You've captured them within your rhyme,
Those butterflies dancing, caught in
time,
In vivid color, I can see
Them flit in bright
tranquility.
You've drawn me out beyond my gate,
To view them there
and I can't wait
For sunlight in the early morn,
When visions such as this
are born.
I read your words and wonder on
To hedges on my neighbor's
lawn
Where butterflies alight and then
Rise gently up to fly
again.
From tiny white to Monarch one,
Their gentle dance is never
done
As long as poets, just like you,
Bring them to life, for us to
view.
-- thank you from rhymetimeblue
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 24, 2002
Monday, 16 July 2012
A Visit
Pour me a cup of tea my friend.
My feet are tired from walking.
The morning is quite beautiful,
But I prefer us talking.
Let's sit here in this quiet room
But open the curtains wide,
Then we can visit as we look
At the world that waits outside.
We'll share out all our secrets
In a banquet of the heart;
Then laugh awhile or shed a tear
Before I must depart.
Then you'll set the kettle boiling
For one more cup before I go.
As I walk home, when we are done,
My footsteps will be slow.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 24, 2002
My feet are tired from walking.
The morning is quite beautiful,
But I prefer us talking.
Let's sit here in this quiet room
But open the curtains wide,
Then we can visit as we look
At the world that waits outside.
We'll share out all our secrets
In a banquet of the heart;
Then laugh awhile or shed a tear
Before I must depart.
Then you'll set the kettle boiling
For one more cup before I go.
As I walk home, when we are done,
My footsteps will be slow.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 24, 2002
The Laughter
I heard the laughter
As the day first awoke.
Two elderly neighbors
Were sharing a joke.
I gazed out my window
And began laughing, too.
My insides were aching
Before I was through.
Then two little children
Stopped playing and waved.
As the daylight advanced,
Their picture, engraved
On my thoughts, kept me smiling
The afternoon through.
I felt like my whole lease
On life was brand new
And, when you came home,
It affected you, too.
It's amazing to me
Just what laughter will do.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 21, 2002
As the day first awoke.
Two elderly neighbors
Were sharing a joke.
I gazed out my window
And began laughing, too.
My insides were aching
Before I was through.
Then two little children
Stopped playing and waved.
As the daylight advanced,
Their picture, engraved
On my thoughts, kept me smiling
The afternoon through.
I felt like my whole lease
On life was brand new
And, when you came home,
It affected you, too.
It's amazing to me
Just what laughter will do.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 21, 2002
Silent Emotions
As night lies in stillness
And I huddle, near sleep,
I look at the shadows
And know that I keep
My own silent vigil.
I lie by your side
And plow through the feelings
That I always hide.
How can I tell you?
What words would describe
The depths of depression
In which I imbibe
At night while you're sleeping.
I've done this for years,
Touched silent emotions
And shed silent tears.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 21, 2002
And I huddle, near sleep,
I look at the shadows
And know that I keep
My own silent vigil.
I lie by your side
And plow through the feelings
That I always hide.
How can I tell you?
What words would describe
The depths of depression
In which I imbibe
At night while you're sleeping.
I've done this for years,
Touched silent emotions
And shed silent tears.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 21, 2002
A Sad Refrain
And now I go to write a sad refrain.
In truth, I may not pass this way again.
As light fades into dusk I turn away,
Regretting that, like sunlight, I can't stay.
There is too much regret between us now.
I tried to make it right but found, somehow,
That painful words we spoke stand in between,
Although they're not just words, but how we'd been.
We didn't think about each other then.
Because of that, I hear this sad refrain
And write the pain out of my frozen heart
Before I pack my bags and I depart.
Even as I go, I feel the tears
And know that I'll succumb to unknown fears
But that the time has come to walk away.
This sad refrain is all that's left to say.
© 2001 Pam H. Murray
In truth, I may not pass this way again.
As light fades into dusk I turn away,
Regretting that, like sunlight, I can't stay.
There is too much regret between us now.
I tried to make it right but found, somehow,
That painful words we spoke stand in between,
Although they're not just words, but how we'd been.
We didn't think about each other then.
Because of that, I hear this sad refrain
And write the pain out of my frozen heart
Before I pack my bags and I depart.
Even as I go, I feel the tears
And know that I'll succumb to unknown fears
But that the time has come to walk away.
This sad refrain is all that's left to say.
© 2001 Pam H. Murray
Alone In The Forest
The tiptoe of cougars
Beneath ancient pines
Are scarce in the shadows,
Invisible lines
Reflecting the moonlight,
Or is it just me
Who believes they are here?
