LAUREL

Undone

like a now-missed button fallen from my jacket
too late I realised no hope of going back to find you
so close I overlooked you
gambled one fine thread would keep you hanging on
now how many helpless days will I turn back
reach to make that gentle stitch
some small re-weaving I might not unravel

Knee-deep

Winter lies too heavy on this place.
Black dawn to black dusk the sun hardly bothers.
Even the moon is blue these nights shedding
sad violet on the pallid ground.
Icicles grown twisted
with the weight of their own tears
await the inevitable
drop
and shatter to oblivion.
Birches crack and moan
disappointed down to their old lady bones.
And oh the snow
(endless expanse of waiting,
far fields of heartless white)
buries everything without remorse or right.
All through the long night,
all through the half-light
the wind sighs round the windows
my soul sighs back.

Solace

I've become addicted to the night.
While all compliant souls are buried under sleep
I glide
lone and stalwart as the moon
sailing through the dark
in the company of cats and ticking clocks
I navigate the gentle rooms examining the moonlight
that recreates the world
How fine and rare my small life looks when cast in silver
What a pleasing intrigue shadows paint on the mundane
in the secret colours that bloom only after midnight
I am easy in this plane of whispers.
It is mine.
Time spreads beneath the weight of night
to let me slip between the minutes
to where time has no dominion and each sweet thing
I ever knew or dreamed
is waiting
patient as my mother's hand.

Forgive Me Buddha

It seems that I learn nothing
for all the years flowed round me
I am still grasping at pale yesterdays
I want to let the river run as you have taught me
accept with gratitude and let it go
to spite myself I crave each bitter drop
cannot release a single faded kiss
deny each lie, each careless word
that left it's mark upon my heart
I cannot stop the wheel or turn the tide
this is the path of my contrary soul
tangled in the bygone, washed over and again
till faceless in this river of smooth tears.

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Page copyright Tuesday, September 08, 1998 tara Scofield
Poetry copyright 1998 by Cheryl Ross. If you have questions please email the author at
Cheryl Ross