Unfolding
by Victoria Twomey ©2022
unfold the black and white picture
that opens to a perfect square
look at this young, white-gloved girl
posing and smiling as directed
the year, the subjects, the occasion
written in pen on the back
see the perfect ribbon in her hair
the perfect patent leather shoes on her feet
following the fold
a jagged crease across her parents’ faces
see how their hands do not touch
see the cold snow at their feet
and this one, buried at the bottom of a drawer
scratched and torn, yellowed tape at the edges
opening to a brown-eyed woman-child in shades
of gray
folded across the heart
smooth-skinned, round-cheeked
her full-lipped mouth holding back her
questions
and another, in color, twice folded in anger
leaving the shape of a cross
beside a stranger, a young woman kneels at an
altar
a thirsty wanderer at an empty well
and another
a young woman holds a brown-eyed boy in her
lap
he holds a teddy bear and picture of his absent
father
folded down into a tiny iron-weighted square
this one, in a frame
not yet tucked away in someone’s keepsake box
a gray-haired woman
listening to music from her youth
she stands at an easel near a sun-filled window
her face and palms creased with time
she is painting a woman, painting a woman
who is wondering about the sound of stars
she paints the light illuminating a garden
the singing birds and dragonflies
as she tries to remember
all the people she has been
Autumn Sky Poetry Daily
Unfolding by Victoria Twomey | Autumn Sky Poetry Daily
Watch video of Victoria reading this poem: https://youtu.be/sn_llaWxtQM
If Only, a Poem for Mother’s Day
By Victoria Twomey ©2021
All I have is this flat, lifeless photograph of you,
frozen in shades of black and white,
imprisoned by this wooden frame,
like a window looking out on the past.
You,
on the other side, behind the glass,
50 years ago,
wearing a light gray dress,
and a shy smile,
in front of a garden gate.
If only I could press a button,
and unfreeze the frame,
unlock the reel,
so you would animate,
like an old silent film.
I could watch you tend the garden beyond
the gate,
smelling the gray roses,
pruning, watering, happy.
Perhaps at the end of the film,
as the reel runs through to its end,
you would catch me in the corner of your eye,
turn and smile with delighted recognition,
raising your gray arm,
waving hello,
waving goodbye.
May 2021 Poetry Corner - SANCTUARY (sanctuary-magazine.com)
The Sharing Circle
by Victoria Twomey ©2021
I can say I walked a while with you
and dreamed within your dream-
that you welcomed in my heart
like a wounded gypsy 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
Published in the BigCityLit Winter 2021 Edition on BigCityLit.com
The Sharing Circle – Big City Lit (nycbigcitylit.com)
Watch a video of Victoria reading this poem:
Your Voice is Like Rain Now
by Victoria Twomey ©2020
your voice is like rain now
misty drips and droplets
falling on a far watercolor garden
pinks running into blues
happy notes in yellow rivulets
flowers looking out with hazel eyes
little wet bees and butterflies
wandering, tasting
here and there
do you have birds where you are?
the tiny wise ones that chirp in the morning?
do you sing to them as you once sang to me
before I fell asleep?
Published in the Long Island Quarterly Winter 20-21 Edition on Poetrybay.com
https://poems.poetrybay.com/2020-2021-liq-edition/victoria-twomey/
You Have Never Been Alone
By Victoria Twomey ©2005
there is much that waits
much that is known
behind the secret curtain of dawn
you must be silent
an early riser
a receiver of bird song
before you can see through the dark
and realize, you have never been alone
before you can know
there has always been a murmuring of letters
moving beneath your skin
nudging, whispering
you must look closely, through your own noise
and you will see they have always been with you
they are tattooed inside your thighs
on the soles of your feet -
when you brush the hair from your forehead
you might see them on the palm of your hand
they spill out into the air when you breath
leak out from time to time
from the ends of your fingers
form words, sounds and colors
find their way to virgin paper or canvas
speak out through piano keys or guitar strings
bring sweetness and spice to your cooking, your love making
the letters, the words are outside of time
and cannot leave you
one day they shall rise up with you
letters and ashes will ascend together
imprisoned songbirds set free from the cage of gravity and skin
the curtain shall part and let go its mystery
you will be gold and orange wildfire
as you rise up over the horizon
round and glorious
flooding the sky with your light
Published in LI Sounds 2006 Anthology
These Days
by Victoria Twomey ©2007
these days,
the old man looks for a long while and
with greater trespass
into evening’s eyes
as if there were something he might wade out to
these days,
when he sinks into dreams
he sails an indigo ocean with his departed wife
gone so young, so soon
their world is lit by brilliant moonlight
she smiles and her hands are warm
like they always were
now her words sound like hummingbird wings
and her eyes are filled with galaxies
these days,
he confides more in his long-gone father
senses something in the shadows
waiting patiently for recognition
Published on Poetrybay - Long Island Quarterly Winter 2007 Edition
http://www.poetrybay.com/liquarterly/liq-summer2006/twomey.html
Resurrection
by Victoria Twomey ©2009
the sun in spring struggles
to rise up from winter’s bed of icy sheets
like Lazarus
gone dead for days
still possessing a smoldering ember
of life light down deep within
still holding fast under death’s frozen shroud
when, come the appointed season
something within him is released
and he rises, slowly, shivering
the frost of nevermore still crusted upon his eyes
as the birds begin to sing a glowing yellow song
and everyone can feel it
something warm and miraculous has come our way
something new and beautiful is happening
and everybody is smiling
as if they’ve never seen
life rise and walk across the sky
Published on Poetrybay - Fall/Winter 2009
http://www.poetrybay.com/liquarterly/liqwinter09/twomey.html
~~~~~
Upon Reading The Life After
by Mario Susko, a survivor of
the war in Bosnia.
