My Own Private Holocaust

©carol voccia

My own private holocaust
Rides inside
Deeply keeping me prisoned
Slowly ripping
Wire barbed and
Chain
Take my naked cup
And offer it to the
Blind guard passing
Let me drink
Set me free
No one sees the
Captive
Inside ‘sept me

Waiting for Love

©carol voccia

Sitting in the sand

of

Hour glass

Sifting the

Grains

Through hand and finger tips

Who can stop the flow

Of time in

The glass of hours?

Who will find me

In the grains of eternity

or among the

Stars that lay at my feet?

I'll take a cup

And catch the rushing

Granule Spark

To capture the one

Who will capture me

Sunday Morning Diner
carol voccia©

The light horizontally

Leaks through

White mini blinds

Shading the sidewalk sun

A window logo presses a silhouette

Across the seams of light

Like a sketch

This memory

Snippet hovers in the

Smell of ground coffee,

Vinyl, and a chorus of

Tinkling spoons

For the cost of a buck and a

Quarter

The Sunday Tribune

Creases at the crossword

Canada Love Poem

I met a Canadian man who
In friendship shared
His story of
Love in truest
She was the morning glow
Who’s eyes sparkled gem like in brilliant
Birds and wind sang in her spirit hair
Cradling his love in her soul
His heart in her hands

His earth a happy song


And in cruelest shift of unexpected
Handed back in splintered
He’s heart
Bleeding in his hands
His river of tears never stopped
Lapping on edges of rugged rock


The seasons layered themselves in years
He searched falling in beds
And potent parlors
Of she forms looking
Crying in empty arms
And hollow love taking each as steps
To the next


Then he saw her
Profiled in a search looking for
That was lost
A maple leafed citizen living among
Puget Sound Yanks
His Canadian hat was willing to breach the
Bordered line,
Steal her back to their loony home

His heart leaped and ran the mile
Toward her tender kiss
But tales still sad this time around
She could not leave nor wanted to
And in a second she broke him

His soul turning to sand


Through his eyes I read his trust and looked
In pained pitted core
My own life looked as sand in houred glass
Sifting through shards of red
My eyes are yours, I said to him
My love on your side of the waving leaf
Not to me would he venture or
Risk his heart
Me here; him there
And I, too, still look among the
Stones of tearing rivers
My own heart cast on ragged rock

Bleeding still

(c) carol voccia 2006

Me thinking of You.

 

Cutting a Path

Cutting a Path

©carol voccia
for david

Real memories

Cultivated in the flesh

Sprinkle soft rain on

The buds of friendship

Of trust and simple feelings



Speak the life line in its

Truest test

As a prayer, a loft in the wing

Of a connection in flight

Open the flow

Even when kinks divert it into

Circles of torment

The path of escape will always

Be there as a simple thought of

Where you want to be



Be there with me

Let the drops of our past

Slide around our hearts and wash away

Forget the mind that judges in circles

We cut the path we want

And sing in tunes we can hear in the

Others we seek



I seek you

Not as a lone bird sitting on wire

But as conscience flight that takes

Us where we really want to be.
.