There is a now

There is a now,
there is a then,
there is a will be
too, and yet
there is no truth
in this - for time
does not exist.
Within the acorn
of our Soul,
they all do live
as one, and circle
in eternal turn,
as present, future
past.

They say we are not separated

They say we are not separated,
in any true, real sense,
and yet when you are far away,
there feels no sure connect.
Perhaps in dreams we are as one,
united in that world,
where time and distance disappear,
and we unite again.

Autumn Days

 

The days draw darkly,

coolly through,

the lingered sunlight hours,

to speak of winter's presence,

to honour summer's dreams.

The words were waiting

The words were waiting

The words were waiting, hovering
below the skirts of mind,
as conscience gathered them in hand,
to step into the fray.
They lingered by the hem of thought,
slow drifted through my lips,
until I saw they'd sallied forth,
to say what should be said.
And in release they held their ground,
full shadowed by my doubt,
as born of dark necessity they
formed in armoured ranks.
Fears and hopes had marshalled them,
without my knowing how,
they would perform upon the field;
if victory would come.
The words were waiting, hovering
below the skirts of mind,
as conscience gathered them in hand,
to step into the fray.

Within myself

Distant Seas, Oil on Canvas, 2010, Roslyn Ross.


Within myself the gathering
is always to be  seen,
of who I am and who you know,
and who I want to be.
And then there is the mother,
the wife and daughter too,
the sister and the lover,
the writer and the friend.
And yet within the crowding,
there is eternal I,
who gathers me unto itself;
creates eternal Soul.

I looked upon your face

Walk on the Sand, Oil on Canvas, 2010, Roslyn Ross

 I looked upon your face and saw,
myself reflected there,
as memory and image,
as two, now one, all shared.
The joining of two souls,
had made relationship,
the heiros gamos brought to birth,
in deep, eternal gift.

Dark Days

Dark Days, Oil on Canvas, 2011, Roslyn Ross.

The day dawned clouded,

petrified; a darkened

stone of strife, just thrown

upon the pebbled lap

of what I called my life.

Sea and Stone

Sea and Stone, Oil on Canvas, 2011, Roslyn Ross.


The sea in silent lick lays waste,
to stone's eternal self,
and in the drag and suck of wave,
drinks deep of rock's old soul.

Autumn Leaves

The leaves like laughter floated down
on Autumn's cooling breath,
in shining notes of gold and red,
which sang of wintering death.

Frosted lawn

The night had kissed
 with silver tongue,
the tufts of lawn,
and grass, to leave
in shining, frozen dew,
a grace, which
could not last.

Ocean

In deliquescent rolling
the ocean slips from view,
and sows its salty seeds,
in greens and whites and blues.

Smell of colour

Smell of colour,
shape of wind,
sound of sun,
feel of life:
plays within,
without knowing,
creates, dissolves-
reveals.

The mirror mocked...

The mirror mocked
my inner Self,
revealed another truth,
that had no sense
of who I was,
and gave my Soul
no grace.
Reflected back
in stark relief,
the image was
quite real,
and yet it was not
who I was,
and held no
trace of me.

Disappearing days

The days
in disappearing
danced,
without me
noticing,
and suddenly,
the moments came,
when I knew
they had been,
although no more
than ghostly shapes,
still lingered
on those hours,
and shivered in
amongst the thoughts
that  now were
part of me.

To catch a glimpse

To catch a glimpse
of world's beyond,
of time as quite unreal,
and seeing through
the cornered eye,
all is not as it seems.

I told myself

I told myself
that I could be,
anything I chose,
and in the wandered
years I found,
more choices
made for me,
than any I could
specify, demand
or put in place.
And in this measured
doing, I found
just who I was;
returning to the
source, where
it had all begun,
and seeing
for the first time,
the truth
I would become.

For just a minute

For just a minute,
there you were,
brought back
through time,
to be, in close,
familiar countenance,
though you were
lost to me.

There was a day

There was a day
I told myself,
when I would reach
that place, where
all would be
resolved, established,
and made right.
And then the voice
so quiet, whispered
through the words
that there was only
ever, the place
where I was now.

Concertina years

The years move in and out,
in concertina dance,
to make the song of life,
which honours all I am.
Some moments seem so long,
then others seem so short,
but in the breaths of time,
they sing in harmony.
Drawn-out tones of past,
stand at future's side,
as each clears present's throat,
to celebrate the now.

The day draws close

The day draws close
the shreds of night,
still tangled
in the dawn,
and drapes herself
in lustrous shape,
upon a newborn world.