Guest Poet Celeste Cafasso
ONE JAR OF JAM
This jar of jam is sitting on a shelf , here in the pantry.
You know it 's here; it is a tolerably tasty jam.
You know its texture by heart,( and mind and soul).
If this were any other time than this,
You'd take it from the shelf and examine the jar at least.
See, crystal clear... not smoky ....glass, a wee bit inexpensive.
It starts to warm there, in your hand, just glass, not crystal.
You turn it over...see the label..but at this moment,
The color of the jam intrigues you, you place it back.
The morning sun will pass right through it, at sunrise.
You know it's there, you know of what it's made.
This is not the time to sample it.. Perhaps it is too sweet,
Too tart, too thick, not thick enough...or perhaps it is "perfect".
Just because the jam is there upon a shelf, in silent being,
You choose now not to taste it...but still enjoy the color.
November 1997
Celeste Cafasso 's Questions:
Can the image of a relationship be perceived in the presentation?(A
relationship between two people,..... ) Is there sufficient "clear" imagery?
Correspond with Celeste Cafasso at
Celeste707@aol.com
with your ideas about this poem.
IN THE GARDEN AT DAWN
"It was the daisy..."
NO...such a simple flower
Would never reveal my presence.
" I knew you were here
Because of the daisy...."
The unpretentious would not betray me.
"You tried to hide, but
I knew you were here
Because of the daisy."
Oh, I had run while standing still.
Twisted into your life,
And growing into you like Morning Glory Vines.
Then coaxed to grow by sun of loving,
Blossomed forth as Rambling Roses do,
Kissed wet by tears of apprehension.
This could not be so beautiful a garden
Without the compost aroma of pain
And fertilizer understanding.
But how could you have known
I would not EVER leave?
"Because the daisy weeps at Dawn with dew."
November 1997
Celeste Cafasso's Questions:
Does the poem lose power by incorporating the second person's part as
quotation?
Correspond with Celeste Cafasso at
Celeste707@aol.com
with your ideas about this poem.
The Albany Poetry Workshop