About Marie
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Ms. Ross has been published in numerous: Anthologies, Literary Journals, and newsletters. She read her poetry at various open-mics and special occasions across the valley and beyond. Ms. Ross has been published in the 2012, International Poetry Contest Anthology, (as poems of interest), Little Red Tree Publishers, New London, Ct.
She was also published in a book of poetry entitled “Wine Cheese and Chocolate”, by Manzanita Press, distributed in: wineries, wine boutiques and wine venues across the country. Her works have been published in Whispers Along The Delta, Sun Shadow Mountain an Anthology, Shadow’s Ink Selected Poems, The Song Of The San Joaquin, Rattle Snake Review, Poet’s Espresso and has received two honorable mentions in The Ina Coolbrith Circle poetry contests. Her poem “Oh Honored Stone” is inscribed in granite at the All Veterans Memorial Plaza in Lodi, California. | ||||
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This is a poem Marie J. Ross wrote when our fellow poet Stephen M. Wilson passed away...
A Place in the Heavens
Life concedes
Death takes wing
Spirits consume the spaces
Sensitive, kind, inspirational people
Revive on the breath of its tranquility
Like the ocean’s undulating tide
And shifting crowns
A poets words sing in its eternal flow
Stephen Wilson, holds a place in the heavens
In the boundless library of poets
And their art of words.
He was called to Eden to pen stanzas
To set them on the wind and whitest clouds
So that angels might hear their purest forms
Steven is THERE ---IS HERE
On ocean’s sounding tides
On the horizons fading each night into day
In the spaces of tranquility’s peace
His poetic voice still heard!
By
Marie J. Ross
A Place in the Heavens
Life concedes
Death takes wing
Spirits consume the spaces
Sensitive, kind, inspirational people
Revive on the breath of its tranquility
Like the ocean’s undulating tide
And shifting crowns
A poets words sing in its eternal flow
Stephen Wilson, holds a place in the heavens
In the boundless library of poets
And their art of words.
He was called to Eden to pen stanzas
To set them on the wind and whitest clouds
So that angels might hear their purest forms
Steven is THERE ---IS HERE
On ocean’s sounding tides
On the horizons fading each night into day
In the spaces of tranquility’s peace
His poetic voice still heard!
By
Marie J. Ross
The Other Side of the Moon
It was in that cold room that metallic machine sounds grumbled.
Clouds shadowed from sun stained windows with a steady haze.
It was in that room with the sterile curtain drawn, the hospital bed
Sunk with an un-breathing, and I lost him.
But, I thought I heard the moon speak, mouth orating hopeful words,
“Don’t worry you will meet him again on the other side of me”
I recall beach sands carrying our foot prints, as we threw our sandals to the wind,
The sun on our skins our dreams in the ethers. We watched the rolling in, rolling
Out of the waves, until the horizon wrapped us in its pale crimson scarf.
I recall evening stars hovering over Mac Arthur Park, as he took the heavenly hint,
And kissed me with respect. I looked into his gentle eyes, clasped his hands tightly
Just to converse, laugh, or just say nothing.
That wonderful autumn day, when leaves fell like musical notes, he shyly breathed his
Love song in my ear, “Lady”. How could I not feel his love? I answered with a gentle
Quote, “My mind is not yet set for commitment.”
How many times I gazed into his deep blue eyes, wanting to experience their mystery.
One night, under a romantic sky I faltered; he wrapped me in his masculine arms, the
Universe whirled with our rhythms and I became completely his
June 1st the day of my life, from beach to park to loving arch. We committed our soul’s
One to another. The wedding band he slipped on my gloved finger, the preacher’s words
Floating like feathers in the wind, we kissed under the magic of forever.
Now I stand in that cold room, imagine the hand of God lifting him to a garden of flowers,
Soil, roots, and stems watered by his liquid blue eyes
As he waits for me on the other side of the moon
By
Marie J. Ross
It was in that cold room that metallic machine sounds grumbled.
Clouds shadowed from sun stained windows with a steady haze.
It was in that room with the sterile curtain drawn, the hospital bed
Sunk with an un-breathing, and I lost him.
