We are stubborn oak, weathered by time;
the sea in our roots;
indelibly etched with histories;
generations of shriveled feet entrenched in shifting sand;
ankles manacled by smug doctrine-
a vanity of wigs;
a conceit of hollow gestures;
a chaos of language
caught at the throat by immortal diamonds.

…...

Behind the darkened mirror
sits shadows of lost children cowardly nailed;
confined to straddle a pen of brittle palings.
They sway both ways (from side to side)
singing lullabies to a faceless doll:

“Sleep my little one, sleep...”

Never to sleep.
We are destined to eternal night,
weeping for escape from discordant ghosts
wreathed with barbs,
sharp reminders of The Hidden One.

…...

Are you prepared for a reading?

I see fattened thieves squeal
to redolent notes of Victory that is 'The Hymn of Life'.
Puppets,  no longer orchestrated, become their own Masters,
no longer believers of illusions.
Then stepping through window's shattered glass,
discover the New Child
illuminated by an astonished look,
dancing in the gushing fountain of Delight.

Only then will the beginning become the end.

A woman drew herself up from wrecked wood at the bottom of the ocean;
whispered sea-songs into the wistful ear of a long lost love;
shook her locks 'til his heart beat faster;
looked longer than she should into the deep pools of his pleading eyes.

"I will call you when I want to;
I will call you when I want."

Cooled his temples;
breathed her watery breath
as silvered beads streamed down his shocked skin.

                                       .......

Rumors rock an empty drifting boat;
a glazed shell faced with priceless pearl
broken from its moorings,
strangled by a knotted rope.

"You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you"

Hold fast the bestowed gift,
your Quinquireme of stowed treasure.
Protect its precious structure.
"Who are you, the one who stripped my soul?
Who is the third who stole yours?"  

                                          .........

B­roken from netting I lie
a beached starfish on burning sand,
wishing the waves to wash me
back through Time's receding current
to find the silence that once was;
to turn away before the sacrifice,
before the Eye of the storm.



copyright © Caroline Grace 2010

They came in search of incredible sun,
seduced by cicadas and an easy time;
extraneous baggage with nothing to declare.
Two days in:
Sister Rose shrivels on her browning stem;
survives on lettuce leaves and cheap wine.
Pitiable by design, knowing perfectly
she's past her beauty max.
At her feet:
The blue pool cups cured hide
of idle heat-crazed beast
unleashed from his computer belt-
a doughboy moulded to his insubstantial boat-
afloat for fourteen days!
Entwined-
my crazy brother reclines with his latest lover
to share 'delightful' elderflower champagne
through a single straw,
****** together by their eyes.
And in the shade:
mother sits it out in floral silk,
sustained by seventy deniers
and her would-have-liked ideals-
the shadow of a lattice grill tatooed across her brow.

Then as the just deserts arrive,
and darted looks are handed round,
I glower at the heat - crazed ground
and muse-  'it's time to go,'

........but they would never forgive me..

Harvested-
a basket
of ruby jewels!

Here I stand in the kitchen,
a chilled mother with warm thoughts,
easing tissue-thin skins
from slithers of moist flesh.

Birdsong.
Peaceful solitude.
Time unrolls its red carpet.

Considerably reduced,
I slip a few scarlet streaks
into a bone-white bowl.
A familiar voice calls me to the garden.
"Tea dear!"
but I hunger for something stronger.

A rush of love
flies like an arrow
to pierce silence

Suddenly,
season's first sun;
a subtle change of spectrum

Dappled light plays on white walls.  Cotton blanket spread, cool beneath us, we sit in shadow's sanctuary to sip on tea.  Cascades of Jasmine; essence of the garden,

petals plucked
out of the blue.
Afternoon delight.