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Victoria Twomey Artist & Poet

Victoria Twomey Artist & PoetVictoria Twomey Artist & Poet

If My Love Was a Lavender Balloon

would you let it bounce freely

against the ceiling for awhile


coax it down with sweet whispers

and gentle tugs on its string


or make it spend the night

with your shadow under your bed?


would you take it for walks

and give it plenty of string


or leave it tied tight to a fence

drowning in the rain for days?


if you were bored

would you poke at its delicate shell with a pin?


if it was helpless and stuck in a tree

how high would you climb to save it?


could you forgive its fear

of being kidnapped by the wind


of drifting, forgotten,

swallowed up by the sky? 


~Published in Verse-Virtual June 2023


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The Sharing Circle

I can say I walked awhile with you

and dreamed within your dream-

that you welcomed in my heart

like a wounded wanderer at your door


Yes, I can say you fed me as if I were a sacred part of you,

once lost and left behind


Companions on this tangled road,

you played your secret violins for me

and I, my skittering flute for you


Around the fire of the sharing circle,

we sang old and buried words for the first time

letting them rise to freedom with the ashes


How can I forget you

when I have known that budding part we shared-

full of courage

full of hope

longing to blossom in the Spring


~BigCityLit Winter 2021 Issue

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Floating

rising up from your subconscious realm

slick circling, a golden-orange halo dawning


finned mystic, come to listen

as I sit upon my praying stone


I name my fears and sorrows

beheld by your iridescence


little fish, in your travels

have you felt the greater resonance?


will you tell me how to navigate

the deepest, darkest waters? 


I swim in dappled sunshine

as clouds drift across my sky


both of us floating

gazing upon each other


with curiosity and wonder

from either side of rippling glass


~Published in SurVision Magazine  #11

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Light, Dark, Light

high tide of light rises up upon the sky

we are awash all day in glory


then we wave goodbye 

with a flutter of closing lids


as the undertow of time

drags the world back into its throat


it is the sea that washed us up

not so long ago


flapping naked on the beach

squinting against the harsh brightness


startled by the clamor of voices

gulping down the air


what I am saying is 

your scales are vibrating rainbows


I can see your gills

expanding and contracting


and I need you to hold my hand

while I tell you a secret


I often dream of a dark ocean I cannot understand

in some other place I might have been


I am not certain this is a finite journey

I only know what I see


the many waves of

light, dark, light


~Published in TheRavensPerch, Feb 15th, 2023

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Rise Up and Sing

you will not know

that land beyond

from which it first took flight


nor who sent it

or how it came to be

inside your own sky


listen for the fluttering sound

of arriving wings

open the window


let it into your being

lead it to

your true-heart nest


if it wishes

before it leaves you

it will gift


one fragile

blue

speckled egg


that holds the sleeping words

of a folded poem

dreaming it is already born


with silence, with time

it will awaken

and emerge


open wide its wings

rise up into your sky

and sing


~Published in The Bards Annual 2022 Print Anthology

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Blurry Fluttering

on the shelf

by the window


a picture of you in a place I’ll call heaven

playing piano in a garden


next to it, your aftershave 

opened briefly and only on special occasions

 

and lots of angels left and right,

just in case, though neither of us believe


a small photograph of us when I was two

you are directing my attention to the camera


then, and even now

you are encouraging me to smile


was that you

just now, in the window?


or was it only the blurry fluttering

of peripheral birds?


first, the sound of muffled flight

then, the hollow silence of empty air


~Published in The Home Planet News Issue Ten

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Constant Window

I open my heart to find you

unfasten the bright round buttons of the starlit sky

reach into the black felt cloak of silence


feeling along time’s flattened breast

my fingertips push through porous ribs

scattering a heart-shaped cloud of dust


searching forbidden inky pockets

I find the note you left for me 

written in a teacher’s hand


saying, I am right here

the palm of my hand forever pressing

against my side of the constant window


look again

this time from your side

see, the glass is as wide and blue as the sky


to touch me 

you need only raise your palm

and press it up against the heavens


~Published in POETiCA Review  Autumn 2022 Issue

 PR Autumn 2022.pdf (cdn-website.com) 