But, I thought I heard the moon speak, mouth orating hopeful words,
“Don’t worry you will meet him again on the other side of me”
I recall beach sands carrying our foot prints, as we threw our sandals to the wind,
The sun on our skins our dreams in the ethers. We watched the rolling in, rolling
Out of the waves, until the horizon wrapped us in its pale crimson scarf.
I recall evening stars hovering over Mac Arthur Park, as he took the heavenly hint,
And kissed me with respect. I looked into his gentle eyes, clasped his hands tightly
Just to converse, laugh, or just say nothing.
That wonderful autumn day, when leaves fell like musical notes, he shyly breathed his
Love song in my ear, “Lady”. How could I not feel his love? I answered with a gentle
Quote, “My mind is not yet set for commitment.”
How many times I gazed into his deep blue eyes, wanting to experience their mystery.
One night, under a romantic sky I faltered; he wrapped me in his masculine arms, the
Universe whirled with our rhythms and I became completely his
June 1st the day of my life, from beach to park to loving arch. We committed our soul’s
One to another. The wedding band he slipped on my gloved finger, the preacher’s words
Floating like feathers in the wind, we kissed under the magic of forever.
Now I stand in that cold room, imagine the hand of God lifting him to a garden of flowers,
Soil, roots, and stems watered by his liquid blue eyes
As he waits for me on the other side of the moon
By
Marie J. Ross
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Marie's Work
Mood Wings (coming soon)
Marie in Moon Mist Valley (anthology) Poets' Espresso (periodical) Sun Shadow Mountain (anthology) |
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| broadside_march_2012-_no_1.pdf |
Marie's Experiences
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The Other Side of the Moon
It was in that cold room that metallic machine sounds grumbled. Clouds shadowed from sun stained windows with a steady haze. It was in that room with the sterile curtain drawn, the hospital bed Sunk with an un-breathing, and I lost him. But, I thought I heard the moon speak, mouth orating hopeful words, “Don’t worry you will meet him again on the other side of me” I recall beach sands carrying our foot prints, as we threw our sandals to the wind, The sun on our skins our dreams in the ethers. We watched the rolling in, rolling Out of the waves, until the horizon wrapped us in its pale crimson scarf. I recall evening stars hovering over Mac Arthur Park, as he took the heavenly hint, And kissed me with respect. I looked into his gentle eyes, clasped his hands tightly Just to converse, laugh, or just say nothing. That wonderful autumn day, when leaves fell like musical notes, he shyly breathed his Love song in my ear, “Lady”. How could I not feel his love? I answered with a gentle Quote, “My mind is not yet set for commitment.” How many times I gazed into his deep blue eyes, wanting to experience their mystery. One night, under a romantic sky I faltered; he wrapped me in his masculine arms, the Universe whirled with our rhythms and I became completely his June 1st the day of my life, from beach to park to loving arch. We committed our soul’s One to another. The wedding band he slipped on my gloved finger, the preacher’s words Floating like feathers in the wind, we kissed under the magic of forever. Now I stand in that cold room, imagine the hand of God lifting him to a garden of flowers, Soil, roots, and stems watered by his liquid blue eyes As he waits for me on the other side of the moon By Marie J. Ross |
Deep Down
Music”
Under the shadow of moon
she listens to music:
New York, Los Angeles,
Jump man hop.
And saxophone rituals
Mellow, bittersweet,
Wanting.
Drums are elixirs for her passion;
Her feet drinking in
Every rhythmic beat.
Ivory keys
Play soulful renditions
like carpet rides to Shangri -la.
All notes vibrate...
March off manuscripts through….
Her red rooms,
Through blue pulses,
And sun pausing on her window pane.
Deep down music:
Is her existence:
Her New York,
Los Angeles,
Jump man hop,
Where she sits in their parlors and lives.
By
Marie J. Ross
Published in- Sun Shadow Mountain An Anthology
Revised
Music”
Under the shadow of moon
she listens to music:
New York, Los Angeles,
Jump man hop.
And saxophone rituals
Mellow, bittersweet,
Wanting.
