September 13, 2017

Three Poems by Lisa Keifer: "Autumnal Insight," "Glass Vase," and "The Sister"

Lisa Keifer is a writer, blogger, and stay-at-home mom who enjoys life in Indiana with her husband and son. She has recently been published in Indiana Voice Journal's March 2017 Women's issue and also TWJ Magazine's April 2017 issue. Her work of short fiction entitled "Pre-Calc Predicament" was included in the June 2017 issue of Silver Pen's Youth Imagination. Lisa blogs about family, relationships, and mental health issues at

Autumnal Insight

Cool, crisp breezes brush my cheeks
as on this winding path before me
I see the bright intensity
of scarlets, tangerines, and, yes still, greens
of leaves on towering grand maples and oaks,
fading softly into muddled browns; those leaves
flitting and fluttering about before falling
at my feet from those tall, tall trees which
shadow the ground around me as a
few beams of light filter through
onto dried, deadened folioles crunching
beneath my boots as I make my way along
this dirt lane. Inhaling the rich, earthy
scents of my surroundings, it starts
revitalizing my melancholic soul while I watch
the wide-reaching branches of those towers
swaying and swinging with the wind.
I know to outside eyes, I have lost my way
with no signs telling me where to go.
Though I cannot see the light at the end
of the metaphorical and leaf-lined tunnels,
there is illumination all around me,
however faint it may occasionally seem,
I see this is the direction
my walking should be.

Glass Vase

From my wavy crown, down my long,
slender middle to my ample bottom,
my features are simple yet exquisite, but
I am not conceited--no. No,
modest I must be, for I am
deeply, dully, gloomily blue.

Empty, dreary, I dwell alone
amid numerous others around me
with a purpose better than mine.
I feel the capacity to love yet it is never
a joy they long to share with me
as I do with them.

They are always departing, distracted,
engrossed in their own lives--they forget
about me, who I am, why I’m here.
It is senseless yet sensible:
They are not here for me.
I am here for them.

I feel the dust I gather as I wait,
useless, hollow.
What I do hold is drying up;
it is dead and rotten, making me parched,
parched for something alive.
I want to be full, but my delicate nature
keeps me this way, withering inside,
with all others being stuffed and sated
before me.

What is it that keeps them away?

Humbly, I wait for the day, for renewal,
craving a cool, clean feeling of freshness,
those bountiful bouquets of things
I love most.

Then suddenly one finds me,
one that has never noticed me before this day.
She plucks me from my loneliness and
cradles me in her hands,
full of a youth I used to have. She has
taken to me in a way
I have always craved.
I can be of use to her, I know;
she has a purpose for me,
unable to realize
it is the purpose of which I have
always dreamed.

I am no longer empty inside,
no longer devoid of any
sensations of touch.
I hold life inside me,
green legged and rosy topped,
small in number but ample in love.

Sparkling now, I’m still blue:
Deeply, intensely, sapphire blue
from my voluptuous, curvy bottom
up to my wavy crown.
Exquisitely simple yet gorgeous,
I shine.

The Sister

“We are sisters. We will always be sisters. Our differences may never go
away, but neither… will our song.” ~Elizabeth Fishel

The sister that loves…
She greets with hugs and smiles,
kisses for their cheeks.
Laughs and giggles they share
time after time; secret sister tales
they tell in sleeping bags on the
living room floor. These days
will never end, they say.
Years pass along; she watches
them grow, proud of who
they will be. And yet, her
delight subsides; this is no
longer her happy home.
With hugs and tears,
kisses for their cheeks,
she leaves.

The sister that fears…
Do they know her pain?
Do they hear her perpetual
cries? These afflictions eat
away at her heart, shredding
her to the core. She misses
them daily: Their smiles,
and laughs, even their
frowns. She aches to see
them yet has disconnected;
no longer is she one of
their family. Wholly is
she filled with regret for the
weeks, months, years apart.
In their eyes, is she an
uncaring runaway?
Can they ever forgive
her absence?

The sister that hopes…
Maybe one day they will
understand, with clear eyes
and open minds, unprejudiced
against this sister they
loved so dear. They will
meet to rebuild this dismantled
Sisterhood, with bricks of
apologies and thick mortar
of never-ending love.
She dreams to take them in
her arms once more; soft
whispers resounding,
“I’m sorry.”

Lisa Keifer

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