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Saturday, February 5, 2011


Fog
Moving slowly like a soft grey veil 
embracing everything in moist and mocking pale;  
It lifts and leaves no trace 
no sign that it was here.
Returns again and fills each  void;
this vacuum that one cannot 
with one’s fingers touch, 
yet see
and sense 
and feel, 
this sultry grey soft mellow veil.
Sounds bellow from  the sea at night 
to guide those seeking harbor;
Red blinking lights no longer seen 
replaced by echo of this frequent calling sound 
are lost this night.
No light appears that is not dimmed by this 
this silent veil of grey,
this fog, 
this mist.
Surrounding everything so closely 
consuming all our senses
like a long and passionate kiss;
this silent fog
this soft grey moistured mist.
Now to the edge,
lost in blended solitude,
 dawn grasps nights dewy light
gently, gently, as it lifts.
Corrine G Schlessel © 1996

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


A Wild Bird Sings


Who can say what wild birds trill
Hidden in a thickets clutch
I hear their harmonizing songs
Out of dreamers sight.

Perhaps the wild birds sing of hope
Perhaps of love or sorrow,
Each takes it’s quiet leave at dusk
To sing again tomorrow.

Dear harbingers of every spring
You gladden winters end;
You bring sweet trilling songs to me
Whilst summers just around the bend.

Corrine Schlessel © June 2008

Monday, December 27, 2010

AN EPIC TALE



When I was but a small child I thought the world was mine,

Each singing bird, each greening tree, the sky, wild columbine.

As I became a woman, acquiring worldly things,

I was taken by the pleasures that I thought things could bring.

Yet pocketed within my heart were childhood acquisitions,

Memories of carefree days I’d stored by callow intuition.

I learned that man made mundane things, could not quench my soul.,

And so let my spirit guide me and all the earth extol.

I sought to find my own domain of tranquil solitude,

And live within a world of peace where no war could intrude.

Material things were not my goal, I wanted none to treasure,

But simple natural pleasures of, what gold could never measure.

And so adventure beckoned me, to seek what I now sought,

With no illusions on my mind, no hesitating thought.

With inquiring eyes, I then explored, the blooms of budding flowers,

Inhaled the pungent fertile earth, after cooling showers.

Reached up from on an ancient oak, which I was wont to climb,

And still the world eluded me, that I had thought was mine.

Into watery depths of seas I dove, exploring there for hours,

Where pods of whales all winked at me with eyes of mystic powers.

Mysterious mantas glided by, I clutched ones velvet cape,

And rode it’s wavering water path, past anemone’s seascape.

I glanced at mollusks hiding, in places once volcanian,

Enjoyed the variegated gardens of this timeless subterranean.

Red coral branches reached across, a swaying seaweed path,

Flounders barely seen were hiding there, within their sandy bath.

On peaks of mountains capped with snow I sought to reach the sky,

Touched clouds so low they shrouded stars, just there beyond my eye.

I traveled to a canyons edge in unhurried and unfettered time,

Discovering wondrous worlds I thought must be, the newest paradigm.

Upon a noble eagle’s back I soared, then swooped down black ravine.,

Saw rocky chasms all about, that had not before been seen.

I trekked cobbled streets in Paris and went to deserts of Djibouti,

I swam with salmon, scaled fiords, and filled my soul with beauty.

One night upon a spiders lair I slept as if a queen,

Wrapped up in finely woven robe, of white and silky sheen.

Across an Asian desert, I rode upon a bactrian camel,

With rainbow colored jingling bells, of finely jeweled enamel.

Then visions of inviting palms beyond a moon shaped dune

Beckoned me to stay and rest, one waning afternoon.

I cavorted next in Spelunkers worlds, of dank and darkened field,

Of limestone lace like stalactites, such caves were known to yield.

High stately stalagmites had grown, of glittering grainy salt,

I feared creatures I thought hidden, within that cavernous vault.

I missed the sun and sought the sky, so left bats to their domain.

On green terrain I traveled on, and found myself in Spain.,

Where olive trees and barks of cork, and plaza’s magic tiles

Had winding black and white curved paths too dizzying as aisles

A donkey took me to a grove of green banana trees,

For miles around that’s all there was, right down to the sea

I slept beneath a fruited tree, of star shaped lime green wonder,

And woke up with a kangaroo who lived, of course, down under.

I’d found that all I ever wanted was everywhere I looked,

Each singing bird, the sky, the sea, each blue and babbling brook.

So starting back I took the sky, some clouds, some rich black loam,

Then a Laughing Kookaburra swiftly took me straight back home.

corrine schlessel © 8/25/06



SPAIN ... A VIEW FROM THE MEDITERRANEAN


LIKE FRAGMENTS OF MIRRORS WHITE VILLAGES SPARKLE

LUSH LUMINOUS VALLEYS ETERNALLY GREEN,

TUMBLING HAMLETS CARESS FERTILE FARMLAND,

IT’S FIELDS FILLED WITH WILLOW AND WAVERING CANE.

BLOSSOMY TREES ALONG EACH RUSTIC LANE

ENDLESS BANANA AND FRUIT TREES

FILL FIELDS AND THE PLAINS.

ABOVE IT HIGH MOUNTAINS BELOW IT THE SEA

SHELTERED BY BOTH AS IF BY DECREE

A WORLD DISTANT YET CLOSE

OF FORESTS AND LEA.

