{"id":1088,"date":"2013-08-20T12:55:56","date_gmt":"2013-08-20T12:55:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/NEWSITE\/?page_id=1088"},"modified":"2026-03-10T22:44:23","modified_gmt":"2026-03-11T02:44:23","slug":"poetry-3","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/poetry-3\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"et_pb_section_0 et_pb_section et_section_regular et_block_section\" id=\"text_logo_header\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_0 et_pb_row et_block_row\" id=\"text_logo_header\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_0 et_pb_column et_pb_column_4_4 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_divider_0 et_pb_divider_hidden et_pb_space et_pb_divider_position_top et_pb_module\"><div class=\"et_pb_divider_internal\"><\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_0 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module et_pb_text_align_center preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><p style=\"text-align: center;\">RACHELLE ROGERS<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_divider_1 et_pb_divider_hidden et_pb_space et_pb_divider_position_top et_pb_module\"><div class=\"et_pb_divider_internal\"><\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_section_1 et_pb_section et_pb_fullwidth_section et_section_regular et_block_section\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_fullwidth_menu_0 et_pb_fullwidth_menu et_pb_fullwidth_menu--without-logo et_pb_fullwidth_menu--style-left_aligned et_dropdown_animation_fade et_pb_bg_layout_dark et_pb_text_align_right et_pb_text_align_right-tablet et_pb_text_align_right-phone et_pb_module\" id=\"menu_font_size\"><div class=\"et_pb_row\"><div class=\"et_pb_menu__wrap\"><div class=\"et_pb_menu__menu\"><nav class=\"et-menu-nav fullwidth-menu-nav\"><ul id=\"menu-rr-divi\" class=\"et-menu fullwidth-menu nav downwards\"><li id=\"menu-item-2319\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-home menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-home menu-item-2319\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/\">Home<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-2425\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-75 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-2425\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/about-rachelle-rogers\/\">About<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-5583\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-5575 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-5583\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/books\/\">Books<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-2427\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-1088 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-2427\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/poetry-3\/\">Poetry<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-222947\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-46905 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-222947\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/blog-luminations\/\">Blog<\/a><\/li>\n<li id=\"menu-item-2586\" class=\"et_pb_menu_page_id-2576 menu-item menu-item-type-post_type menu-item-object-page menu-item-2586\"><a href=\"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/contact\/\">Contact<\/a><\/li>\n<\/ul><\/nav><\/div><div class=\"et_mobile_nav_menu\"><div class=\"mobile_nav closed\"><span class=\"mobile_menu_bar\"><\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_section_2 et_pb_section et_section_regular et_block_section\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_1 et_pb_row et_block_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_1 et_pb_column et_pb_column_4_4 et-last-child et_block_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_1 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_block_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\" id=\"#poetry_banner\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h3>Poetry<\/h3>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_section_3 et_pb_section et_section_regular et_flex_section et_pb_section_parallax\"><span class=\"et-pb-parallax-wrapper\"><span class=\"et-pb-parallax-background et-pb-parallax-background--css et-pb-parallax-background-module--divi-section-3 et_parallax_bg_phone_exist\" style=\"background-image:url(https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/greg-rosenke-kr67X9ralR0-unsplash-web.jpg)\"><\/span><\/span><span class=\"et-pb-parallax-wrapper\"><span class=\"et-pb-parallax-background et-pb-parallax-background--css et-pb-parallax-background_phone et-pb-parallax-background_phone-module--divi-section-3\" style=\"background-image:url(https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/greg-rosenke-kr67X9ralR0-unsplash-web.jpg)\"><\/span><\/span>\n<div class=\"et_pb_row_2 et_pb_row et_flex_row\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_2 et_pb_column et_flex_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough et_flex_column_8_24 et_flex_column_12_24_tablet et_flex_column_24_24_phone\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_2 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>Slipping Through<\/h4>\n<p>I want the way the sun,<br \/>just before evening, threads<br \/>loose and trembling<br \/>through pines; want a nuance<br \/>slant and brilliant<br \/>as one pomegranate seed;<br \/>I want to celebrate the bend<br \/>of clouds, the purpose rooted<br \/>in a yellow moon.