Poetry « Lasára Allen

My Grandfather's Flag

Marcus A. Golczynski, 30, the father of this child, was killed in Iraq on March 27, 2009. "We fight and sometimes die, so our families don't have to."

“…I hope you’ll take a moment to remember, to pray for, all those who have fallen in the lines of fire – not just “our” men

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Untitled (vortex i)

I come awake at night these days
My man sprawled sweetly next to me
Rhythmic breathing
almost lulling me
But in the quiet of night
there’s something puling me
Awake, awake

I come awake at night
the cars rush by my country home
Rhythmic roaring
nearly pulling me
In this rush of night
there’s something lulling me
Awake, awake

Virginia said
a woman should have a room of one’s own
This

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A Poem for Palestine

August, 2007

here,
in this place of unyielding hardship
the soil trembles
with subtle urgency
without moving

bodies quiver
electricity dancing on the surface of
straining skin

restraint
oppression
desire
fear
all held
in abeyance -
a sacred secret
voiced in harsh-edged whispers
in the dark of night
and lost to forgiving winds

here,
trees bend low
branches heavy hanging
with over-ripe fruit
no way to pick the figs
beyond the shadow of the wall

still,
roses grow
dawn kisses sweet-smelling earth
with

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For my love, on his 45th birthday

This is the beginning
all possibility and nubile gestures
the soft, damp dawn
touched with dew and whispy, whispery fog
we live in a valley of green
hills of gold
crowning moist, damp earth

there will come a time
where we gather these days around us
an aged bounty of petals
strewn whimsically on a sturdy, well-worn floor
and, creaking with the walls
flesh earth-like and joints

Continue reading For my love, on his 45th birthday

The Arab cawe (coffee) is thick and bitter-sweet. Dark and steaming, I take a sip, sitting in the square in Bethlehem. I love this square. The vast expanse of worn marble in front of the church, the seats of carved stone.

When seated in front of the church, you see a mosque at the other end.

Continue reading Arab Cawe

Send me the Sunset

I ask you to
send me Arab coffee
but i want to say
send
the coffee vendor
crooked teeth and gentle smile
who stands with burnished cart
at the far end of the square

I ask you to
send maramia
but i want you to
send me
the scent of water and wild weeds
at Solomon’s Pools

I plead
send me a
strong smelling, rosewood rosary
frankincense
and myrhh
zatar

but deeply,
I long to walk

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In Memory of Mahmoud Darwish, 13 March 1941 – 9 August 2008

I wrote this piece on the day Mahmoud Darwish, Poet Laureate of Palestine, the voice of the Palestinian people, died. It is dedicated to him.

Filistina, Ya Habibi

(Palestine, My Beloved)

I invite you
to come inside
the sitting room
of my life

to smell the scent of the dirt that holds
the roots of jasmine
to smell the flower
to smell
the coffee brewing in

Continue reading In Memory of Mahmoud Darwish, 13 March 1941 – 9 August 2008

Recent Posts

My Grandfather's Flag

Untitled (vortex i)

A Poem for Palestine

For my love, on his 45th birthday

Arab Cawe

Send me the Sunset

In Memory of Mahmoud Darwish, 13 March 1941 – 9 August 2008

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