Is that movement I see?
Or the haunting of shadows
A thousand years old,
Or the crackle of tree limbs
Out there in the cold?
I gather my parka,
Stand close to the fire,
While each noise and shadow
Finds my fear growing higher,
Until, from the road, I
Hear voices and then
I relax as my brothers
Return once again.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 18, 2002
Beneath ancient pines
Are scarce in the shadows,
Invisible lines
Reflecting the moonlight,
Or is it just me
Who believes they are here?
Is that movement I see?
Or the haunting of shadows
A thousand years old,
Or the crackle of tree limbs
Out there in the cold?
I gather my parka,
Stand close to the fire,
While each noise and shadow
Finds my fear growing higher,
Until, from the road, I
Hear voices and then
I relax as my brothers
Return once again.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 18, 2002
Sunday, 15 July 2012
Whish
Whish, like the wind that gave her name,
Lived in the ancient trees
That stood on the cliffs on a misty shore,
Where the sound of the thundering seas
Had echoed for centuries undisturbed
By poisons that seemed to ride
In bright, crowded places of industry
To muddy the rising tide.
She heard a whisper from visitors
Who fled to escape the rain
That carried a sickness and took their friends,
That left them to die in pain.
She looked to the clouds that hung dark and grey.
She leaned on one ancient tree
And felt her heartbeat wild with fear
For, what would tomorrow be
If she didn't have her quiet home
And the rain didn't touch her face?
If ever the trees should be killed that way,
Is there another place?
Lonely she sat as the tear drops fell
And night shadows drifted in.
Silent and saddened she prayed for hope
As she felt the end begin.
She called to the sky in a desperate plea,
But nobody seemed to hear.
So, finally, desolate, she sat alone
Waiting to disappear.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 18, 2002
Lived in the ancient trees
That stood on the cliffs on a misty shore,
Where the sound of the thundering seas
Had echoed for centuries undisturbed
By poisons that seemed to ride
In bright, crowded places of industry
To muddy the rising tide.
She heard a whisper from visitors
Who fled to escape the rain
That carried a sickness and took their friends,
That left them to die in pain.
She looked to the clouds that hung dark and grey.
She leaned on one ancient tree
And felt her heartbeat wild with fear
For, what would tomorrow be
If she didn't have her quiet home
And the rain didn't touch her face?
If ever the trees should be killed that way,
Is there another place?
Lonely she sat as the tear drops fell
And night shadows drifted in.
Silent and saddened she prayed for hope
As she felt the end begin.
She called to the sky in a desperate plea,
But nobody seemed to hear.
So, finally, desolate, she sat alone
Waiting to disappear.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 18, 2002
Is It Dewdrops
Is it dew drops or the footprints
Fairy children leave at play?
There is magic as the sunshine
Smiles its welcome to the day.
Were those tiny fairy voices
That gave birds their harmony
As their sweet song met me waking?
It sure seems that way to me.
Is the tapping of a woodpecker
Really tiny dancing feet?
Surely, only fairy magic
Could make the morning quite this sweet.
I walk out into my garden.
Surely flowers that I see
Sway from tiny, hidden fairies
'Neath their colored canopy.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 14, 2002
Fairy children leave at play?
There is magic as the sunshine
Smiles its welcome to the day.
Were those tiny fairy voices
That gave birds their harmony
As their sweet song met me waking?
It sure seems that way to me.
Is the tapping of a woodpecker
Really tiny dancing feet?
Surely, only fairy magic
Could make the morning quite this sweet.
I walk out into my garden.
Surely flowers that I see
Sway from tiny, hidden fairies
'Neath their colored canopy.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 14, 2002
Writing
What do you do with your heroine
Before she's on the page?
Is it you or she who must decide
How she looks and what's her age?
You sit down with your writing book
And jot down many things
Then change them time and time again
Until exhaustion brings
An end to all the tampering
And you're much too tired to read.
Tomorrow will be soon enough
To see what thoughts you've freed.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 8, 2002
Before she's on the page?
Is it you or she who must decide
How she looks and what's her age?
You sit down with your writing book
And jot down many things
Then change them time and time again
Until exhaustion brings
An end to all the tampering
And you're much too tired to read.
Tomorrow will be soon enough
To see what thoughts you've freed.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 8, 2002
Where Are The Dancers
Sitting at dawn
With an empty page,
It's time for my entrance.
I've set the stage.
The curtain will rise.
The music will build.
But where are the dancers?
The pen is stilled.
An audience waits
To be entertained.
The shuffle of feet
And the smiles are strained.
