I couldn’t help the fall.20200408_223824

The years passed by,

Time was numbered

By my rings.

I watched;


Their words lost in the wind.

The children changed

With the seasons.

Rooms less visited,

Then empty.

Birds nested in their windows.

College and marriage ;

New children arrived;


Cars pull away

With promises to return.

One light in the room upstairs

One light on the porch.

The dog too old

To run after thistle seeds in fall.

Another spring returns,

The house is empty.

Nothing but a path to a paint chipped door

Strewn by nettles and primrose.

They are gone;

My sleep too long.

I have missed them.

Roots deep,

I cling to the  mystery

Of children’s games, and clean Laundry on the line.

The tap, tap, of my sap in the bucket.

It was the summer wind that blew me down,

Too old,

I fall

Crushing brick and stone;

Weeds and vines caress

The altar

Of my beloved.








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Under Grecian archesImage result for Ballet Studio At The Opera In Rue Le Peletier, 1872

The flourish of tulle fills the empty spaces

Virginal white.

Music box dancers

Dreaming of more.

Posture, alignment, discipline and flexibility

En pointe with the whim of the instructor.

The cane is not just for show.

A stranger has arrived,

Heavy with the weight of responsibility;

Indifferent to the art,

He will choose

The coquettish smile.

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Cast onImage result for women who knit in the revolution

We dream

As we create.

The muse whispers.

World evolves in orderly patterns;



To the dreamer.

Through the stitches:

Philosophy, art,





Love, indifference,

Joy, disappointment.



Cast off.

Let it go.

Survive failure.

Pull the weave out and start again.

Learn patience.

Begin again.



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In a dream she had seen it,

“Go into the womb of earth”

She said

“The Creator stores toolsImage result for storytelling by firelight art


With respectful silence

They doubted her

And returned to their beds.


In the Hum of change,

the season shifted to fall.


Four women returned

Wide eyed


Everyone watched

As they walked

to the old woman’s hut

and kneeled.

Emptying one basket

Onto the ground:

Image result for ancient copper artefacts

Shining rocks

Like embers in a fire.


The wise woman appeared

From the door of her hut.

Supported by her grandchildren,


Innocent child on either side.

Words fell away,

The village waited for


Anything .


The sound of fighting


The curious caw of a raven,

Whispering  leaves;

Nature’s ululation.

“What does it mean?”

A voice

Cut through the silence

Like profanity.

Clearing her throat

The old woman

Began to laugh,

“You create.”







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Think of meImage result for victorian factory workers

With a deep inhale:

When the sun rises

Between the columns of the cathedral.

Smelling the foggy morning

Factory smoke mingled dew.

Bread fresh in the wee hours of dawn,

Waiting for the tired housemaid.

With soft touch:

Brushing past the

Oak in Kensal Green;

I waited in my best dress.

Apple ripe-


Like a razor.

Taste of the market in fall

Tinged with green.

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