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Susan Raineri Poem
Meet me there my love,
where no dark tears
can mark your face.
Come lie with me in meadows
under dauntless skies;
imagine cloud shapes
we watch the wind erase.
Meet me there my love
where no unkind words
can clip your angelic wings.
Joy will be our anthem,
poetry our song.
Walk with me each evening,
surrender all your dreams;
where our path is lit by starglow
and secrets freely shared.
Hold my hand, my love,
and kiss me under moonbright.
Love will be our silver shiled,
and love will guide us home.
Copyright © Susan Raineri | Year Posted 2006
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Susan Raineri Poem
The last days of summer sigh,
breathe out slowly.
Summer colors fade.
Mercurochrome leaves-
burnt orange and lemon yellow-
mimic the colors in my new wool sweater.
Liquid saffron autumn light
filtered through the trees,
remind me of other days
filled with envy.
Me in plain brown oxfords,
skirt not quite in style,
hand-me-down dresses,
coat from Woolworth.
Brown bag lunch.
Meat loaf sandwich.
Embarrassing milk in a pint jar,
lid screwed onto waxed paper.
Academic IQ..Honor Roll,
Social IQ: Dumb as a post.
I'm so shy, I'm speechless,
and just a little overweight.
While princesses in white buck Spauldings,
dyed-to-match sweater sets,
swish crinolines under grey poodle skirts,
flip their perfect page boy haircuts.
They meet in the cafeteria,
to dine on Jello and cottage cheese,
a dollop of mayonaise on top;
to discuss the latest fashion and
who is "going steady" with whom.
Copyright © Susan Raineri | Year Posted 2006
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Susan Raineri Poem
Eleven years ago, my father died.
Divorced from my mother when I was two,
he was a stranger to me most of my life.
I had no tears as the Marine handed me the flag.
He said, "This is a gift from the President of the
United States in honor of the service that your father
gave to his country".
Five years ago, as my mother died,
I touched her face and held her hand -
something she never allowed when we were children.
I told her everything was all right
and she could let go.
My eyes were dry, she had no funeral.
Later that year,
my husband packed his suitcase.
He told me of his plans
to find his "spiritual path", and left.
I said nothing and went inside.
But last night, my sweet little Aussie
stumbled and fell, unable to move.
With wide eyes slightly opaque,
her dear face grey around the muzzle,
she told me, its time.
This sweet companion,
faithful and brave, has only asked
for my presence in her life.
This morning, I awoke,
and I cried a child,
with my mouth open,
eyes streaming,
nose running.
Copyright © Susan Raineri | Year Posted 2008
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Susan Raineri Poem
Sun stikes.
Pinpoints of light
wash summer's lost blossoms
dripping like forgotten
water spigots waning,
drooping, falling,
onto pine-needled carpet.
Ferns cointue greening.
Fairy-wing fronds languish
in the shade, then
tentatively reach
toward sun shadows
warming shallow roots.
Hummingbirds dance;
around the feeder
their soprano voices
argue territorial rights.
Steam plumes
from Redwood trunks,
gently rise toward fine laced
treetops offering branch tips
to touch the hem
of God's blue robe.
Copyright © Susan Raineri | Year Posted 2006
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Susan Raineri Poem
He fashed before
my eyes amazed
at twilight raced
across the sky.
His body purest red,
nostrils flared,
he tossed his head.
His crimsom wings
so grand, so wide,
I longed, I begged,
to take a ride.
A child, with dreams
earthbound dismay,
I watched.
He pranced,
he blazed,
away...
(Flying Stallion for Mobile Gas..The electric red horse was on the side of a blimp
that flew across the sky at evenings to advertise Mobile gasoline. To me, this
was a real horse)
Copyright © Susan Raineri | Year Posted 2006
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Susan Raineri Poem
Some men offer bouquets
of words arranged so sweetly,
fragrant petals that soon wither
in vases without water.
The candy some men bring,
so dark and bittersweet,
will melt too soon in daylight,
and belie the heart-shaped box.
Others burn with passion-
spontaneous combustion-
leave cold ashes in the morning
to sweep up and throw out.
Some men are too perfect,
polite with polished shoes,
wear dashing black tuxedoes
to clothe the void inside.
The best men bring you honor,
strange flaws and imperfections,
those gruff boys with soft centers
offer love without conditions.
Copyright © Susan Raineri | Year Posted 2005
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