to see through stained glass at night

The little storyteller at the bus stop

I wish i had taken a photo
Of you in your storytelling mode
Arms extended high
To explain the pigeons flying away
The older gentleman thoroughly enjoying
The entertainment of your limited
Vocabulary (approximately 2 years old)
It doesn’t phase you one bit
An audience of strangers watching
As you beam like the sun
In your element.

Copyright Gemma Luescher-Verseckas 2013

Advertisements
to see through stained glass at night

Behind the sunhouse

The shards of the green wine bottle
Left by the drunk hiding his shame
Behind the sun house
Have been tidied up,
But only after I had
Smashed the bottle more
To find shards sharp enough to cut through my scars
While I hide equally in shame
Behind the sunhouse
Smashing the glass between each round that i cut
Searching the relief that I know I really won’t find
Because I know it will only be temporary before I come back down again
And I am deprived of my final stage of coming back to
When i have to tidy up the mess i made
Making sure the damage is minimal
And not dangerous to others
And I search for the odd shard of glass
Knowing I won’t cut
this time but somehow
There are no words needed
Everyone knows how much confusion and pain I am feeling
I just needed a bandage
To stop the bleeding
after the third round.
Just so I didn’t drip my shame
All over the floor
Just like the shards i left behind
For someone else to clean up after.
Where do i go from here?

Copyright Gemma Luescher-Verseckas 2013

to see through stained glass at night

To See through Stained Glass at Night

The moon struggles
To provide light
Behind the collage
Of coloured glass angels
As the sun would struggle
To provide light
Through dense clouds
After the rain

Copyright Gemma Luscher-Verseckas 2013

to see through stained glass at night

The Baroque Pearl

I stand here
Holding
A baroque pearl
Beginning to see the imperfections
That you point out
I begin to see how to perfect my work
Without hiding under a table
Covering my ears
T prevent my soul
from becoming crushed
I stand here
Giving back
a copy of my poem to say
(Though almost impossible
Because i hate admitting)
You were right
I was wrong
(I knew you would love
to hear me come right out
And say it)
Okay some words you said
Actually stuck in my head
And though I didn’t like them
at first
YOU WERE RIGHT
ALL ALONG

Copyright Gemma Luescher-Verseckas. 2013