Old-Fashioned Comfort

We loved your ample bosoms,
Dear Grandmothers,
So soft and pillow-like;
The perfect place to lay sleepy heads.

We loved your voluminous laps,
Dear Grannies,
Wrapped in yards of cotton;
The perfect place to rest teary faces.

We loved your full long dresses,
Dear mothers of our parents,
In lengths well past your knees;
The perfect place to hide a shy child.

Holding Faith

You’ve been jumping off the edge
Without a hand to hold.

Love, it seems, can be
As rare as angel’s bones.

Yet, the thorn cuts the finger
Of the very hand that cuts the bloom;

Sometime there is pain in beauty.

Sometimes a Garden - Anthology

http://battistonpublishing.com/

Memory Child

I want to roll down that grassy hill,
Again in Mississippi, bare-footed
In my ‘petticoated’, polka-dotted, flouncy dress,
Sashes hanging untied down the back.
And walk through the fragrant gardens
Of brogan wearing old-maid great aunts;
Hiding half-way behind her dress,
Clinging to the wrinkly flesh of my Granny’s arm.

Forever Quiet

Forever Quiet
Failed romance, again.
Well done! As planned
After all, that is how
You choose them, isn't it?
A brief distraction from
The One who is, after all
The Only. The only one
Who gets you, the only
One who knows unrevealed
Places of the soul. And the
Hidden innuendos that
Torture a throbbing
Tongue to utter are
Forever quiet.

Diamonds of the Snow

Diamonds of the Snow
The chilling siren-cry pierces the cold black night,
The echoes hang frozen in the air.

A moon shines forth a slender beam of light
To reveal the shimmer of jewels hidden there.

And a lone wolf morosely maneuvers devoid of fright
Seeking its solitude amongst the trees, some refuge where
It can find a comfort, as if anything could be.