<\/p>\n<p>After dark, I wander to that place<br \/>where trees divide, the stars<br \/>a fiery swirl of long-gone light\u2014<br \/>I want that light.<br \/>And feeling wings unfold<br \/>an ecstasy no waxing sun can melt,<br \/>I lift into a blinding sky.<\/p>\n<p>* * *<br \/>Finalist Poet Laureate Prize North Carolina Poetry Society<br \/>Appeared on the<span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"> NC Arts Council Poet of the Week<\/span>\u00a0feature<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_3 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>Confession<\/h4>\n<p>Last night<br \/>I had tickets for the symphony\u2014<br \/><em>The Red Violin Chaconne<\/em><br \/>for which I'd waited weeks and weeks,<br \/>but it was bitter cold<br \/>and a northwest clipper threatened<br \/>to repeat last month's unexpected<br \/>rage of wind and white loosed<br \/>sometime between intermission and<br \/>the fifth ovation,<\/p>\n<p>so I didn't go.<\/p>\n<p>Instead, I distracted<br \/>with bhaklava and Bogart,<br \/>wished for snow enough.<\/p>\n<p>By midnight,<br \/>only a fine flurry of gauze<br \/>dusted the driveway, hardly an excuse.<\/p>\n<p>Today I watch <em>The Red Violin<\/em> again<br \/>reminded when a soul longs to sing,<br \/>the instrument finds it, shapes<br \/>its music, ignites it into<br \/>one transcendent sound.<\/p>\n<p>* * *<br \/><span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"><em>Shaking Like a Mountain<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_4 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>Not Writing<\/h4>\n<p>I<\/p>\n<p>Late October landscape hovers<br \/>unfamiliar. Morning bares a turn<br \/>and loss of sultry days, the stately slant<br \/>of summer browning in a fiery roar.<\/p>\n<p>Shivered peaks squint<br \/>high above the sway of unexpected<br \/>company\u2014seasoned stories<br \/>echoing beneath this shifted sky.<\/p>\n<p>Still, autumn fades to frost, our<br \/>mountain bound again by memory,<br \/>meted out in skimpy winter time,<br \/>when only lowland muses call.<\/p>\n<p>II<\/p>\n<p>Hurry summer! Hurry shameless<br \/>rhododendron quivering<br \/>against misted ridge;<\/p>\n<p>hurry<br \/>Turk's cap, primrose, dahlias fat<br \/>as yellow moons. December<\/p>\n<p>strips me poplar bare, skinny<br \/>branches trembling in a hungry<br \/>wind, and six months still to haiku<\/p>\n<p>sunrise. Hurry metaphor<br \/>and moonwatch, friends long missed.<br \/>Gather close as wildwood. Illuminate<\/p>\n<p>this shadowcurl of rhyme.<br \/>Hurry brilliant summer!<br \/>Graft me from this spindled bone.<\/p>\n<p>* * *<br \/><span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"><em>Sow's Ear Poetry Review<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_3 et_pb_column et_flex_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough et_flex_column_8_24 et_flex_column_12_24_tablet et_flex_column_24_24_phone\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_5 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>Turning Time<\/h4>\n<p>I<\/p>\n<p>From his bronzed skin<br \/>love sparks, lighting in the glass,<br \/>the throat, my better judgment.<br \/>His scent is innocence<br \/>and complication.<br \/>Rare knowing grips my bone.<br \/>Please not now;<br \/>not this demi-man, with eyes<br \/>like polished stone.<br \/>He watches me.<br \/>I stretch my chin, work my fingers<br \/>through his black curls, begin<br \/>to cut, the way he likes it, neat<br \/>and close. Don't be shy, he says.<br \/>I know you, I reply. He smiles.<br \/>We talk of falcon gods. I memorize<br \/>his face, brush lapis from his brow,<br \/>wonder if he'll taste of lotus fruit<br \/>and wild papyrus.<\/p>\n<p>II<\/p>\n<p>Those eyes, our soft-kissed mouths,<br \/>that searching hand upon my thigh, a tangle<br \/>of jeans and legs and hair, the wild terrain<br \/>of intimate geography. Look at us, he says,<br \/>so close, so close, still holding back.<\/p>\n<p>III<\/p>\n<p>With his touch, whole decades<br \/>fall, and I am new as he and naked<br \/>as the sun. My back against his chest,<br \/>we sway before the glass. His hands<br \/>dance over me. He makes me look.<br \/>He tells me zippers are so sexy, slides<br \/>mine down. In bed he whispers woman,<br \/>and I let him curl his mouth along<br \/>the inside of my thigh, my curve of hip,<br \/>that place behind my knee, anywhere<br \/>he wants. Later, loosing jasmine<br \/>from the bedroom sill, I marvel<br \/>at my own audacity.<\/p>\n<p>* * *<br \/>Appeared in<em>\u00a0<\/em><span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"><em>The Pedestal Magazine<\/em><\/span><a href=\"https:\/\/www.thepedestalmagazine.com\/index.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><br \/><\/a>as part of a special feature on North Carolina poets<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_6 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>He Left His Shirt<\/h4>\n<p>the white one, soft crinkled cotton, sleeves<br \/>rolled twice. I put it on; it almost reached<br \/>my knees. Held his imprint\u2014wild, tender.<br \/>We'd watched a film and afterwards<br \/>he cried quietly, one hand over mine,<br \/>head turned away.<br \/>I supposed his anguish was about things<br \/>lost\u2014a home, a wife, the fearlessness<br \/>of youth. A faded hour later we remained,<br \/>two of us, deep in moonless silence.