Bischel ■ Harris ■ Panduren ■ Sargent ■ Schlie remembering poets of the "Greatest Generation"
Poems by Wanda Panduren
In Memoriam
Wanda Panduren was born in Deford, Michigan. She was Salutatorian of the 1943 graduating class of Oxford High School and worked for thirty years in the Probate and Superior Courts of her native state and Arizona. She made her home in the desert east of Scottsdale where the surrounding nature helped inspire her poetry. Wanda studied at Oakland University-Michigan, Central Arizona College, and Arizona State University with an emphasis on the arts and creative writing. Her poems have appeared in Bitterroot, Encore, The Country Poet, Lucid Stone, Sandcutters, and various journals, anthologies, and newspapers. She published two chapbooks: Word Pictures and More Word Pictures. A noted writer and choral musician, one of her projects was working on a series of poems inspired by the Pacific Ocean near her summer home in San Luis Obispo, California. Wanda served as an executive board member of the Arizona State Poetry Society and the East Valley Poets. She was a featured poet at McGee Park Poets in Carlsbad, California; the Corners of the Mouth series in San Luis Obispo; Mars Gallery and Divergent Arts in Phoenix; and at the Scottsdale Center for the Arts in Arizona. Her poem Basket of Fire, describing world-famous glass artist Dale Chihuly's Blue Basket of Fire, was selected by the Tempe Arts Commission to be printed into 50,000 bookmarks which were distributed to schools and libraries throughout Arizona. A great-grandmother, she was preceded in death by her husband of forty-five years, Nicholai Panduren. Wanda Marie Spencer Panduren: 9/13/1925 - 6/6/2005.
Please listen to Wanda's poem,
My Swing Was Tied In An Old Apple Tree, recited by her sister, Helen Spencer Schlie.
Journey
Nakai’s flute dreams
of places where night
tumbles from skies
I had forgotten
the singing
of waters No one
takes my hand
to lead me
to the cool lakes
of my ancestors
where Coyote walks
a path for my feet
to place themselves
on parched clay Little stones
stumble In the shadows
high mountains watch
and Shamans
warn of the time
when Nakai sees my eyes
searching
and breathes my spirit
through the cedars
of his flute
Appeared in A Small Book of Words,
p.11. Published 1999 by Words & Spaces.
Fortune Teller
She reads my palm:
There is a legend
in my village of how I dreamed of cities.
I ventured great thoughts, planning
my Glorious Life.
The fortune teller,
her palm heavy with silver, tells how
she watched me toss coins into water
and how, in the warm springtime, this
small stream also dreamed glorious
dreams of overflowing its banks,
becoming a great river—
In the moonlight
the seer returns my gold, laughing—
It is too late.
My village and I are old. Streets are
silent. The wind no longer shouts from
corners where young men shared visions.
The stream does not reflect the silver of
skyscrapers.
I stumble through the cobwebs
of my dreams—
the moonlight laughs.
Published in Caliche Echoes 2003, p.27;
Golden Hind Publishing Co.
Copyright ©. Rights to individual poems are retained. All rights reserved, except as otherwise noted. Reproduction done for other than personal or internal reference use without expressed permission is prohibited.
poetrytrek.com
When You Poured My Tea
What if
in this bright day’s noon
we could pass on the city’s streets
and our shadows could speak
jostling words of old relationships
I can’t forget your skin
stretched canvas-taut
over bones thin as silhouettes
of Sitka spruce
I hear only silence
between the notes of a trumpet’s
blatting noise
All I have left is
a chiseled name
a carved date
a bed with no warmth
the impossibility of yesterday’s touch
Water boils in the copper pot
I pour one cup of bitter tea
to drink
alone
Published in Sandcutters. Spring, 1994. p.36.
Basket of Fire
Blown twirling through space
I gather into grace
Silence speaks
in tongues Come Touch
my silk skin soft as the sea
Open yourself Sit with me
in black-tipped midnights Moons
weep blue tears Melt into me
I am eternal I am more
than larkspur gathered
in ragged baskets Iridescence
pours from my milky way
Look through me
Choose what you will
I am
the mountain lighted
by aurora borealis Call
my name Iliamna half spirit
half woman tilting my face
to the heavens
I feed you
from my blue breasts
Your tongue
remembers glaciers
molten
baskets dancing Gather
my mantle around you
Offer your arms I fill them
with miracles
From The City of Tempe Municipal Arts Commission Artmarks: a visual artist/poet collaboration project; commissioned in 1996.