Saturday, May 09, 2015

Stella Taschlicky poetry

No Screwing in Worcester House

No screwing in Worcester House,
No tip-toeing like a mouse
The landlord gets vicious
if you're surreptitious-
ly screwing in Worcester House

No screwing in Worcester House
Unless it's a proper spouse.
No impersonations
of solid relations
for screwing in Worcester House.

No screwing in Worcester House
and don't call mine host a louse.
Stop casting aspersions,
find other diversions
or get out of Worcester House.

Stella Taschlicky

Stella Taschlicky poetry


Over a large hearth, two moved slowly,
with the time wealth of long-gathered harvests,
under a sky load of blue-punctured greys.

With slight motion, they nudged the distance,
trespassing the fenced day with a burden-
something they carried, walking gently not to break.

Bone-proud he was, above his woman
of shadows and mouse fingers.  Their greetings were tipped
with pin-prick knowledge of other apples.

Stella Taschlicky

Some of Mom's poetry for Mother's Day


Not again would I turn back to angular roads,
where adjective-heavy boughs throw back
shadows, black, on soul-white gravel;
nor find reprimand on the eyes of butterfly wings,
and praise, in a glimpse of scampering rabbits;
not again pilfer the dark pine for ecstasy
nor the running stream for my image;
nor blow skepticism in the parachutes of dandalion seeds,
and court redemption in a speckled bird egg.
Not again would I turn to find
the whole world poisoned in a rotten apple.

Stella Taschlicky