One thing I've been forever admired, for
is my ability to create...

..a partnership between my body,
and my shadow, that's merely....."Great"!

I jest not, while I document
for those, who have not seen...

..for instance, like last St. Patrick's Day,
when we both arrived in green !

I've been known to mix it up
so, when I'm playing music at a "gig";

I've grown accustomed leaving my shadow at home,
because the dancing makes the patrons....."wig"!

She's not important anymore:
Things didn't go the way that she foresaw-
See her lying on the floor
Can't hurt her more...

Words can't tell you how she feels:
She caught the wrong end of your deals-
You only need her for your thrills
And feels...

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Easing down a woodland trail
long before daylight
full moon's light both gray and pale
although it's shining strong and bright

I've a flashlight in my hand
to guide my knees past tripping vines
in a monochromatic land
while I daydream of ivory tines

Trying to quieten gimpy stride
so woodland creatures I don't disturb
( still hear their scurries as they hide )
in their pre-twilight suburb

Unforgiving tides rush in across
my virtue the crest of the wave
bears down in unrelenting
fashion, testing me.

Clinging to the tapestry of my
being as you fear not the testimony
of any bible that fails to hold
justification in others presence.

Squinting your slanted eyes, your
version trimmed to suit my belief
in it minute, self-confidence was just
a word just something I would observe.

.
I dream the caveman that dwells within
doth triumph over
my soft and genteel nature

dumb and dull
grunting and groaning my voice
stuffing slim pickings into a yawing mouth
over a pool of dirty droppings

"MØLEN STONES"
Margaret Ann Waddicor November 14th 2010.
Inspired by Terje Gröstad's wood cut of the stones
by the sea: "Rullestein." (Stones transported by glacial
erosion, most often round, hence rolled stones!)

Like a sleeping snake
the sea its wake a foam
so quietly souphs on beach and stone,
to suck them give them sheen
to shine again from out the memories
of time's still stance for them.

Who's there?
I don't know
Why not?

Who are you?
I'm you
No, you're not

Look close
I see me
Do you?

Watching fiercely, and glowing bright,
Mother moon, gaurdian of night.
Goddess of twilight,she protects so well,
There to defend, where dark things dwell.

She catches nightmares,with the power of love
Sweeps them away on the wings of a dove,
Do not fear night, for she is the queen,
Glowing in the sky, proud to be seen.

crooked trails
endless highways
trod these weary feet
most often alone --

along the way
lovers known
always thanked
in dreams

harmonicas play
blues tunes unrepentant
born in dark foggy hollows
harmonizing whippoorwill's
lament

forgetting to remember
to forget
moments unnecessary
besetting surreptitious evils

shuddering soul shunts its
way -- scurrying aloft
no taunts left to hear

I’ll pose a question,
and then I’ll answer it at length.
You may laugh, I don’t know
Are women allowed to enjoy sex?

Tradition has it women shouldn’t ,
Even says a woman isn’t built that way.
If that is true, maybe she couldn’t,

Lay back and think of England.
Grin and bare it.
Do it for hubby.

Women who express an interest,
Well they are labelled .
Slag, slut, skank , a hussy.

The funny thing I’ve noticed though ,
When it comes to the male ,
No one is keeping score.