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Dawn Mungovan Poem
I chose to fight and not to flee,
From troubled feelings haunting me.
One look, within my weary soul,
Exposed an ever-gaping hole.
With introspective ink I write,
To bring foreclosure to my plight.
On form and meter I rely,
While keeping free verse standing by.
In healing cadence, new to me.
(Stagnation came from living free.)
A new persona will be found,
Before I leave this form-go-round.
Through sonnets, nonets, villanelle,
My metered fears I hope to quell.
Shall I find comfort in these forms
Or run back to my free verse norms?
I might be seeking, after all,
The haven of a hallowed hall.
Long known to poets of great worth,
And find therein my own re-birth.
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
It’s summertime
and Janis wails through the speakers.
I sit at my picnic table,
papers scattered,
and I chase perfect words
like I used to chase butterflies.
My kids splash through the scene,
armed with Super Soakers.
Their antics threaten to jar
the few words I managed
to land on the page.
They jump in the pool -
giggles come up for air
in a million bubbles.
I trade my pen
for a popsicle,
join them poolside,
and succumb to
easy living and
the sweltering rhythms of
“SUMMERTIME.”
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
Apprehension
acquiesces
to utter terror.
Defense mechanisms
engage.
Denial drips
from my pores.
Uncharted territory
shakes my
synapses.
Familiar armor
shunned,
I stand at the ready
with a new-found
arsenal.
Rounds of confidence
and shells of
self-worth
are the artillery needed
to face the looming battle
and retain proper
station while
parenting a teenager.
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
early Saturday morning
I wake up to
coffee brewing and
cartoons blaring
making my way into the kitchen
I hear Looney Toons
from the living room
and the shower running
I quietly enter the bathroom
smiling and undressing
to surprise you
pulling back the shower curtain
with the Technicolor duckies
I find our son in
full snorkeling gear
desperately trying to sink
an entire box of Cheerios
embarrassed
I grab my robe and
head to the living room
to find you laughing
through your Cocoa Puffs at
the hilarity ensuing on TV
after a quick good morning kiss
I lick the dribbled milk
from your goatee
and head to the kitchen for
that much needed coffee
before my first sip
our son emerges from his adventure
covered in soggy
rings of victory
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
I see you there,
painting a literary facade,
thumbing through Cervantes
as though it has usurped your very being.
Your unenthused stance reveals your ruse
as do your constant glances in my direction.
In my quixotic state, I wonder if you
fancy me your Dulcinea
or if you merely question why
I scribble so wildly upon the page.
You, Sir, are my current inspiration
and I shall not tire until our story ends.
Peripherally I register how slowly you move
toward the books behind my chair.
I want to turn to you and recommend Solzhenitsyn,
third shelf down on the right;
but hesitate to be so revelatory
about my interests.
Now I feel your eyes discreetly moving
up and down my page,
ingesting my words.
Realization hits.
Our eyes meet.
Yours ablaze with the knowledge
of immortalization in my poetry,
mine wickedly feigning innocence.
You turn on your heels and stalk off,
undoubtedly in search of a windmill to best
for your lady fair.
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
1 part passion
1 part truth
1 part lies
No, that can’t be.
Is it 2 parts truth and no lies?
Yeah right! This isn’t a fairy tale.
Maybe it’s snips and snails-
Wait that’s little boys.
Walks on the beach?
Candles?
Sweet nothings?
Sex?
Hmmm,
let me ponder the last one
for a little while…
Will I recognize the recipe
for love when I see it?
Or is it the trial and error
of mixing your own ingredients
that makes it taste so good?
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
In a stolen moment
of solitude I sit
at the base of my
bookshelf and
surrender to swirling
synaptic symphonies of
Solzhenitsyn
In yet another
purloined pause
I pensively peruse
Poe’s pedantically
petrifying ponderings
I desperately desire
a day to dutifully
devour Dickinson’s
dreamy dirges
Alas
my children call
and I must leave
my literary wonderland
all is not lost
for bedtime is near
and Dr. Seuss awaits
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
Why can’t I dial the last number?
I have tried to call you all day
but my finger just won’t
push that 2.
You won’t answer.
But I have to try.
To tell you what?
Why do I feel the need to call?
To apologize
for showing honest emotion?
To hear your voice –
so I can deny once more
why I was upset in the first place?
Or just to know we’re both alive…
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
once I was
a scared little girl
living in a castle
with an Evil Queen
and her Ogre King
every other weekend
my White Knight
would rescue me
and take me to his
humble home for
a much-needed respite
lawmakers of the land
were under the spell
of the Evil Queen
and forced me to return
time and again
I eventually escaped
that castle and another
Ogre thrown in my path
I may seem strong
but inside I am still
that scared little girl
I no longer require rescuing
there is only room
in life for one
White Knight
I would like to find a man
who is still
a scared little boy
so that we can
hold each other's hands
as we grow up
and learn to slay our dragons
together
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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Dawn Mungovan Poem
rumbles in the distance
announce the coming storm
old habits linger
and I find myself preparing
for the hurricane force of
your bullying
once I lived my life in your
emotional blender
always trying to remain in the
eye of your storm
now like Hugo
you are a memory
and I am sifting through
your aftermath
at my own pace
thriving in the beautiful
calmness of freedom
from your pressure system
Copyright © Dawn Mungovan | Year Posted 2005
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