Beast
by Victoria Twomey ©2004
i read your words
and wish i could send sweet snow
to fall on those bruised gray lines
the horror of an ancient snorting beast
loose, insane
inside the breakable green forest
human vowels cry from the closed mouth of survival
where one counts each footstep to avoid the sky
too blue to bear
love curls up and hibernates in some dark cave
lets pass the black shiny boots of war
i think they must pass still, strangely silent
in the cavern of your midnight sleep
i light a candle with this poem
a prayer for cool pure snow
to fall gently on your eyes
until you see only white
and then
emerging in small, kind degrees
a bright, blue-sky dream
to carry you through the night
First Place Winner Performance Poets Association Contest 2004
~~~~~
Summer House
By Victoria Twomey ©2004
The empty house, clothed in the gray bark of weathered shingles
rests on the hill above the beach,
as silent as the changing of the seasons or the space between words -
as quiet as the sleeping terns in the dunes.
All of summer has burned away
as the autumn leaves steal what golden heat is left in the sun.
There was a lively gaggle of bronzed children here,
running in and out,
slamming the screen door over and over,
smelling of ice cream, bug spray and sea salt.
Gone are the damp half-moon spots on the porch steps
where they sat in their wet bathing suits
exhausted from a day’s duet with the gulls.
There are no more warm, thick breezes
pungent with the perfume of seaweed, abandoned shells and summer grasses -
just this house, the unceasing rhythm of the waves,
and the grains of memory and time that have fallen through the cracks in the wooden floor.
As the house dreams on through its winter slumber,
one can go beyond its gate,
down the steep wooden steps,
to the dunes grown cold as yesterday’s embers,
and hear the gulls sing on, alone.
Appeared in "Shoreline Sonata" video for WLIW
https://www.wliw.org/21pressroom/s/shoreline-sonata-a-long-island-love-story/211/
~~~~~
Visitation
by Victoria Twomey ©2022
so much is expected
of the little red cardinal
winged intermediary
between two worlds
arriving in the spring tree
in front of the blue house
a feathered priest
who knows there are many hoping to believe
and so, he sits for a moment
so that someone might look upon him
and sense someone lost
has touched them from afar
a moment later, fliting to the neighbor’s fence for his next visitation
releasing one beloved ghost
and welcoming another
Published in the Trouvaille Review April 10th 2022. https://www.trouvaillereview.org/home/visitation-by-victoria-twomey
Pieta
by Victoria Twomey ©2006
I see the warm flesh beneath the cold marble,
the sinew tensing within the rock,
the bones protruding outward,
wet tears just below the rigid crust,
something breathing within the icy stone.
Good mother,
your son is lost
and you are forever imprisoned
by a suffocating mystery.
In this eternal parting,
the rusty nails of injustice,
have left an empty space that can never be filled.
Behold the one, who like us, must walk his
path alone.
Behold the other who must understand.
Michelangelo, you were true of heart but
had not pity,
for in your blindness and your vision,
you tore the dead rock from the mountainside,
and in your fever of unrequited love, gave it life.
Did you not realize this stone would cry forever?
Published in Long Island Sounds 2006: An Anthology of Poetry From Maspeth to Montauk and Beyond. Nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Tammy Morgan, the publisher and editor.
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