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 Joneve
McCormick’s poetry, articles and short stories have been
published in a wide variety of hard copy and online literary and
art periodicals and in several poetry anthologies . Small Bird
Bones, a solo collection of poems, was published by The New
Press (NYC) in 1993. Recently she has edited the international
anthology World’s Strand (academici, Cambridge, November 2006)
for publication. She hosts the international online journals,
Poetry Soul to Soul and The Peregrine Muse. Her new book "The
visitor" is forthcoming from kritya publications.
Life in Death
I spend my nights
in a case grown large,
watch serpents in the noon sun
swallow their tails,
at dusk
glide into river reeds.
Nefertiti will bring a womb
for me, soon to be her son,
hoping I will not blame
this time
but remember
the small thought
that begins
life in death
death in life.
Everything that is
vanishes; after sensation
that most delights me.
We sat on thrones
built by slaves,
their songs
captured in the stones,
found, whether king or footstool,
man does nothing
he does not choose --
but much he will deny.
An old woman
inches through the drizzle,
taps her stick
along the foggy shore
looking for something washed up.
We will begin again --
new, transformed.
The Visitor
Like rain dropping into the sea
like mist evaporating
when boundaries disappear
I grow larger and larger
***
The shape-shifter that sets me free
unveils what I hold too tightly,
lives behind my masks and in them,
in stones too, and mere words
***
Faithful as a rising sun
love appears dressed in light
to unite with me, to create new life,
when I am willing
After all controversy...
there is a winter solstice
carrying the promise
of another spring
and a Christ within
willing to be born.
The Saint
Like a tree whipped by winds
a saint leads a twisted life,
turning time and again
towards light to straighten
until, beyond the pull of opposites,
she glows like a sun.
I had
I had exotic plumage once
soft, brilliant green, gold, red
I turned into a swallow
frail and lice-ridden
What was I thinking?
Tai Chi morning
I stretch arms out and up
make a circle
raising one foot,
attention on enfolding
earth and heaven
then lower foot, exhaling,
fold hands over navel;
raise other foot and arms
nine Chi times.
Aligning, waist up with heaven,
waist down with the centre of the earth
I walk connected, arms swishing left
breathing in, swishing right breathing out,
nothing beyond.
Chinese Formula Poems
A crane flaps its wings,
sudden rain,
out of blue ripples a fish rises, turns --
September in Key West.
Under dark sky,
pink buildings glowing,
man with umbrella looks up,
takes deep breaths,
forgets to hurry.
White cat in the window
spots a sparrow
leaps like a shadow.
A plane trailing smoke
purrs overhead.
A peach blossom falls
liltingly, smelling sweet.
Swept into the bushes
a love letter is lost.
No one sees.
Two samurai duel.
The mother of one watches
a dangling rose petal.
What will fall first
under the noon sun?
Internet Friends
We know each other
and have never met
My wedding band, and yours
cannot be removed
I am blessed by
your unexpected kindnesses
If we met, touched,
would it meet our expectations?
This touching through spirit
is best, yet wants
imagining
what is not.
Not Hard to Forget
Lights in many shades and hues
danced through corridors,
around corners in his sleepy eyes;
his lips and fingers played
lose and find
with the timing of a master,
the power of a magnet;
he was a drummer,
had words too, having kissed
runes of wisdom and wit.
The man sought to understand
in depth and provoked
a steady flow of delight.
Then he sank the float, saying
"I've enjoyed my performances with you."
So much depends on illusion.
Chinese Formula Poems
A crane flaps its wings,
sudden rain,
out of blue ripples a fish rises, turns --
September in Key West.
Under dark sky,
pink buildings glowing,
man with umbrella looks up,
takes deep breaths,
forgets to hurry.
White cat in the window
spots a sparrow
leaps like a shadow.
A plane trailing smoke
purrs overhead.
A peach blossom falls
liltingly, smelling sweet.
Swept into the bushes
a love letter is lost.
No one sees.
Two samurai duel.
The mother of one watches
a dangling rose petal.
What will fall first
under the noon sun?
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