Here in the shadows
Is only me,
Without inspiration
And too blind to see.
I am a writer
I tell myself
And stare at the clock
On the mantle shelf.
I watch the dust fall
In the early light
And think to myself
That I've got stage fright.
The curtain will rise
On an empty stage,
For I've laid my pen down
On the empty page.
© 2001 Pam H. Murray
June 8, 2002
With an empty page,
It's time for my entrance.
I've set the stage.
The curtain will rise.
The music will build.
But where are the dancers?
The pen is stilled.
An audience waits
To be entertained.
The shuffle of feet
And the smiles are strained.
Here in the shadows
Is only me,
Without inspiration
And too blind to see.
I am a writer
I tell myself
And stare at the clock
On the mantle shelf.
I watch the dust fall
In the early light
And think to myself
That I've got stage fright.
The curtain will rise
On an empty stage,
For I've laid my pen down
On the empty page.
© 2001 Pam H. Murray
June 8, 2002
Love Sonnet
Alright Brian, you asked for it, here's the Love Sonnet I
promised
you.
Love Sonnet
I walked into the room and, ere my eyes
Adjusted to the light, beheld your fire.
Oh lovely one, please hear my tender sighs
And know from now I have but one desire,
To place a rosebud in your gentle hand,
To glean a smile to use to light my way.
Above that I would make no more demand,
Yet have the sun shine on each humble day.
Then I would pass beyond your shining sphere
And have great wealth within my memory
And cherish every moment, sweet and clear;
The rose, your hand and when you smiled at me.
And I would lay my heart there at your feet
Knowing that my life is now complete.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 7, 2002
you.
Love Sonnet
I walked into the room and, ere my eyes
Adjusted to the light, beheld your fire.
Oh lovely one, please hear my tender sighs
And know from now I have but one desire,
To place a rosebud in your gentle hand,
To glean a smile to use to light my way.
Above that I would make no more demand,
Yet have the sun shine on each humble day.
Then I would pass beyond your shining sphere
And have great wealth within my memory
And cherish every moment, sweet and clear;
The rose, your hand and when you smiled at me.
And I would lay my heart there at your feet
Knowing that my life is now complete.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 7, 2002
Sonnet
I was challenged to produce a sonnet and this is what I've done so
far. Please let me know what you think, especially Brian and Thom
who recognized the almost style of "From A Distance".
SONNET
While sitting down to grasp my weary pen
To face the challenge in your little note,
There was no inspiration in the den,
Nor satisfaction in the words I wrote.
I sought about to find a thought, a face
To light the fire of rhyme's eternal flame.
I wondered where I'd find a better place
When every room I sought was just the same.
In shame I looked to find the ancient bard,
To ask him how his verses came to be.
For, surely, writing couldn't be this hard.
I swear I heard him laughing hard at me.
Oh woe, oh woe, I rue this very day
When sonnet turns into a rondelet.
© Pam H. Murray
far. Please let me know what you think, especially Brian and Thom
who recognized the almost style of "From A Distance".
SONNET
While sitting down to grasp my weary pen
To face the challenge in your little note,
There was no inspiration in the den,
Nor satisfaction in the words I wrote.
I sought about to find a thought, a face
To light the fire of rhyme's eternal flame.
I wondered where I'd find a better place
When every room I sought was just the same.
In shame I looked to find the ancient bard,
To ask him how his verses came to be.
For, surely, writing couldn't be this hard.
I swear I heard him laughing hard at me.
Oh woe, oh woe, I rue this very day
When sonnet turns into a rondelet.
© Pam H. Murray
Pam's Poem
Dear Members,
Pam (Rhyme) Posted this lovely poem she created, in my guest book at
my web site and I thought is was so beautiful I just had to share it
with all of you. You are a very talented lady Pam...I am so happy you
have joined us. I will treasure this poem and one day put it on a web
page...as soon as I learn how to connect it. Love and hugs,
Connie
Poets' Haven
Quiet flowing waters, colors like a song,
Wind and leaves are promises that here's where we belong.
This is a poet's haven that beckons to the heart
And calls deep down into the soul, it's time for us to start
To fly upon a rainbow and dance upon the moon,
To link our hands and memories, to make a joyful tune
Of peace and sweet tranquility, then spread it everywhere.
What better way can poets show the world what we all share.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 6, 2002
Pam (Rhyme) Posted this lovely poem she created, in my guest book at
my web site and I thought is was so beautiful I just had to share it
with all of you. You are a very talented lady Pam...I am so happy you
have joined us. I will treasure this poem and one day put it on a web
page...as soon as I learn how to connect it. Love and hugs,
Connie
Poets' Haven
Quiet flowing waters, colors like a song,
Wind and leaves are promises that here's where we belong.
