Poetry - Selected works

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  

 https://nycbigcitylit.com/victoria-twomey-the-sharing.../  

 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 song birds 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 - Winter 2007
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

https://www.performancepoets.org/index_files/9th_Lit_Rvw.htm

~~~~~

 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/

~~~~~