The woods in autumn rain

Inspired by

Nothing stirs, nothing moves
in the still damp air
green leaves turning
to silent shades of brown
hanging lifeless from
lonely reaching branches
tears dripping down on soft earth
sparkle, then drown
in dark pools of sombre sky
smoke from a distant fire
drifts through the hushed wood
invisible and invasive
as a memory
I stand alone beneath the grieving trees
joined in sadness.

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In these last days of summer…

In these last days of summer…

I feel the chill breath of autumn on my skin

the sun rises cold in a clear sky

and I watch each day end

with sadness in my heart

Someone wrote in a comment recently about the deep sadness she feels every day as a survivor of childhood abuse.  I also feel a similar deep sadness that is always with me.  Her comment made me think about how I live with my sadness.  This art journal post is the result but so, I think, is my whole blog.  My sadness fills every page and post.  It looks through the lens of my camera, it powers my pen when I write and it guides my hand through every creation.  It pours into every creative thing I do.  It is maybe like the image of the old journal that I use for these pages.  Its age and experience is there in its stained, yellowing pages that colour everything created on them.  It has lost the clean whiteness that comes from something pure and newborn, it has been shaped by the life it has lived.

Although I would never have chosen the life I have been given I find profound beauty and solace in poetry and photography that I may never have experienced if I had lived a different life.  It moves me that my words and images find a place in other peoples’ hearts and that they can express something personal for each person, whatever their situation.

Fragile

The connection between us
feels as fragile
as a spider’s web,
fine spun silk
that will break
under the weight
of falling autumn leaves
or drifts of winter snow
leaving me alone in the cold.
Should I stay
with this fearful uncertainty
or should I tip-toe away
feel the stretch and break
of the thread
and of my hopes?
Maybe my hopes were
always too frail
to survive
like snowflakes
that melt away
in morning sun.

The Cross

october-memory

Long ago this cross was my lifeline

I clung to it with my eyes

until it became an imprint

on my soul

and a dark stain on my heart

I spent my life

searching for it

as if to find it again

would be a key

to the past

that may unlock me

and set me free

I look at it now

and my breath catches

and my heart flutters

like a dying bird

and I still cannot fly away

I am as trapped as I was

as a child

tracing every detail in my mind

to blot out

the insanity

of men.