Two Poems by Tom Squitieri

Storm Surge

It forced me out of the dream
The storm that was a-coming
its passionate energy
meant to applaud us
As others sought shelter
A semi-rested body no more
Now full of energy.
Wondering why I had risen when I did
Now clearly known
The clock from the world
Quaked and my trembling excitement
Continued forcefully with its power
To add to the replenishment that was christening me
Zeus is reminding, then commanding
Storm surge to peel back
The cobwebs of sluggish 
Sweeter coffee to stir the next act
The overture has stopped
Confident in its success 
As this mark in time makes it clear
The other storms continue to rage
Now more ready
In a few hours
The sun will smile all over my body
Observing the details of the trance
From its penetration
The cup poised perfectly
balanced Borealis beauty
The knowing
Not yet, though. 
Now it is a new morning’s succor of darkness,
As it too awaits being greeted with 
   your beauty,
   your allure, 
   your mystery 
and my fully, fully awake dreams of you
true mate, and far for the moment
So only moonbeams caress me as I drink my coffee on the deck
It's a lovely morning. Soon sunshine 
will hold hands with the shadows.
No, no, it says.
Don’t change anything
To hear you sing
The birds defer, say go ahead
As the green aura finally embraces me


The moment when I feel just you
far away in truth, 
Flush next to me in 
My wishful reach
You know where this is
The dark sky presents
Its privileged canvas
To me
Peering for your
A gray catbird,
Atop the dense, tangled thicket,
insists in his long song that,
For me,
you bestow transmuted illumination
Fill the lacuna
Pierce the impenetrable
Release the primaveral dazzle
He knows wisely all that is
Holding me back
Our true moons are
Never the colors
That the timid imagine
Nor do they ever know
Smells of a hopeful
New day
Tom Squitieri

Tom Squitieri is a three-time winner of the Overseas Press Club and White House Correspondents’ Association awards for work as a war correspondent. His poetry appears in several publications and venues. He writes most of his poetry while parallel parking or walking his dogs, Topsie and Batman.

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