The missing link - a poetry and art book

Hidden

gentle, gentle trees
casting leaves and shadows
to the sun
hiding from sight the blurs
of existence.
Leaves and shadows,
mingling with the swallows
and furrows of fields
yielding their keep

creativity

Children where have you gone?
Do I live for me now?
with myself for myself.
producing without a belly.
It's hard, and I wish you
were all here to cook for.
It's easier, it's lazier
those days of mothering magic
than now, later in life, knowing I'm me
and producing accordingly

Wounding

The unseen world

of the inner child

Wild, hurt, attacking

misunderstood, maltreated

by life

Rebounding, recoiling at every blow

Staring at other spawning adults

Watching helplessly as their

inner glow is instructed

where to go - anywhere

but here,

amongs the things

we need

What about Death

Death the last, or, first hurdle?

Opening towards transcendent floors

and gateways doors to phase

two

Ways, paths climbing mountains,

resting in valleys of new dimensions

When will Death come and I'll

know for sure

that I was here and am no more?

But how can I know I am no more,

If I cannot know I am no more

then I couldn't have been,

And that I've been my

children have seen.

Anyway I'm still here and

wish to stay, sending my Death day

on future' winding way

An Emerging Shadow

I was a shadow, bereft, envy lent

its lance too. My eyes grew dim from

loss and achieved little fame -

only that within four white-washed

walls.

Pictures come and pictures go and I

am no longer a shadow. My past is

gone, yet wounds me daily. Love

flickers here and there, but my

Dread remains, ensconced within

the hardness of the white-washed

walls. For they remain and tinge

my insanity.