Walking on the Dark Side of the Moon

(All photographs displayed on this site are the original work and property of Shirley Alexander)

Dark Side of the Moon


There was a time, I could shine.
When I thought of you, I could shine.

I stand alone under night heaven;
feel light on my upturned face.
Does it glow if you are not watching?

I might have been this moonlight,
a reflection of your distant fire.
But, I became the dark face
and she, your moon.

Somewhere inside, a new light burns.
It is a world without phases,
a place where day welcomes night
and returns to warm the morning.

I stand alone under night heaven.
There was a time, we could shine.
There was a place, I could burn.

Wings spread, a wiser phoenix
will rise from the ashes of your fire.
Do you shine if I am not watching?


Shirley Alexander
2010

Fear of Falling

Fear of Falling

Fifty years ago, my sister and I raced across a long, high porch;
jumped off the end to fly across daffodils and old barking dogs.

That was before my sister fell.
She sprained her arm on harder ground.
Afterward, I would run across the porch,
leap into abandon, arms open to sky.

My sister would run to the edge,
brake a full stop, sit down, and cry.
I never understood her fear of jumping,
or the tears she shed for what was lost.

I spent a lifetime long jumping from one thrill to the next, fearless.
Then, one day I took the highest leap, for love. Now I understand.

Shirley Alexander
2010

A Time To Break Down

(Photo: "Magnolia" by Shirley Alexander)



A Time to Break Down


Take care of what you hold now,
this pulsing mass you recognize as sex.

Listen intimately to soft noises in this room,
these clandestine whispers of you, owning me.

It is the urgent beat of my heart,
They are the cries of abandoned control
as it swells beyond my guard,
leaps into throat, slides across tongue,

slips from wet, swollen lips to land
mute, in the dry cup of your greedy hands.


Shirley Alexander
© 2010

Bright, Shiny Days Like This

(Photo of entrance to Cowpens Revolutionary War Battlefield by Shirley Alexander)



Bright Shiny Days Like This

You see me turn in front of the long mirror,
adjust my skirt, frown at the reflection, and sigh.
Knowing I never take compliments for honest truth,
you offer anyway. You tell me I am beautiful.

Before I can stop my brain from reaching my mouth,
it spills: I am fifty-six and not getting younger, I retort.
I want to take it back, say thank you, tell you
I think you are beautiful too. Always.

You come to hold my chin firmly in your hand
and inspect my upturned face for wordless clues.
You are the woman I love. Always.
I feel that. I do know that. I see it in your eyes.

I am not afraid of wrinkles, or softness in places
that have forgotten to spring back when pressed.
Those things mean nothing in the whole reflection.
The real worry is that I am desperately in love.

I am in love with wind when it caresses tall grass,
with dance of sunlight through orange and green leaves,
with sparkle of water over smooth stones and moss;
I am in love with Life, and all the little wrinkles it gifts me.

I am in love with the echo of me in a granddaughter’s smile,
with the welcome awake hug of my son on new mornings,
with the rise and fall of your chest while you are sleeping;
I am in love with Life, and all the soft places it gifts me.

I count days; save them like bright shiny pennies in a jar.
I want to invest my time wisely, and see interest accumulate
in the form of days like this, when I catch your glance in a mirror,
and see my reflection slide back to beautiful in your eyes.


Shirley Alexander

It's supper time; run like a jack rabbit!

Sunset in the Hayfield


Jack Rabbit knew I was watching,
waiting for the perfect shot.
He was taking his time, testing me.

Red Tailed Hawk was a swift arrow,
straight to target from an evening sky.
I sat in tall grass, not fifty feet away.

I was waiting for a shot like that.
Surprised, I had no time
to reach for camera.

Jack Rabbit was not waiting.
Surprised, he had no time
to reach for cover.


Shirley Anne Alexander
2010

For Charles

Lab Partner, Chemistry 101



On the roof at Hoagies, we left our books open,
pages turning for the rare breath of wind.

September always remembered our names,
and pigeons left dry chalk calling cards
on our sun bleached lunch tables.

We ate Sweet Magnolia sandwiches, drank Coors
dark, foam kissed, and ice cold from the tap.

Conversation was easy, subjects heavy;
you solved my organic equations;
I explained oxidation reduction.

But, we never spoke of that other chemistry,
the class we knew we were destined to fail.

Back in the micro lab, sulfur acrid fumes mingled
with heady memories of Hoagie’s, and weed smoke
of others, who had chosen to lunch at Speedy’s house.

You opened a book, sparked your burner,
and prepared plates for a new inoculation.

I pulled our tray from the old autoclave,
washed tubes and tossed plastic Petri dishes.
All the germs of memory, raced into the drain.


Shirley Alexander
December 2009

Woman

Plight or Privilege?


Life is a broken bowl, held together
by the cup of a tired woman‘s hands.

History is written in swirls of dishwater,
crusty scent of freshly baked bread,
quick tilling of hard garden soil,
the relenting sigh of turned down sheets.

She knows how to touch a child,
a friend, a neighbor, a lover;
wicks pain with warmth of heart,
easy, the way a hot iron eats wrinkles.

Woman is the keeper of secrets;
practiced and painted smile,
under storm of hurricane eyes.


Shirley Alexander
© 2010