Beautiful Poetry from Doris Ferleger

This is National Poetry Month and I have two poems by poet Doris Ferleger, a cousin to my tai chi friend Leah who read one of Doris’ poems at a small gathering earlier this year of people interested in reading poems or stories. Since I have not met Doris in person, I am posting a mini-bio of the poet from one of the two books  (Big Silences in a Year of Rain) Leah gave me to read:

“Doris Ferleger is a clinical psychologist, poet and essayist whose work has appeared inmanyjournals including: Bridges, California Quarterly, Comstock Review, South Carolina Review, South Dakota Review, and in anthologies entitled: Motherpoet and Journey into Motherhood. She holds an MFA in Poetry from Vermont College and is a fomer poet laureate of Montgomery County, PA. Her work won the Robert Fraser Prize for Poetry, was a finalist for the Muriel Craft Bailey Memorial Award and the Beatrice Hawley  award, and a semifinalist for the Brittingham  Prize in Poetry and the Many Mountains Moving Press Poetry Prize.”

Need I say more? Doris’ poetry is deep and often sad, and very beautiful. Here is one poem from each of the two books I have on hand.

“Picture Over the Edge” from as the moon has breath by doris ferleger

Above my desk gladiolas
re-open every morning
thick and oily on the five-
by-five foot canvas, too big
to be buried with. Some days
violet, other days vermillion
grabs me by the throat. Tight
green buds show
no signs of which color
will reveal itself
in the morning. No one can say,
not even the experts,
whether the gladiola-
shaped mass with its tissue-
thin petals, folded-
open, is made merely of dead
tissue, or cells dangerously blooming.
Why not go a little crazy?
Open, close, open, shake and shake
the painting like a kaleidoscope,
jumble the little chips of light
so much that everything turns
to shards of beauty
and no sad story
can stick.

 

“LIVING “from BIG SILENCES IN A YEAR OF RAIN

 

 

Deep snow and Bernie bought
His mother a spring handbag,
A fancy shmancy evening bag
In spring colors. She didn’t like
The colors but she kept it as a sign

Of his trust in her
Living at least until
Crocuses popped up.

The morning I walked over stones
in the creek, I was wearing a pale yellow
gauzy dress with tiny spring flowers tied
in bouquets all over and those girlish puffy sleeves
and a young man was playing
a harmonica
in the clover grass and it wasn’t
a dream that I was alive.

Both books published by: MAIN STREET RAG PUBLISHING COMPANY, Charlotte, North Carolina, www.MainStreetRag.com  (Both under $15.00)

Happy Spring!  Happy Passover! Happy National Poetry Month!

 

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