This is a poet's haven that beckons to the heart
And calls deep down into the soul, it's time for us to start
To fly upon a rainbow and dance upon the moon,
To link our hands and memories, to make a joyful tune
Of peace and sweet tranquility, then spread it everywhere.
What better way can poets show the world what we all share.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 6, 2002
The Teardrop
Like a child, dying of hunger,
One who doesn't understand,
You held your tears so tightly
`Though one fell into my hand.
It held all of the feelings
That you tried so hard to hide;
The pain and all the anger
That was held back by your pride.
Unknown to you, I caught it
And I placed it in a jar;
This little teardrop showed your soul,
Every dream and every scar.
It showed me all your visions
And it rippled with your name.
Since looking at the teardrop,
My life's never been the same.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 5, 2002
One who doesn't understand,
You held your tears so tightly
`Though one fell into my hand.
It held all of the feelings
That you tried so hard to hide;
The pain and all the anger
That was held back by your pride.
Unknown to you, I caught it
And I placed it in a jar;
This little teardrop showed your soul,
Every dream and every scar.
It showed me all your visions
And it rippled with your name.
Since looking at the teardrop,
My life's never been the same.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 5, 2002
From A Distance
From a distance,
I never thought I'd be afraid
To dream a dream, or that I'd ever trade
The innocence of feeling safe and strong.
I never thought that I could be this wrong.
From a distance,
I can view the hell, and be detached
Amazed at how a moment could be snatched
And leave us floundering in endless fear
And feel the threat to all that we hold dear.
From a distance,
I can say please shut the blind.
But I cannot leave all my thoughts behind;
So, do I really view this bloody war
From a safe place where I can close a door?
Or will it all come crashing in on me,
And make me face its stark reality,
From a distance.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
I never thought I'd be afraid
To dream a dream, or that I'd ever trade
The innocence of feeling safe and strong.
I never thought that I could be this wrong.
From a distance,
I can view the hell, and be detached
Amazed at how a moment could be snatched
And leave us floundering in endless fear
And feel the threat to all that we hold dear.
From a distance,
I can say please shut the blind.
But I cannot leave all my thoughts behind;
So, do I really view this bloody war
From a safe place where I can close a door?
Or will it all come crashing in on me,
And make me face its stark reality,
From a distance.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
This Is The Place
Out past my house is a deep, secret
place,
Under the whispering evergreen trees.
I sit there for hours. The peace overwhelms me.
I listen to secrets they share with the breeze.
This is the place where I've gone with my sorrow,
At times when I didn't know quite what to do.
It's also a place that I went to in joy,
Or anxiously seeking a new point of view.
See these old trees, how they silently tower,
A cathedral of peace and a part of the land.
Put out your arm, touch a trunk with your fingers
And feel the bark, rough as it lies `neath your hand.
This is the beautiful land I was born in.
This is the land that's alive in my soul.
This is the land that I'll always return to,
Knowing, in absence, I'll never be whole.
Listen for voices. This great land is speaking,
A story, more ancient than we've ever known.
It tells of the life that this great land is giving..
It speaks of each river, each tree and each stone.
It lies past my gate and you pay no admission.
But, please treat it well so our grandchildren see
The place where I went with my joy and my sorrow
And they still hear the voice of each towering tree.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 3, 2002
Under the whispering evergreen trees.
I sit there for hours. The peace overwhelms me.
I listen to secrets they share with the breeze.
This is the place where I've gone with my sorrow,
At times when I didn't know quite what to do.
It's also a place that I went to in joy,
Or anxiously seeking a new point of view.
See these old trees, how they silently tower,
A cathedral of peace and a part of the land.
Put out your arm, touch a trunk with your fingers
And feel the bark, rough as it lies `neath your hand.
This is the beautiful land I was born in.
This is the land that's alive in my soul.
This is the land that I'll always return to,
Knowing, in absence, I'll never be whole.
Listen for voices. This great land is speaking,
A story, more ancient than we've ever known.
It tells of the life that this great land is giving..
It speaks of each river, each tree and each stone.
It lies past my gate and you pay no admission.
But, please treat it well so our grandchildren see
The place where I went with my joy and my sorrow
And they still hear the voice of each towering tree.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 3, 2002
A Beautiful Park
(Last week there was a young woman beaten and raped in one of our
most
beautiful parks, Stanley Park. She was left with brain damage in the
local hospital. It took them days to find out that she was a Korean
student over here attending school. I felt very sad, and horrified.
