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Donna L Quesinberry

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Member Since: Before 2003

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a regular prograde moon, but less than ten planetary radii
by Donna L Quesinberry

Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Donna L Quesinberry
•  horse ties beckon like street lamps in miasma air
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           >> View all 35


packing cigarettes she leans in,
cracked tilings are cemented together.

pinot grigio-no merlot-chilled grigio.
water beads drip...i notice...i stop one;

a bead of water bleeds over my fingertip,
i put it in my mouth. me and the bead.

ivy sanctioned metal chairs scrape
hardwood that needs paint. it creaks.

designs echo like a darners needle:
pink/red line and cellophane...

pink/red line and cellophane...
pink/red line and cellophane...

cigarette smokes, cigarette smoke
the cigarette, the smoke, her lips are moving.

i take the cigarette, there's a brand, branded
sticks; i remember rings and designs, cancer...sticks.

i remember the first considerations. the filling
of lungs. their angst and horror. blowing billows...designs.

four candles line the alley, five candles line the porch.
a neighbor puts a ten year younger wife into a limo.

there's a fan. there's a fan on the porch. the
child speaks up, a fan on the porch, turn on the porch fan.

hearty nighttime flowers - no bee. smart buds.
scents and smells...cigarette smokes...it smokes...

i'm here, i'm here, i'm here
i'm over here, here, look over here

talky talk, talky talk, talky talk
who, why, when, where, how long

he is 28. he doesn't take me out. he works motors.
he is Romanian. he loves to touch my mouth.

bats dodge the lamplights,
she's thinking of her next question.

i left sitting down. i'm weary.
she doesn't notice, but these chairs are heavy.

the pink/red cellophane blows
into her garden. the child runs...she grabs it.

she says, it's late...she hands the cellophane to her.
here she says, throw this away.

the child shakes the wine bottle. it's empty.
let's go...even the bats have gone home.

volvoesque humming over torn leather, gusts of air
blowing; the child says, it was a good visit.

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Copyright © Donna L. Quesinberry-2008)

 

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Reviewed by Dale Clark 10/10/2008
Most excellent! I loved it, so unique!
Reviewed by Samuel Stone 10/9/2008
A very interesting write... enjoyed the movement of the piece...
Best Wishes..
Sam
Reviewed by William Bonilla 10/8/2008
Excellent write Donna
Most enjoyable reading
Love & peace be with you

William
Reviewed by Mark Chevalier (Reader) 10/8/2008
This poem really compelled me to stop and ponder. There were many reflections, and reflections of emotions and I wanted to grasp them all.

Truly an intricate poem, and hark! For there does blow the winds of change in the cigarette smoke!

So beautiful, and delicately complex.

Mark
Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader) 10/8/2008
Very nice writing sweet lady,nice too read you again...be well and always safe...HUgs
Reviewed by E T Waldron 10/7/2008
So good to see you Donna, it's been too long;-) Love your ethereal
sequences making us really concentrate to get the gold nuggets of
your intentions. Hope you stay awhile;-)

Love,
ET
Reviewed by Donna Quesinberry 10/7/2008
Sage I have to say right here, right now - you just get it - and I love that about you.

~D.
Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater 10/7/2008
The title has a cosmic bent like the poetic cinematographer/Quesinberry has taken it to another plane ... ethereal as in do otherworldly folk (if you believe) do what earthlings do?... a fan on the porch of the Milky Way...a concept, huh? a volvoesque humming over a comet, how would that sound? Pinot wine in the tasting room of Pleiades! Visualization like this perhaps suggests that the author be a filmmaker, DQ...

Love,
Sage
Reviewed by Art Sun 10/7/2008
Nice work Donna...you take us along that visitational experience where we see the effects of not mere second hand smoke but more of an inhaling roller coaster as it churns the talky talk of moonlite conversation...a good visit?....yes...

Art Sun...
Reviewed by Amber Moonstone 10/7/2008
Donna, Quite an exceptional piece. I read it twice. The second time, I began to feel the writer's thoughts, as if I was in that moment when those thoughts became words on the computer and I could feel your heart beating as you wrote this amazing piece.
Thank you for sharing this..
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
Reviewed by John Flanagan 10/7/2008
Donna,
the images have exceptional impact whether deliberately blurred or in the sharpest focus and the vocabulary to sustain them is rich and original in many places. I'm savouring this.
John
Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 10/7/2008
Fragmented images come to complete.ness: fantastic writing, Donna!

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Reviewed by George Carroll 10/7/2008
When one ponders what is what has been and sees the errors of life seemingly harmless as smoke exhaled from your lungs one can see why what we do does effect all of us in the end.
Reviewed by Karen Palumbo 10/7/2008
Wonderful piece that makes one want to take a look back to what was to enjoy what is now. Very creative and imaginative...

Be always safe,
Karen
Reviewed by Gene Williamson 10/7/2008
surreal, yes...i am surrounded by images in and out of focus, thoughts and nonthoughts, yes, and smoke... i love this, donna.
why has it taken me so long to get here? -gene.
Reviewed by richard cederberg 10/7/2008
"he loves to touch my mouth."
This line, to me, subjectively, focuses this seemingly surreal piece as a series of momentary impressions - metaphorically speaking in a circular region whose area is indicated by the length of its radius, or realistically speaking as what the eye captures at any given moment as children run and play unfettered by the opinions of adults.

A synaptic thriller -
Reviewed by Regis Auffray 10/7/2008
A most interesting experience, Donna. You have provided substance for reflection. Thank you. Love and best wishes,

Regis
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