Monday, March 5, 2007

Two Poems: Tim J Brennan

In there

for forty-seven years of marriage,
mother kept candles, white
solid paraffin, like little wax children

she loved to light them during storms,
to hold them in the darkness, smiling
at flickers, created shadows on the wall

a lit candle
has fingerprints, she said
its own wick, tearing
darkness, forcing
it to surrender
a small part of itself

a candle aches for darkness,
to be used when cold winds scream,
and loneliness, while not fatal,
is wrapped in the poverty
of its unused self

she told me all this
when expecting storms,
while waiting to light her candles,
kept above the stove, in there,
just in case, she said

* * * * *

Dance Steps

Some of us gaze into our dance
partner’s eyes like others glance
contemplatively at stars, seeking
guidance in our steps, one leading
the other obediently following

each feeling the other’s rhythm
like listening to evening lake waves
or studying bending grass fields,
others awaiting turns patiently
like sitting early in a quiet church
hoping within themselves to somehow
learn what shape God really is

~ Tim J Brennan, a teacher of young minds, hails from southeastern Minnesota. His poetry has appeared in Green Blade, The Elegant Thorn Review, The Rose and the Thorn, Shampoo, and he has been a featured poet on

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