<\/p>\n<p>* * *<br \/><span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"><em>Wildacres Poetry Anthology<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_7 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>Untried Melody<\/h4>\n<p>I've too long grieved what might have been;<br \/>My heart's grown cold as bony, cloistered memory.<\/p>\n<p>We could have danced audaciously<br \/>And drunk of possibility and feasted<br \/>On the richness of a finely seasoned life;<br \/>I would have learned the use of spice.<\/p>\n<p>With re-tuned strings in careful pitch,<br \/>We could have turned an old lament \u2014<br \/>Which echoes still \u2014 into a rhapsody so sweet<br \/>It would have melted ancient doubt.<\/p>\n<p>And when the moon was round and full,<br \/>We could have dared to dream our selves,<br \/>To hold each other past our fear<br \/>And waken to a re-invented day.<\/p>\n<p>But you, in measured distance more than miles,<br \/>Shroud yourself again...in silence...far away.<\/p>\n<p>*\u00a0 *\u00a0 *<br \/><span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"><em>Lucid Moon<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_column_4 et_pb_column et-last-child et_flex_column et_pb_css_mix_blend_mode_passthrough et_flex_column_8_24 et_flex_column_12_24_tablet et_flex_column_24_24_phone\">\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_8 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>Reflection<\/h4>\n<p>It's winter, just days before Christmas.<br \/>Sleet is falling. He stands at the edge<br \/>of the median, thin, red-faced, shivering<br \/>in worn summer denim. Droplets of near-ice<br \/>bead on his matted beard. He holds<br \/>a bleeding sign: HUNGRY.<\/p>\n<p>I've seen him there before, made excuses<br \/>for my indecision\u2014the driver's side window<br \/>doesn't open, the light's about to change,<br \/>business has been slow. I've been warned<br \/>the homeless run scams, make hundreds<br \/>of dollars a day, buy wine and drugs<br \/>instead of food. I can't imagine choosing<br \/>such indignity.<\/p>\n<p>At twenty-five, in Woodstock,<br \/>I begged credit at the local market for<br \/>a can of tuna, a loaf of bread; lived on only<br \/>oatmeal for days and days. I recall my tiny<br \/>cottage\u2014uninsulated, faulty plumbing, stained<br \/>and fraying carpet over unjoined slats<br \/>of pine, the frozen ground visible beneath.<br \/>I wondered how my life could come to that.<\/p>\n<p>The drivers before me avoid the man's<br \/>extended hand, desperate gaze. Inching<br \/>toward him, I see his eyes are filmy gray, ringed<br \/>and swollen. His blue lips quiver. Behind me<br \/>horns honk. I think again of Woodstock,<br \/>of when the market owner, tight-lipped<br \/>and angry turned my credit down. I open<br \/>the door, put my last cash in the man's palm.<\/p>\n<p>* * *<br \/><span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"><em>Calyx: A Journal of Art and Literature by Women<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_9 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>Sunday Through A Rainstick<\/h4>\n<p>I'm reading Seamus Heaney when the phone rings.<br \/>I'll tell you the bad news first, he says.<br \/>I move the receiver slightly from my ear, turn the page.<br \/>I've been eating my tongue, he says and laughs.<br \/>My lower bridge is at the dentist.<br \/>Heaney's words pull me into freer sound\u2014<br \/><em>What happens next is music<\/em><br \/><em>That you never would have known\u2026<\/em><br \/>and I can hear the rainstick sing. Its velvet rattle<br \/>rushes, swells between my father's words, washes<br \/>smooth the prickly forest of concern.<br \/>\u2026angina in my legs ssshhhhh more insurance<br \/>ssshhhhh arthritis acting up ssshhhhh<br \/>weekends lonely ssshhhhh cemetery yesterday<br \/>ssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026<br \/>So what can you do? he says.<br \/>Nothing, I say. Nothing.<\/p>\n<p>* * *<br \/>Honorable Mention <span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"><em>Passager<\/em> <\/span>Poetry Contest Issue\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n<div class=\"et_pb_text_10 et_pb_text et_pb_bg_layout_light et_pb_module et_flex_module preset--group--divi-text--divi-font-header--default\"><div class=\"et_pb_text_inner\"><h4>Celestial Promise<\/h4>\n<p>I am the goddess<br \/>of the sun and of the moon.<\/p>\n<p>I call to you from the vaulted<br \/>prism of day's first light<br \/>wait for you in the crescent<br \/>slant of night.<\/p>\n<p>I am the goddess<br \/>of the moon, the sun.<\/p>\n<p>I lie arrayed by starshine,<br \/>fiery tresses trailing phantoms,<br \/>sealed eyelids anointed<br \/>with the scented dreams of lovers.<\/p>\n<p>I am goddess<br \/>of sun, moon,<\/p>\n<p>Aurora, fallen<br \/>for a hundred years<br \/>into the thorny visions<br \/>of an ancient spell.<\/p>\n<p>Shake me. Wake me up.<br \/>I am goddess.<br \/>I have rested well.<\/p>\n<p>*\u00a0 *\u00a0 *<br \/><span style=\"color: #5b0077;\"><em>Lucid Moon<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":3,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1088","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1088","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1088"}],"version-history":[{"count":17,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1088\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":223214,"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1088\/revisions\/223214"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1088"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}