PEASANTS AND FARMERS AND FISHERMEN DWELL

IN THEIR OWN EMERALD REALMS OF CONSUMMATE TOIL,

EACH GENERATION BEFORE THEM PREVAILED

EXALTING THEIR LABORS FROM SEA AND FROM SOIL.

WHILE WHITE AS A CLOUD OUR SHIP SILENTLY GLIDES

EMBRACING EACH IMAGE FROM SLEEK DECKS OF TEAK,

SPAIN VIEWED FROM THE SEA

UNTOUCHED IT MAY SEEM

DRAWING IN ALL TO ITS SWEET ENDLESS DREAM.

LIKE A PAINTING EVOLVING IN GLISTENING SUN

A SPECTRUM OF BEAUTY OF A WORLD THAT ENDURED

EACH MOMENT EMERGING IN UNMEASURED TIME

BEAUTIFUL SPAIN WHOSE SHORES WE’VE EXPLORED

Corrine GSchlessel ©1995

Sunday, December 19, 2010


Flight Over Anchorage


Cold mountaintops white drifts of snow

Large billowy clouds attend,

A vast unending field of white

Together brilliance blend.

A vantage point as if a bird

From out it’s cage is flying,

Mt.Kinleys peaks of luminous white -

A vista that's beguiling.

Then past a hugh and silver wing

Blue glaciers glide unseen

While silver wings of changing time

Show sights of changing scene.

Only clouds are now beyond

Green fields are patched below.

Pastures, farms, and forests green,

Half hidden by the snow.

Beauty rich and endless

Mixed tapestry so grand

Wild goats upon her moutains

Bear and moose on land.

Her rivers filled with salmon

Her land gives up it's oil

Beautiful Alaska;

Protect it from man's spoil.

Wild eagles soar above her

Perched on nests in tall black pine,

Hillsides show the remnants of

What once had been a mine.

Inhabited though sparsely

A state as yet not tame

White nights and long cold winters

Lend that season fame.

Leaving all it's beauty

Though never left behind

Frozen white capped mountains

Roaring rivers , pungent pine...

Quiet bird filled forests

Wildlife hidden in between~

Fresh mountain waters tumbling

Into swiftly flowing stream.

Lavender and heather filling ever glen

Encompassing a cold blue earth

In mind i'll see again.


Corrine H Greenblatt- Schlessel © 1995

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

C E L E B R A T E L I F E

NOT CELIBATE LIFE



Gay Troubadour adore adore

( a song )


We’re gay and also happy

We’ve stepped right thru the door

We’re out from that dark closet

And won’t go back no more ore ore ore

Left hanging all the prejudice

From days of dinosaur a saur a saur a saur



We’re doctors and we’re lawyers

Indian Chiefs and cooks,

Policemen, students, parents

Some mensch and even schnooks uh uh uh nooks


There was a time we shamefully

Hid who we felt we were

Those times are gone-we celebrate

Our unique character er er er er


We’re mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters

People that you know

Lifeguards that will pull you in

When you’re pulled out by undertow ow ow


That hooker and that pretzel maker

Cleaning man and undertaker

Farmers wife from mid west Idaho a ho a ho

In Igloos way up north we’re gay and happy Eskimo o o o


We’re orientals, continentals

People on the go go go

We’re pizza makers even Quakers

Movie stars and bagel bakers

We’re Greek, we’re French and German,

Italian, irish, Muslim, Jew

We’re all the same , though different...

We’re just like you and you and you ou ou

We’re just like you and you and you ou

We’re just like you and you and you ou


We’re senators , we’re engineers

Aunts and Uncles, gondoliers

City folk and mountaineers

Football players and some Sioux are queers ah ah queers

Pilots, chefs, police and firemen are queers er er er ers


We’re dark, we’re light,

Ambitious, lazy, work alone or in a crew

We’re people in your family

You love us and we love you ow ow ow ow.


We’re Sailors Soldiers and Marines

Wear every uniforms chapeau

So when saluting Captain Josephine

That may be Captain Joe o o o o o

You may find that Josephine is Joe

You may find that Josephine is Joe

Though it may be confusing as to who is really who

We know who we really are

We’re hoity toit and most bourg’eoi’sie

We’re young and full of energy

We’re old and suffer lethargy

We’re happy and we’re gay

That’s who we are

We’re happy and we’re gay that’s who we are r r r r


We’re out from being hidden

And won’t go back no more ore ore ore ore

We’re gay and also happy troubadour

We’re happy and we’re gay - gay troubadour

We’re happy and we’re gay - gay troubadour


corrine hg schlessel © 5-18-05

Friday, October 1, 2010

Predatory Gait



The pretense of caring was effortless.


The lackadaisical gait;


Meandering here and there.

But oh yes, he had a singular insulated concern,


Of self.


All else was cool deflected rain.


He was a smooth talker and as a lothario,


Even quicker.


Drawing in hearts like prizes from a baited trap

With deliberating swiftness,

Seldom giving back.

HE was the trap.


Oh pity the poor hearts that took the bait

Pity their manipulated fate.


Unable to resist loves elixir

Dripping from a silver tongue.


He had a lackadaisical predatory gait.


Now cautious of every path before her...

Temptation died along the wicked way.


Her entertainment now was his metronomic predatory gait.


Corrine Schlessel © September 2010