poem – Page 10 – June Paisa Perkins

Grey and White

Maria Popova – Flickr Creative Commons

Grey and white streaks
begin to lace themselves
through my hair.

I embrace
the signs of wisdom
chasing through me there,
And all around me others
dye and tease their hair
to conceal their age
but that is their affair.

I don’t mind that they want to do this
and hold onto their esteem
but why does one say to me
‘You should dye your hair
you look so ancient and so old’

I explain to her
‘when I was younger
I looked younger than my age
and am happy to embrace
the white and grey that now
dance through my life.’

She cannot take a hint
and simply doesn’t understand
I don’t need a bottled colour
to conceal the process I’m now in
and now she wants to know
the colour of my youth.

Why do so many worship
forever staying young?

I…

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Paper Boats

Ripple Poetry

Creative Commons Flickr Geson Ratnow

Paper boats conjure dreams
of petals soaked by
scents of the
ocean.

Traveling boats
float in shadows
people
who have a simple hope
for happy lands,

but white markers sink
in sandy earth
marking graves of people
who cannot resist new germs.

‘Once watched paper boats,’
grandfather paternal says
in Vietnamese
but nobody understands

no translators here.

So shadow puppets dance
for petals
falling from kumquat boughs.

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Cyclone Poetry 3

Ripple Poetry

If Glass Could Talk

for Jacque

If only all the tiny shards of glass
bottle brown
wine green
yellow and purple orchid swirls
could talk.

What would they say
if fragments realigned
knit themselves back together
like broken bones entwined in casts
and heroes walked?

What if the paralyzed
could miracle embrace
pain and grief
trauma and loss
till they walked with stars?

I breathe out Vincent’s starry night
from living room wall
to outside door
then coffee table book on my floor
I wonder – would he obsess about lost socks
from cyclone’s past?

(c) June Perkins, Words and Image

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Beyond Frames

A poem from Under One Sky

Ripple Poetry

Image by June Perkins

I am looking for the frames
to help me break the frames;
remembering Playschool windows
round, oval, and square.

I am remembering how my dolls
were broken hand-me-downs
and how I thought my frizzy hair
made me look a clown.

I was a little mother
to my brothers growing up
and wondered if they would
ever dare to break the frames.

I always wanted to have the
Straightest hair.
I never understood why.

Fighting back those tears of growing up
I’m still looking beyond the frames
living in the land of sugar cane.

I’m seeing all the kids running off to school
They’re so caught up trying to be cool
a little bit of facebook, a little bit of blackberry
but bullying’s the same
hasn’t much changed.

Everybody’s trying to be the same
no one really wants to break the frame.

But every now and then…

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New Poetry Collection in Development

Ripple Poetry

Delighted to have a new collection of poetry for the bicentennial year, almost edited. These were some of the comments back from Beta readers. They also offered some great constructive critique as well to improve the work. I thank them so much for their time, guidance and beautiful words.

Will be sharing some of these poems for the first time in public on the opening night of Illumine

Comments on June’s new collection

I enjoyed the stream of consciousness. Some of the poems reminded me of Rabindranath Tagore’s work. I related to the references to Holy Spirit and reference to Joseph in poems like Art as a Gift of the Holy Spirit and Dear Artist.

Very deeply felt and flowing verse, reminding me of thought patterns in the Eastern spiritual tradition. The Poetry Bird / Swirling, Almost Something / Prince of Peace / The Dreamer each struck a…

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