Reaching finally the tired end
of journey home from work, I stepped into
the sudden silence of the empty driveway
from the heated warmth of car,
and shivered at the crisp cold weight
of darkness gathered round the crunch
of gravel at my weary feet.

On this road that I travel
Hardship is no stranger
Taunting thoughts
Suffocate
My racing mind

Agony opened her doors
Tired from the travels
I was lured into her mansion

Throughout her palace
I could hear voices
Of unforgiving sins
conversing maliciously
As if I wasn’t in the room

"VERNAL WRECKS"
Maragaret Ann Waddicor. 14th October 2010.

Crossed twigs, cracked limbs,
a nose protruding, granite mossed
sarcophagus lid, stark Winter's drought,
spilt seed pods black, antler shapes,
bones brittle, broken, bleached,
brown leaves, layered maps,
the season's robbing sap.

Bleating streams scream,
cleaned out frosted roots,
bleeding reds of fallen beasts,
scoured lake, blank face paled,
impaled bark, feathered fringes faded.

Remake

my beauty,

tear it apart,
torture me in Love’s tempest,
expunge my heart.

Deconstruct
this way of Being,
no form, no shape, no Art,
piece me back together,
a new creation’s start

Debase
my arrogance,
smash this pedestal of pride
dismantle my mainframe,
leave shame nowhere to hide.

Revel
in the Ugliness
of deeper, darker, longer
thrash me to enthrallment,
Samson, only stronger.

A huge old barn sitting alone
overgrown fields all around
its foundation made of local stone
with hand-hewed framework that's still sound.

The once red roof now rusty brown
with faded "See Rock City " white.
One rolling door has fallen down
the other is leaning toward the right.

All the siding's bare and gray
save peeling red beneath the eaves
betraying a well kept yesterday
now dilapidation, no one grieves.

white dove feather
fell to sand

small wind gathered surf,
spraying faces
assembled there

clock ticked twice
died --
no more time

white dove feather
fell to sand
sun illumined
it fell

surf touched it
sand caressed it
ocean swallowed it

dove flew on --
old feather
anyway.

.
rock stars
a silly mess of men, by in large

divas
high strung
daredevils of emotional expression
...and tantrums

actors and comedians
hyper-active look-at-me-look-at-me's

dancers
strangly aloof
apparently trying to stay afloat
even when not a'dance

painters/artists
I have nothing to say of them
though I'll venture to guess
they are as flakey as the rest

and now,
for the last act of the show...

As I stumble across
the forgotten fork in the road
emotion threatens to overwhelm me.
Five friends long ago
we lost in that collision
my first real taste of things not to be.

And I remember how everyone said
(with after sight’s twenty-twenty vision)
if they’d taken the right instead of the left
just made a different decision
or had perhaps been ten seconds earlier or later
they’d still be alive today....

I'm a creature of many habits,
I defy definition, I refuse to be boxed in.
I'm unique , I'm quirky.

I'm a creature, I won't be told how to be.
You won't cage me.
I have autonomy .

I'm a creature, a member of humanity.
I live and breath,
And yet I reek of insanity.

I'm a creature, I'm free ,
I'm who ever I want to be,
I me

Last night as I rummaged through
A box of memorabilia
My hand fell upon
An old photograph of you

How some things never change
Still holding the weight of the world
Upon those strong shoulders
While the sorrow reflects
In your eyes

A mystery
Without an end
An enigma
Never to be known

What was then to you
Is still now
Dismay and distain
Show in a furrowed brow

I slowly placed the photograph
Back in it’s rightful place
Along with the dust of old memories