I Am Still Waiting for Green Mornings by Carol A. Stephen (I AM STILL WAITING Series)

I participated in the original I Am Waiting series with a poem titled Waiting for Greeen Mornings. https://quillfyre.ca/2014/12/14/waiting-for-green-mornings-by-carol-a-stephen-i-am-waiting-poetry-series/ And since we have all been waiting for an end to lockdowns and the virus, it seemed fitting to acknowledge the original poem but also all the things we have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting to be ours again!

Silver Birch Press

painting_reproduction-mikhail_vrubel-morning_web
I Am Still Waiting for Green Mornings
by Carol A. Stephen

I woke this morning to snow on the dwarf
spruce, small dustings on its branches, lovely
come December, but it’s April now.

Last summer was too hot for green, while autumn
was a bold blur of red, yellow, orange, until lockdown
washed all colour from the world.

I am still waiting for those green mornings, for unpremeditated
rapture, for Perpetual Wonder, and for animals to fall like rain
in a painted tangle of green in Mikhail Vrubel’s Morning.

But now, everyone runs in place; I run in circles, and we’re all
still waiting for the final “all-clear.” In the garden, lilacs are budding,
robins have returned, and along the Riverwalk, forest babies wait

for their next meal. White-tailed deer forage under the snow.
Herons, otters and mink dive in the river for fish. The ospreys are back
to their…

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Visit to a Small Hospital in the Time of COVID-19 by Carol A. Stephen (PRIME MOVERS Series)

A poem to honour the staff of our local Emergency department, who put themselves at risk on a daily basis during this pandemic. The nurse’s name is not her real name, to protect her privacy. But she is very real, warm, friendly, caring- all the things you might need when you are high-risk and in harm’s way. Thank you to the Carleton Place & District Memorial Hospital, for always being there. Carol A. Stephen

Silver Birch Press

castaldostudio licensedstephen textPhoto by Castaldo Studio, used by permission. 

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I have advanced kidney disease, which also causes anemia. I have to monitor my hemoglobin on a regular basis. Last year, an internal bleed sent me to the hospital for almost two months. When I learned two weeks ago that my hemoglobin had dropped very low again, I immediately thought “Here we go again!” But the idea of going anywhere near a hospital right now was frightening too. Usually, they want a referral at the hospital, but this time, thanks to the wonderful nurse who took my urgent call, I was taken right away.  I spent about eight hours there altogether, but it would have been much longer in normal times. The wait is not usually five minutes; it is usually several hours. I cannot thank the staff at the hospital enough for their care, their professionalism, and for…

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A Wander in Roma by Carol A. Stephen (LANDMARKS Series)

My poem at Silver Birch Press today

Silver Birch Press

licensed nerifyA Wander in Roma
by Carol A. Stephen

These soles have sweltered in unforgiving sandals as we wandered
streets of an August Rome, stood outside the Colosseum, paced
patterns on Capitoline Hill, then thankful to ride the street car
from Piazza Venezia to the Spanish Steps. Happy too, for
running shoes from Seoul in a Roman shop, that cushioned bunions
as they complained with every step on St. Peter’s marble floors.

PHOTO: The Spanish Steps, Rome, Italy, by Neirfy, used by permission.

EDITOR’S NOTE: The Spanish Steps in Rome, Italy, climb a steep slope between the Piazza di Spagna at the base and Piazza Trinità dei Monti, dominated by the Trinità dei Monti Church at the top. Designed by architects Francesco de Sanctis and Alessandro Specchi, the stairway of 135 steps was built in 1723–1725 . (Source: Wikipedia)

Colosseum Rome EditNOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My late husband was a refugee from…

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In a Time of Hidden Faces by Carol A. Stephen (WEARING A MASK Series)

My poem for the Wearing a Mask series on Silver Birch Press.

Silver Birch Press

StephenIn a Time of Hidden Faces
by Carol A. Stephen

This face, my mask of age, slips south
into my neck, wrinkles drawn down by time
and gravity into folds, creases, wattle.
Still, when youth shines forth in my smile, wrinkles
tighten. Years slip away. Or they did—

Now, a different mask, a swath of black cloth
covers dimples, highlights the slight droop
of lower eyelid under my glasses.

Over my shoulder, masks of the past
stare blank-eyed from the wall, and I remember
those days in Venice, that long-ago night in Rome,
the sweetness of a kiss by the Trevi fountain.

Those kissed lips hide now under my new mask, worn
for your safety. I cannot offer you a grin, but
I offer the people of my world my respect,
expressed by this black band across my face.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: As we all consider social distancing, and…

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