Silvia Scheibli
Sketch #1
Geometric
diamond pattern on cactus plates
sound greener
Thorns whisper in humid, sapphire
piano voices
about immanent rain
Fox-shaped clouds
race close to the ground
Sketch #2
Poppies & boulders
ripple
across flakes
of Jacumba Mountains
Feverish canyons
littered with broken hooves
have not stopped
DNA
from gobbling up
automatic assault rifles,
22s, & miles of ammo
smoldering
in yards of forbidden dreams
always within reach of a trigger
finger
Sketch #3
The screech owl's screech
is not peaceful
neither does it
disturb
Each screech is sent out as a question -
an insistent one -
repeated over & over
hoping for a response
one that gradually awakens
even the moon's
shadow
fermenting under grape vines
In the dark
I see the back of my hands
take the oval shape of
a screech owl
Sketch #4
Today no flash of the sacred yet
No quail scratching and bobbing beaks on the gravel
No bunting fervently approaching the bird feeder
No wall lizards chasing each other
sounds of quail
sounds of buntings
& wall lizards
flash like jazz in the realm of a guitarron & offer
hope
Just one glimpse
ignites imagination
& creates a green thread
wound into wool behind ego's
empty mask
Sketch #5
On Ke'e Beach calendula dreams
devastate
tropical
late afternoon, summer hours
Trade winds caress
sweet, crystalline sea air
on damp eyelids
Half asleep Monk Seals
conceal & reveal
tracks' dark, wet lips
on sand
Red-striped, rented
paddle boards
awaken waves of
luminescent sea glass smoldering in my eyes
Heavy, moisture-laden air
casts nets of
water droplets
encrusted with
wet seeds,
Plumeria blossoms,
Plumeria perfume &
Java finches tumble
in the creases
of our elbows
Sketch #6
Left-over rice
is soon transformed into a new dish of
chives, peppers, sprouts,
soy sauce
& garlic shrimp
soaked in spicy Guaymas sunsets
served with a chilled Beaujolais
This evening
like former afternoons is filled with
beaches,
like the Mavericks
rolling over my tongue
when daughters gazed
with unmarked joy & outstretched arms'
and Moon Jumper gestures
Sketch #7
Grasshopper with lime green cape
and slim orange belt,
faces Westerly winds.
No hepatic songs to bring us now.
Your parrot green bodice is paralyzed
among October onions
immune
to dry hands stacking fire wood.
Sketch #12
Santa Anas
carry the graphic pulse of lizards
carve the wind's voice in
Chollas Mesquites Palo Verdes:
I imagine the wind's voice
stitched on silver ravens
in split cottonwoods
in a tanager's
yellow beak scraping against
the wind's oboe. The claws
no one recognizes.
No one dares to decipher.
Sketch #14
-For Anika Lucija Lisac
When the full moon
Is a just a flower
You leave
You wait until
She is a jaguar
She knows your voice
The dark fur
On your face
And shoulders
She reveals
And revels
Now that she
Plays the guitar
Wearing gypsy boots
Sketch #15
At Lago
Xanthu hummingbirds rotate
Around the sun and
Flick their tails
Earthshine
Embraces spruce trees
Campari red cardinals tweet
High-pitched mating calls
Across the canyon
X-rays identify tourmaline
& peridot in my veins
Headlines daze & confuse
Author's statement:
My poems express the rare quality encountered when I am on the point of seeing, which is the basis and foundation of Immanentism. My poems begin where conventional thought and ideas end and perceptions of the familiar and ordinary are magically transformed into the sacred. This creative process centers on a deep appreciation of pulling the thread of the imagination to the surface of the mind with words that immanently elucidate and inspire truth. Silvia Scheibli, Immanentist, lives in Arizona's Borderlands surrounded by cougars, coatimundis, coyotes, and javelinas on a migratory flyway. She is an avid birder and recently fulfilled her life's goal of spotting a Citreoline Trogon in San Blas, Jalisco. Her books, Under The Loquat Tree and Parabola Dreams, coauthored with Alan Britt, are available from amazon.com.
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