Tag Archives: Poetry

Liquid Angst ~ Jacqueline Cioffa #StolenMoments #Poetry

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From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive.

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Liquid Angst By Jacqueline Cioffa

Jan. 2005

You are the one

Constant

My forever Miami man

My moon, my sun, my tsunami

Amongst devastating destruction you are the storm in my soul

My liquid angst

But at least I love you

To know that I really love you

Quietly with a certain steadfastness

20 years full and counting

That’s really something

…hold up, that ain’t right

the year is 2015 

the time is now

…and I’m tired of waiting

I’m not holding out for a hero

a waterlogged wilted jilted lover

I’m becoming and becoming

my very own heroine

whole and content under a crystal clear lit up funky blue midnight sky

possibility

starstuff dreams bursting inside

Purple Felt Tip Pens and Mystic Winds #StolenMoments

Stolen Moments-2

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive.

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Purple Felt Tip Pens and Mystic Winds

Jacqueline Cioffa 1998

It’s downtime in Miami

Purple felt tip pens

And winds whistling like a lover

Whispering magic

And calm

The smell of salt air

Filling the breeze almost licking my skin

Oh how I love the night here

To wake up to the sun

A new day

An almost always perfect cerulean sky

Ending with the darling starry filled night

November is the most beautiful time of year

White Boots and Freckle Faces #StolenMoments #TuesdayShares #Poetry

stolen-moments-2

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive.

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White Boots and Freckled Faces

Jacqueline Cioffa 1998

Where is the child?

Where has she gone?

Did she get bruised and beaten down?

Oh she’s there

Over there

There she is

Dancing and laughing

And spinning

Wide open

She still believes in a better place

And a better time

And sees the good in mankind

Muddled behind the murky water

And she cries a real tear

One teardrop

For all that is gone

And counts

And she gets it

And sometimes she wants to die

So swollen with emotion

Not afraid to cry

Not afraid to be touched

She doesn’t cringe at the thought of physical intimacy

And she’s full of trust

And she’s let go of the void

She’s the voyeur

The mighty, the strong

She’s her mother and father and brothers

All rolled into this neat package

That’s the best of all of them.

“To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time.” ‘funny girl’

Stolen Moments-2

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive.

funny girl

by Jacqueline Cioffa

Dec. 2006

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I would like to lead a dark, sophisticated life

I dream of a fancy lady in spiked heels, red nails and lips and such

She wears corsets to breakfast

and dines on champagne and caviar

Instead I run away from fame and all it’s trappings

I’m a messy sneaker wearing practical jeans girl

transparent to the touch

I know it’s crazy but I miss you everyday

more not less

I don’t need a prince charming just a soft whisper

A subtle nod, bittersweet embrace

Ask me to cross an ocean and I’d do it for you

Even for just five minutes

I don’t care I’m not proud though I am scared

I’m sophisticated just enough

When Dreaming of a Beach…

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…one must be more specific

There is beauty in ice sculptures, black leaves, sand granules and zebra mussel shells

Someone carved a number into the willow

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I wonder what it meant and how long it’s become piece of the bark

Are they dead and buried, the secret etched inside the tree’s history?

I cannot say

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I had not seen before

The biting winter air keeps me alert, alive noticing the minute details

I slow my pace, paying no attention to time and space, focusing on the grays above

and the black ripples before me

When dreaming of a beach one must specify the horizon

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