Musings by Edith McClelland (best books to read for women txt) 📕

CONFLICT

The soul of art
hidden deep
The soul of an artist -
Carried bleak

The need to paint
Cries to be born
The need to create -
carried alone

The pain of art
all bare to see
The pain of an artist -
carried in me

The joy of art
viewed on the page
Joy of the artist -
hard to gauge

Speak no harsh words
to wound and bleed
speak not at all -
nor make me weep

MORNING COFFEE MUSING

Where do we go when we grow up?
What do we feel -
inside?
What have we done with our lives
what have we achieved?

Many things to do
yet no will to believe
that the strength is there -
no pride.
Reflections in the coffee
no answers there -
solitary musings
in the cold morning air.

DISCONNECTED

Different shapes
different sizes -
who are these people
are they alive?
Individual
Unique
yet somehow same -
their troubles inside.
See no pain
see no grief
just carry it round -
hidden deep.
Countless bodies
Milling by
Never to share
Or wonder why…

ON SILENT FEET

Stillness in the night
Quietly creeping by
The ticking clock -
A distant baby’s cry.
Disjointed noises
Carried through the air
Soft warm dark -
No harsh light’s glare.
The house lies silent
Peacefully asleep
No counting sheep -
On tiny silent feet.

WRITER’S DILEMMA

With pen poised and
ready to go
the words in my head -
around they flow.
Inspired yet blocked
I know not why
it becomes so frustrating -
I could almost cry.

GLIMPSES OF SUMMER PAST

Whispers on the wind to carry a winter message
clamouring through the naked trees –
last leafy vestiges of autumn, clinging on.
Fields empty of cattle and sheep,
now closed in from the biting chill
sweeping over the hills and beyond.
Watery sun rays filter down, half hearted
and waning, in distant memory of
the summer warmth.
Inside we huddle up for heat, the flames
licking and crackling at the logs
burning noisily in the hearth.
In the soft flickering light, furry bodies
curl together – cat and dog
lie in gentle dreams, twitching and
whimpering – unassuming.
Perhaps they chase an elusive quarry
across a distant mossy fen
and, as I watch in quiet amusement,
my mind drifts off to
the sweet memories of summer to come again.

RAINDROPS

Today it rained
no sun shone down,
the clouds were heavy –
almost touched the ground.
I stayed at home,
did not go out –
just read a bit and
pottered about.
It’s raining still,
it hasn’t ceased
but at least I know
the plants are pleased.

WHY?

The gentle rain
as we laid to rest
the savage pain
within ravished breast.
Heaven’s wings
softly calling
your soul away -
my teardrops falling.
The silent noise
of a heart now ceased
unnatural in absence
alone in defeat.
My voice in the night
screaming “why?”
You left me Dad -
Why did you die?”

Publication Date: 04-01-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
For Dad