Saturday, September 26, 2009


Winter falls.
Cold surrounds
and tightens
her icy fingers
on our souls.

Chilling raindrops
are lost in the
inky darkness
slowly seeps
under the windows and doors
that we have determinedly
shut against it
and we are powerless to
stop the advance.

We put the kettle to boil,
wrap ourselves in blankets,
curl up with a book
and wait.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

The Edge of Night

I lie awake
in restless dreams.

I watch the
pairs of people.

Two with red hair and black hats,
walk quickly away.

I wonder
how will they hide themselves
with their flaming hair
peaking rebelliously out of the their charcoal fedoras.

I follow people
through confusing corridors
and notice
they are dressed
from another time
and place.
Refusing to come out
from behind
their inflexible homogeneity,
they will not join *this* group.

I see two brothers, unnaturally attached
in inexplicable ways.
I ask
how is one
born of the other
and never get
an answer.

I watch the pairs
of people.

I watch
from the


Curled up in a ball,
my vulnerable spine
I am
in transition.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

My Voice

My life lies
at the bottom
of a large, cast iron pot.

I stir
and stir
over a   s l o w  fire
for decades of years

until I discover

the thick, burned,
elemental crust

that is

my voice.
I weave
my weird

back and forth
weft and warp

hardened by fear
my own engineer

i discover with horror
i'm stuck in here.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

The Adolescent Time

September is the adolescent time.
Hot one day, and cold the next, 
it slams the door of summer
on our eager faces
before coming back
and inviting us
to swim.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

crying in alarm
at mother's abrupt parting
a baby bird sings
Poems © Gemma W. Wilson