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Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper
coopersd@worldnet.att.net
Living in Portland, Oregon, Sharon is an active member
of Friends of The Oregon Symphony, Words Of a Woman Net Society,
and very much a today's woman. An astrological Leo, this lady
thrives on poetry and music.
She has been published in 'lingerings', The Words of a Woman Net Society,
Horsethief Journal, Wired Arts from Wired Hearts,
Painted Poet Literary and Art Journal, Fluid Ink Press,
Ophelia's Muse, Stride Magazine, Poetry Magazine,
Vinland Journal, Poetry Niederngasse, Poetic Reflections,
Wilmington Blues, In The Eyes Of The Wild, Rustlings Of The Wind,
Westlovian Gazette, Erosha Literary Journal,
Tamafyhr Mountain Poetry, Emerging from Twilight - Vol. 2. and
Before the Last Shadow Fades, Vol. 3, both A Shadow Poetry
Collection, Panda Poetry Magazine, Mi Poesias E-Zine, Battle Stars',
Swan Dive, Wicked Alice, Verse Libre, La Rosa Blanca,
Book of Remembrance Poetry Anthology, Vol. 2,
Muse Whispers, The Green Fuse, Peshekee River Poetry,
The Circle of Addiction, Sol Magazine, Australian Poetic Society,
Poetic Voices and many others.
No Time
Babes are finally in bed
Heaps of laundry wait patiently.
Three in diapers,
the oldest just two.
Just like triplets, always wet,
always hungry.
No wick-away disposables
invented yet.
Dinners are from scratch,
is there another way?
Not much in the way of frozen.
Convenience is what I seek.
Fresh bread baked at least
three times a week.
White shirts, one a day,
piled for my attention.
Husband has an eight hour day,
mine is close to twenty-four.
Babies at night, one or the other,
but husband has to have his sleep,
he works, you know.
No time for hair or nails.
What is a dress?
Lucky to wash my face.
No time to change,
just put on a smile.
Time for sex. Time?
What is time?
Everything runs though my mind
but pleasure.
Have to plan tomorrow.
Was that a cry?
Put the orgasm on hold.
Seems it's always on hold.
Back to bed, husband
snores softly.
Get up, turn on the TV
and watch the test pattern.
No television past eleven but...
I am alone. It is quiet.
Looking back on those times,
I'm sure I was on
the edge of a breakdown,
but gee, who had time?
Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper
(c) 2001
Legacy
Tissue wrapped, size of no account,
trembling hands open it,
know full well what's inside.
Nestled in its snowy wrap
lays the pendant I always knew
would one day come to me.
Purple amethysts wink at me,
catch specks of fractured light.
Soft sheen surrounds
the myriad of seed pearls set
gracefully against the scrolls of gold.
Grandma got it on her wedding day.
Tradition has this heirloom
passed from her to me.
My memory sees it sparkling
around her neck as my
granddaughter puts it around mine.
Treasured keepsakes are forever.
Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper
(c) 2000
Winter Lyric
Sparrow feet beat a tattoo
on their perch,
droplets quiver, undecided,
slide slowly to leaf tips.
Time takes a breath.
They linger,
with tremulous shimmer,
then plunge
to the ground, spent.
I love to watch a branch
of leaves spill moisture, glisten
in a final display of fascination.
Fluid music folds around me,
cashmere sounds.
Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper
(c) 2001
Raindance
She strides confidently,
forehead angled to receive
damp falling mist.
Whimsical air shatters,
rhythmic sound washes over her.
Rain speaks in enchanted dialects,
beads her ponytail
with gentle insistence,
settles on sooty lashes.
Sweet-water showers
moisten her lips,
coax a questing tongue.
Spiked branches are adorned
with bits of magic,
leaves tattooed with liquid luster.
Puddles flow
in a stream of chocolate,
braid gravel channels,
spill willy-nilly
into the river, merrily ripple
in blended hue.
Fresh-faced laughter
bubbles upward as she
experiences nature's cleansing.
Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper
(c) 2002
Intangible Perception
I stare unseeing,
draped in the scenery
of stark memories
best forgotten,
skin pallored
by overwhelming grief
that tosses restraint
like thistle-down.
Vacant eyes
drop damp petals,
control abandoned
in blue-white anguish.
Chained, addicted
to panic and fear,
my life's textures
are ground to bits of gray.
The scratched surface
of my being
is forever damaged
by broken courage.
I struggle for direction,
step hesitantly towards survival,
press my control button.
Tangled threads restored...for now.
Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper
(c) 2002
Thief Of Time
Time tiptoes, slinks silently,
I yearn to hold him suspended,
lasso this fleet fellow
as he unfolds his transparent wings,
steals my cherished minutes.
Foot poised in mid-air, narrowed
eyes glance over his shoulder,
mouth smirks a knowing smile,
catch me if you can.
Wall clock ticks in monotone.
I walk, he runs,
I race, he flies. Intervals pass
in a whirl, catch-up impossible.
These significant moments
slip through my grasp forever..
Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper
(c) 2002
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