Rita Summers

Biography

Aftermath

this is the tragedy
pain dropping to the ground
like blood

the heart a bleeding rose

grief has many names
a heart that bleeds
weeps without words

if someone held
these fragrant tears
the healing could begin

the bleeding rose transformed

© RS

Audition

these two men in suits
what power they hold
decision-making my future
precision-tuning the program

time to fill my lungs
focus thoughts which somehow
persist in jumbling with
those internal butterflies

find the voice I know I have
sing out the treasure
buried deep inside
invisible till now

time to emerge
the crumpled chrysalis
flex my youthful wings
fly away to fame fortune maybe

but a thousand faceless people
hold less fear
than these two arbitrators
of tomorrow

© RS

Prima Donna

thistledown could not compete
with steps as frail as these
faded flowers at your feet
the dusty residue of past acclaim

you know their scent the smell of fame
reduced to ashes soon enough
but to the one poised in the wings
perfumed with sweet addiction

© RS

Mebh (She Who Intoxicates)

He found a meadow rich with dreams,

muscadine

with cataleptic velvet nights, and dappled days.

“Come, lay your face upon the grass;

allow its scent

to speak to you of briar rose and columbine.”

“The very trees are redole

with mystic tales

of lovers’ trysts, and minuets, and lullabies.”

He smiled a weary, wistful smile,

and sank into

the magical embrace of endless summertime.

(c) All Rights Reserved.

Mebh (she who intoxicates)
    this poem won 1st prize in the nationally run - John Dunmore Lang Poetry Prize.

© Rita Summers

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