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Object

sitting on a velvet chair

long hair falling down her back

wearing only her brown eyes

skin, young and plump


in the center of the studio

surrounded by painters

the teacher gently arranges her

like a vase of spring roses


a balanced composition of small bones

curving stems, placed here

new blossoms, there

leaves, just so


the air touches her, strangely

no one speaks to her 

as she drifts on a white cloud

thinks of a white bird against a white sky


smell of linseed oil, turpentine

notice the long classic neck

the curve of the shoulder

the slender fingers, the placement of the feet


they render her in colors

as reduction to circles, triangles and squares

as study of foreshortening

as use of light and shadow to bring an 

     object to life


~Published in The Celestal Review Cycle VI

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Addition and Subtraction

how much does the sky weigh at any one time

when counting all things that fly

that intermingle and evaporate

that rise and fall

all things hidden from our view

 

do the gods calculate such things

standing on the clouds in their rhinestone sandals?

 

one came to me through my open window

on a summer night

when I was a child hiding inside my heart

 

her hair a radiant curtain, gently lifted

she smelled of green cut grass

and wore a dress of soft white moon cloth 

 

she smiled and when she spoke

a sparkle of fireflies floated out into the air

 

believe, she said

and gave me a tiny pearl covered in wings, to swallow

use this to float up to the sky

and you will be counted 

 

what is the power of hope

when compared to the density of darkness

 

what is the weight of the gravity beneath our beds 

what is the weight of the sky when we arrive

 

do the gods consider such things?


Published in Verse-Virtual, June 2022 Issue:

 Victoria Twomey Verse-Virtual June 2022 

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White Dress on a Clothesline

who has left this delicate cotton cloth

handsewn with care

to fit a young girl’s shape

with its small white buttons

its white lace collar

pinned at the shoulders

on this worn clothesline

behind this empty farmhouse?


the cloth is thin

and made for dense summer days

when this tree above

would have been fertile green

when there would have been

birds singing

a song for rising

a song for resting

a song by which to wander

a song to call the children home


more empty than the broken chairs

on the collapsing porch

this abandoned house

will soon be embraced by wild

come to claim, consume, console -

one day, it will call this cotton dress

with its blue satin ribbon about the waist

to rejoin the brown earth


this empty white dress

uplifted and released

ascending and descending

in the chilly breeze


Poem "White Dress on a Clothesline" published in Writing In A Woman's Voice, April 30th, 2022. Winner of the 95th Moon Prize. https://writinginawomansvoice.blogspot.com/2022/04/blog-post_30.html

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The Key

in the house of the mind

its windows of desire

poppy-lipped


its ceiling fans spinning

its kitchen timers unwinding

its intricate hallways painted with a lifetime of faces


here, clouds and sparrows drift in the attic

the widow’s walk looks out

upon a departing sea


something courageous puffs and hopes

in the chimney

something ecstatic sings in the wires


something in the shadows

beneath the stairs

offers a trembling answer


it holds the key

it holds the feather

it speaks in tongues

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Erratic Balloon

I understand

I do


you are not the only one

who sometimes feels like a frightened child


afraid of an erratic balloon 

filled with angry exhalations


the shadow of birds

swooping too close


a zigzagging kite

controlled by the wind’s demands


a cloud that suddenly covers the sun

threatening a storm


it was a necessary habit

formed too early on


now, useless time spent

worried about ghosts that vanish into nothing


~Published in First Literary Review-East

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Victoria Twomey Artist & Poet. Giclee prints, note card gift sets, wall art, original colored pencil drawings paintings, artwork, fine art, colored pencil artwork, wallart, art prints, posters and prints, poetry, poetry books.  © Copyright 2023 Victoria Twomey.  All rights reserved.  Etsy Shop Website: https://www.etsy.com/shop/VictoriaTwomeyArt


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