I am to have Star Wars treatment,
placed in ******* in my space, 
laced and strapped and branded, 
ready for initiation fires
to permeate my skin, purge my sin, 

enter in to places undesired, 
exercise the halls that have inspired, 
pacify the devils now within, 
banish, excommunicate their whim,
starve them, beat them, flail them, shrivel them,
send them packing fast, 

save the rest a cavernous shell,
glean the remnants of my soul, 
change the negative into positive flow, 
a strange enlightenment method, 
so brutal, so brave, transformed, 
perhaps deformed and changed.

A row of letters
written
attracts other words
as in all else
I strive to make a whole

like ants around a heap
they gather in my mind
some put on hold
as later they will come to use
but not before they're weighed
judged apt

then they're considered
their rhythm
rhyme and meaning coincides  
a flash of recognition gives them impetus
they play their subtle game
running round the corridors of my brain

then out they pour in unison
a choir of  random thoughts
gels into a poem unexpressed
the letters gather on the page
to my surprise
I recognise their message
develop it  
to sit back and sigh
was it truly I who wrote it
it must be a new life before I die

Margaret Ann Waddicor 18th December 2015

Now the year will soon change to a new one
and take us with it on its inevitable journey
in what we call time

we roll on in the changing weathers
and changing fortunes
gathering new impressions of the whole
but never coming to the conclusion

like time
it goes on forever
we cannot know it all
we cannot fathom the reality of this universe

only create our hypotheses
and hope that they give a frame of thought
that can guide us
through its vicissitudinous spiral
from birth to not being

although we never leave
as there is no space around us
nowhere that there is nothing
even if we tend to call it air
as that too has its chemical compound
and is full of invisible particles
of which in the final analysis
we are a part of

Margaret Ann Waddicor 17th December 2015

A poem is like a gem, the saturation of a text,
so complete, and being shorter than prose text,
beautiful as such.

In the readers mind, while reading,
it dances in unison with his own thoughts,
his gathered knowledge, his word associations,
his joys and sorrows.

He uses this symbiosis as a harmony,
or marriage of perception, that gives his reader,
a different experience, just as the poet himself,
has had his own unique experience in the writing of it.

Hidden in poetry are meanings we don't understand 
feelings explained
embroidered on the everyday shirt of life 
each individual song its special message  
sewn with a delicacy of stitch in silver or gold 
iron or steel wire 
stitched into our minds with invisible threads
joining the synapses of emotion and imagination
taking us on a journey through past present 
future and no place in time yet studied
stretching its long fabrics
far into the horizons of our perception 
forming shapes and patterns 
that have the same magic as music 
inexplainable joys and sorrows 
that burden our senses with sadness and sheer ecstasy

Margaret Ann Waddicor 1st April 2015

We entered the wood    
losing all weight
in the silence

Friends are like moss
on stones
softening the way