A Small Flotilla of Poems

 A small flotilla of poems for the aquatically challenged. 


why new jersey girls go barefoot:       sand

why new mexico girls do not:              cactus


mother gaia knows me – she could pick up my scent anywhere I’ve been.

and any-when.

i don’t try to be untrackable, it’s just i prefer to be untraceable.

more random wisdom for a random age.

teach your self-talk out loud.

be sure to hear it with both ears as it is meant to be heard

bloody as a fairytale

unbecoming as days in front of a mirror

            marking change

being strong

instead of beautiful.


i don’t remember wanting to be a princess.

i knew from an early age i am only  a queen.

queens don’t get  a day off,

not if they’re doing the job right.

queens don’t give into presumption

they own that!

all it takes to be one is a remarkable memory

with a good education.

queens are an acquired taste, but there it is, nonetheless.

queens disdain working for others

but often despair of working for themselves.

they never should go into any family business.

we always observe the “no queens permitted” signs.

queens are often found along the stairways of their own palaces,

midway up or midway down.

wrapped in a cloak, they often face the wind

blowing away the secrets offered

queens are oracles of change

for better or worse in the kingdom.

queens surmount the barriers

then return to show the way.


new mexico is a land shaped by wind

telling long stories over sage & chaparral

we keep thinking an ending may occur

a solution to be had just over the next

endless horizon, if we pay attention.

really, there’s only mystery

the wind blows upward

seeding clouds with sand

there’s a blue beyond the color

we know as blue

this sky. this air. this wind.

we harvest what we plant

we walk in the gardens seeded by our own mouths

seasoned by our own water

willed into more than survival.


the light’s a little tilted

the spectra of other realms

we have a view now

above & below

like underwater cameras, dipping.

we are no longer individuals

as we clamor & bang our pots

to get the attention of God

(who’s been keeping up all along,

indeed, reflecting back to light our way.)


the three blind mice

squared off & began

quartering the space

profligate thoughts

tossed back & forth

among the three

to this day,

i have no idea

if they ever got out.


this world is full of consonants

the softening of vowels

lost in a well of expletives:

karate chop words

what happens in a world full of curses?

it is becalmed: the steady balance

of beauty, divinity, sacred pushback lost

until the “cursors” re-ignite with love

enough to tilt us home

nature bites back, burying curses into nullity

achieving blessing.

carol borsello MARCH 2021

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: