Thursday, October 23, 2014



Folded neatly, the origami of my days,
like pyjamas placed upon morning's
pillow, where the day is painted in
slow, blurred strokes, upon dawn's

fresh, clean face, and I sit and rock
backwards and forwards, keening
through waves of grief which had
been kept waiting, at the dirty feet

of darkest night, placed inexorably
beneath the tousled bed of mind and
its tangled sheets of creased feeling,
which wait, to be tidied and tucked

yet again, that there may be order,
at least, for a few, bright hours of
sunshine, and forgetting of all that
the darkness still holds to its heart.


  1. "at the dirty feet of darkest night"... what a great image - I like this poem a lot.

    1. I forgot to look for your other interest. I'm not sure - you were subtle... are you one who likes to organize things?

    2. My greatest interest is understanding the human psyche and condition. :) It is my raison d'etre.

  2. This is a visual treat, Roslyn. Wonderful. As for your 'interest' -- I was leaning toward painting, and then I suddenly thought maybe printing ... like stencilling on fabric.

    1. Archaeology of the psyche comes closest.

  3. Deeply emotive...I forgot that I was trying to figure out your hobby until I glimpsed your comment above this...I can totally gather that interest from your poem, too. I was reading your second stanza a song started playing on a CD that I listened to a lot last winter but not since...the specific song that happened to be playing is one that pulls such grief from my depths...between that and the specific wording of your, it was raining indoors for a moment here.

    Any way probably too many words here but I think that particularly, that kind of grief that waits and that has so many layers for its's all so very intriguing.

    Thank you for your poem. ♥

    1. Thank you Hannah. And feelings are better out than in.... so glad the poem aided that process in synchrony with the song.