Drums are elixirs for her passion;
Her feet drinking in
Every rhythmic beat.
Ivory keys
Play soulful renditions
like carpet rides to Shangri -la.
All notes vibrate...
March off manuscripts through….
Her red rooms,
Through blue pulses,
And sun pausing on her window pane.
Deep down music:
Is her existence:
Her New York,
Los Angeles,
Jump man hop,
Where she sits in their parlors and lives.
By
Marie J. Ross
Published in- Sun Shadow Mountain An Anthology
Revised
Visions’ on Canvas.
Visions appear,
move across the canvas
his perspective
is dominated
like a muse from a writers pen
yet his paint brush
stand stoic in the refreshing bowl
He places his finger to his forehead
Canvas is unused weight on the easel
blank and waiting
Looking from wall to wall
He picks up the brush
unusual character analysis forth comes
It was just last week
I received good news
Why this
This rush of question
yesterday
Why
as the arrival of sunrise paints a
hues of pastel ribbons on horizon breath.
Majestic mountains in distant array
ware crowns of halo's frozen in time.
The sight of it blows the voice of God
through my ears, my hands folded in reverence..
and, now I see bristles stroking sunset to
a quiet sleep, paint spilling into the bucket of night.
The canvas holds my visuals, as, landscapes
slip slowly into moonlights shadows.
I place the frame on
on an imaginary easel,
and close my eyes to the
call of night.
By
Marie J. Ross
Visions appear,
move across the canvas
his perspective
is dominated
like a muse from a writers pen
yet his paint brush
stand stoic in the refreshing bowl
He places his finger to his forehead
Canvas is unused weight on the easel
blank and waiting
Looking from wall to wall
He picks up the brush
unusual character analysis forth comes
It was just last week
I received good news
Why this
This rush of question
yesterday
Why
as the arrival of sunrise paints a
hues of pastel ribbons on horizon breath.
Majestic mountains in distant array
ware crowns of halo's frozen in time.
The sight of it blows the voice of God
through my ears, my hands folded in reverence..
and, now I see bristles stroking sunset to
a quiet sleep, paint spilling into the bucket of night.
The canvas holds my visuals, as, landscapes
slip slowly into moonlights shadows.
I place the frame on
on an imaginary easel,
and close my eyes to the
call of night.
By
Marie J. Ross
Breathing Colors
She stood ingesting colors
to ingest color is to
feel the liquid of their
flesh.
To inhale their moods
and let them kiss you
coolly.
To press your fingers on
ice blue waters and sip
all calm off sapphire skies.
and feel the dress of green
behavior slide or’e the land
of natures prides.
To touch the brown of mighty
trees the kings and lords of
all the land,
And see the sunrise curve
off bracelets swung from the
crimsoned goddess hand.
To know the solemn brush of
sunset paints its house with
quiet dreams,
where constant hues of rushing
twilight, spins the night to sunless
gleams.
So:
.
Ingest the spirit of these colors
feel their liquid flesh repeat,
Inhale their moods of splendid
moments, to give your soul that
place to meet.
Marie J. Ross. Honorable mention in the 2000
Stockton Arts Commission’s
Poetry contest. (some revision)
She stood ingesting colors
to ingest color is to
feel the liquid of their
flesh.
To inhale their moods
and let them kiss you
coolly.
To press your fingers on
ice blue waters and sip
all calm off sapphire skies.
and feel the dress of green
behavior slide or’e the land
of natures prides.
To touch the brown of mighty
trees the kings and lords of
all the land,
And see the sunrise curve
off bracelets swung from the
crimsoned goddess hand.
To know the solemn brush of
sunset paints its house with
quiet dreams,
where constant hues of rushing
twilight, spins the night to sunless
gleams.
So:
.
Ingest the spirit of these colors
feel their liquid flesh repeat,
Inhale their moods of splendid
moments, to give your soul that
place to meet.
Marie J. Ross. Honorable mention in the 2000
Stockton Arts Commission’s
Poetry contest. (some revision)
We miss you so much Marie! May your spirit be dancing on the other side of the moon with your beloved husband in heaven forever.
