons why...

© 2013 Trilby   
 

Focused Suffragette

Old photographs
Father front center
Children in awe
eyes wide
Mothers hands
tightly folded
sepia images
wrapped
neatly
pieces of linen
loosely regarded
memories
change with
the passing
of time
tied with a
tender touch
obsessive perfection
silk ribbon
once brilliant
sapphire
shade of blue
faded edges
similar
to the way
stories
of the past
tend to do
vintage lace
layering each
tale told 
in style
blushing vignette
perfection
each stitch
secrets hold
needle point
painstakingly 
finger prick
passive aggressive
avoidance
of a world
where Women
sat quietly
polite nod
to the rare
occasion
a question
may be posed
aim without intent
inconsequential
silence
focused suffragette 
...Women of a certain day

© 2013 Trilby  

You Once Said...

...starlight gleaming 
candles burn 
so softly 
casting silhouettes 
lovers lean in 
lips touch 
gingerly...
sweet song plays 
quietly 
in the background 
perfection 
in each breath 
glance 
kiss 
no need 
to step away 
no need 
to hesitate 
...you once said luck had nothing to do with it we earned one another...

our truth is captured in moments of clarity held with intention ~ 

© 2013 Trilby

A Boy Named Sawyer

We were love 
from long ago 
hearts melt 
and mend 
we grew together 
apart 
love divine
creating
a branch 
on the tree of life 
she is yours 
and mine 
her own 
strong and beautiful 
the essence 
powerful female 
capturing me 
from first breath, 
first touch 
of lips to breast, 
her smile 
reflecting 
generations past
my mother's eyes
your father's frown
from you and me 
to her and he 
another branch sprouts
the first signs
of spring 
magnificent flutter
of an angel's wings
we welcome
a boy named Sawyer 

© 2013 Trilby

Slow flow...thoughts and photo's...

Bended Knee

Walking a path that is unfamiliar
Kicking stones at the crossroad and the
Crucifix faces places unknown with
Hands outstretched pointing the way
And while it never touches me
Each step wanders further from
That sanctuary for poets and martyrs known
And the questions of evolution and faith collide
With smoke of incense lace pattern’s rise
Over an alter of Saints and Sinners
That we trust naively with each step
Taking our chances with Hope as our Guardian Angel
Rosary beads fall gradually to the ground
Slipping from the grasp of a zealot's hands
Yet I continually take the time
To reflect on bended knees
With little to no anticipation
That my prayers will ever be heard …

********

First Yawn

First yawn of summer
A slight breeze
The air is warm and cloaked
In an early morning walk
I hear the surround sound
Of a bird’s song
As insects dance above
Blades of silky green
Threads spider webs
Weave across the lawn
While flowers tire of being in full bloom
After spring’s burst of joie de vivre
To the slow exit
Of another season
That comes around
Full circle over and over again...


Photo's - Rebecca @ work, Paris home for summer, Me sunset sailing, Ari in Paris, France, Me and Jerry NY apartment.

Poems - Pamela "Trilby" Yates

© 2008 Pamela Viscomi Yates

My Family

© 2008 Pamela Viscomi Yates

Rebecca
Paris
Ari
Trilby and Jerry