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  Siobhan is a poet. She writes fiction toward a romance novel (women's fiction), prose for this website, prose for PenChant, and frequently writes reports and other highly sensitive materials for her professional life. Especially sensual, and often sensuous, Siobhan's verse thrives on the tensions inherent in loneliness, longing, and fulfillment - either through the life of the mind or those moments of life in which our senses are filled with the external to the extent to which loneliness is forgotten. Siobhan is especially proud of her two sons, Colin and Ian Withrow. Both are exceedingly articulate as well as being creative and intelligent persons. Siobhan has recently published her poem "Prairie Widow" online at Prairie Poetry (http://www.prairiepoetry.com/poetry04/poems/pitchfords1.html ). Her poem "Reel Time" made the Illinois Times "People's Poetry" (IT. March 4-10, 2004.) (http://www.illinoistimes.com/gbase/Gyrosite/index.html). Many of her poems appear in Prism Galliard on a regular basis.
For David – who fills my life every day with passion, hope and love
He brought her raspberries And white chocolate Aroused her passion With ordinary words And tears Stories of his life Stories of his fantasy – of what could be
He gave her jewels And poetry Enlightened her mind With intimate intrigue And bold Ideas about the world Ideas about the past – their future
He took her heart And love Embraced her body With passions new And deep Beyond her past Beyond her now – her hopes
He offered her life And joy Trusted her to love With new found hope And desire More than his past More than his now – his life
he brought her raspberries white chocolate and himself
we switch places, we two, flip-flop back and forth, allow the other time enough to converse with the fates, ask why and how come? the answers are never satisfying.
too much work too little time not enough space in the world – no in the universe to hold everything we’ve got to give – yet feel emptiness surround, mock our efforts
on days when I am dazed, confused – you are beside me, comfort, love and hold me tight remind me time enough will find its way I reciprocate when life catches you
off guard. we stand together, accepting gods – goddess and fate’s laughter is ours too
Crystal grey shatters along sidewalks dances across rooftops, lands in your lap, on your shoulders and sprinkles your own grey with shimmering highlights.
Eyes sparkle beneath glitter-fringed bangs you laugh at spots on my glasses and new silk blouse "I'll buy you another," you reply to my pout, tickling me into a smile.
The bench beside Lincoln is no longer warm or dry, we move on hands huddled in pockets against the cold of winter's day with its smatter of shivering rain.
How I long for rainy afternoons in spring away from this cold drizzle when we can walk in its freshness enjoy the scent of new in the air and I won't cry for ruined silk.
Get Me Away from the Weekend Getaway
Sheets rough enough to loofah my back and shoulders, blankets collect static adequate to electrify the lamps and TV, an uncomfortable comforter tops it all. Heat blasts from unseen corners, shower hits me on the chin, in a bathroom too small to turn around in without the potential for physical harm. Walls suitably thin to enjoy nocturnal sounds from neighbors we've never met. Sleep drained from a night of non-rest I wander down thread-bare steps catch a whiff of chlorine-scented early risers on the other side of 'breakfast'.
What about this is continental, comes to mind –
On which continent does breakfast consist of stale muffins, synthetic donuts, bad coffee and watery orange juice? Tales heard of le petit dejeuner conjure images of freshly baked croissant, steamy cups of café au lait served perhaps with fresh fruit. The "All American" describes a plate of eggs, hash browns, bacon and toast, washed down with strong coffee laced with artificial sweetener, colored with non-dairy creamer – and for our health conscious we offer oatmeal. None of this appears on faux-marble countertops Scattered with plastic cups and plates.
Get me away From the weekend getaway Find me my room with a view A cup of good coffee – and you
Sky sniffles today caught between winter’s frosting – spring’s anxious desire Asked to choose I select rain though warmer than today’s lip-chapping chill
Cloud covers her eyes leaving life caught between bare branches – the last leaf hanging high unlikely to let go fall to the ground – dead on the tip of a higher grave
Grey blankets her caught between sunlight underskirts – a misty blue apron denies us mosaic patterns dappled puddles unable to slake our thirst for buds and green grass
Sky sniffles today, covers her eyes and cries wrapped in a grey blanket so I sit and sip frothy cream-filled coffee watch between raindrops see life’s mosaic play out around me caught between now and then.
Let's pretend tomorrow doesn't exist We can act in accordance with this belief as long as neither upends the other by leaking the truth We can whisper secrets meant only for us Cuddle over a kettle of tea laced with brandy Reminisce about generations past, share confessions - sins real and imagined But always we'll pretend tomorrow doesn't exist We can laugh until our sides split and need stitches until wisps of smoke curl from our ears fresh from the fires of our ideas We'll blaze new paths find freedom in the movement of our bodies wrapped around each other as if there really is no tomorrow Yes - let's pretend my love - let's pretend...
Hype and HypocrisyWarning - this poem contains 'strong language and sexually suggestive words'.
Watch the big man in his uniform Grab his crotch See the pretty girl in her uniform Shake her ass Pause – wait Commercial time Erectile dysfunction Can be hard To handle Easy to solve
Ready? And action! Slam bam crash Man down Pompons up Blood and a broken bone Short skirts And plunging necklines Pause – wait Commercial time – again Background music for soda jerks Gyrate, bump and grind Buy me buy me buy me buy ME
Hut hut hike! Those skirts in cheer Body slam and crack skulls Good clean fun Painted bodies in the crowd half-naked, was that a nipple covered in paint?
And another man down Wait – time out Break for half A second of flesh And down comes the world As we know it Crash!
Scramble for the last words Before they slip past Midnight – lost They elude in the dark Approach from east to west Chase sunshine across clear blue Whipped in winter winds Tossed with dry leaves And mixed among the unnatural Green – summer’s memory Lingers past midnight
Yesterday the wind brought a message From Mother Filled with crying for her child And the children living on her Sorrow at their ignorance And intolerance.
Her pleading Grazed my heart, paused me in thought Sent me places I didn’t want to go Had never really sought
Her high pitched shrill Shearing through glass panels Cut deep into my conscience Forced me to look up See what I’d forgotten
A clear sky, no clouds Crisp autumn leaves Hauling winter in behind them Danced across the path Beneath my window
She reminded me of life Playing out around me Asked me to join her In celebration instead of death To waltz with the seasons
Her whispered words In windswept rhythm Pierced me with promises Shattered the pane Released me into the world
Yesterday the wind brought a message From Mother She called to me Come out and play In my sunshine And wind.
Now the gypsy-hearted cow-eyed friend brought roses to her funeral, danced in long flowing gowns
through the crowd; swept them all into her embrace.
Never loved as she had loved, she didn’t
respond to stares and whispered comments. Unwilling to release her self-
doubt into their midst, she kept it hidden within the folds of deep skirts,
wrapped and tucked into the confines of her coffin as she twirled around their confusion.
And – finally free of scrutiny, she left them to their grief.
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