I used to practically live in Stanley Park as a child and youth. So,
as usual, I had to write it out of my system.)
A BEAUTIFUL PARK
It's a beautiful park, called God's land by many.
A young girl was beaten and raped there today.
All by myself, I sat in its center,
Unaware of the evil that touched it that way.
Yet, there in its shelter, I felt something stirring.
The soft touch of breezes that whispered past me
Held a slight tremor, a secret, a sadness.
I dismissed it and kept on with my reverie.
But shadows drew near. An invisible meance
Threatened my peace like a discordant note.
I suddenly rose and I looked all around me.
I hurried away as I buttoned my coat.
Fear at my heels, every sound, every whisper,
Hurried my footsteps as I made my way home.
The news told the story. I sat in the darkness,
Touched a light switch and wrote my fear into a poem.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 3, 2002
beautiful parks, Stanley Park. She was left with brain damage in the
local hospital. It took them days to find out that she was a Korean
student over here attending school. I felt very sad, and horrified.
I used to practically live in Stanley Park as a child and youth. So,
as usual, I had to write it out of my system.)
A BEAUTIFUL PARK
It's a beautiful park, called God's land by many.
A young girl was beaten and raped there today.
All by myself, I sat in its center,
Unaware of the evil that touched it that way.
Yet, there in its shelter, I felt something stirring.
The soft touch of breezes that whispered past me
Held a slight tremor, a secret, a sadness.
I dismissed it and kept on with my reverie.
But shadows drew near. An invisible meance
Threatened my peace like a discordant note.
I suddenly rose and I looked all around me.
I hurried away as I buttoned my coat.
Fear at my heels, every sound, every whisper,
Hurried my footsteps as I made my way home.
The news told the story. I sat in the darkness,
Touched a light switch and wrote my fear into a poem.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
June 3, 2002
The Letter
I wrote a letter just to say
That I am doing well.
When I first started writing it,
I had so much to tell.
But, as I wrote the first words down,
My thoughts began to flee
And I just filled with emptiness.
I tried so hard to see
A reason why life has to change
Or what I might have done
To bring our dream to life again
Before you had to run.
Instead, the words I wrote at last
Were curt and cold and strained.
I tore the letter up because
It left nothing explained.
© 2001 Pam H. Murray
That I am doing well.
When I first started writing it,
I had so much to tell.
But, as I wrote the first words down,
My thoughts began to flee
And I just filled with emptiness.
I tried so hard to see
A reason why life has to change
Or what I might have done
To bring our dream to life again
Before you had to run.
Instead, the words I wrote at last
Were curt and cold and strained.
I tore the letter up because
It left nothing explained.
© 2001 Pam H. Murray
The Juggler
(Written for Rescue Divers & EMT's at the request of Happy_Joe.
His son is an EMT.)
He was just a simple juggler
On a silent stretch of road.
But the balls that he was juggling
Were a very special load.
They were treasures much more precious
Than a bar of purest gold.
It was the lives of strangers
That the juggler had to hold.
It's his hands that keep them breathing
When they're hurt along the way.
When they're lost, he searches for them.
When the sky is stormy gray
He won't stop if someone's out there
And he has a job to do.
He juggles time and heartbeats
As he works at his rescue.
Sometimes his luck is magic
And sometimes a tragedy.
Sometimes his heart is flying.
Other times, more desperately
The day comes back in nightmares,
When death was all he found.
Then he prays he'll have no tears to cry
When the next time comes around.
© 2000 Pam H. Murray
His son is an EMT.)
He was just a simple juggler
On a silent stretch of road.
But the balls that he was juggling
Were a very special load.
They were treasures much more precious
Than a bar of purest gold.
It was the lives of strangers
That the juggler had to hold.
It's his hands that keep them breathing
When they're hurt along the way.
When they're lost, he searches for them.
When the sky is stormy gray
He won't stop if someone's out there
And he has a job to do.
He juggles time and heartbeats
As he works at his rescue.
Sometimes his luck is magic
And sometimes a tragedy.
Sometimes his heart is flying.
Other times, more desperately
The day comes back in nightmares,
When death was all he found.
Then he prays he'll have no tears to cry
When the next time comes around.
© 2000 Pam H. Murray
Two Little Girls
Hand in hand they shared the day
With sun aglow on silver hair,
Remembering how, long ago,
Two little girls took time to share
A dollhouse, when the days were cold,
An ice cream cone and dress up clothes,
The secrets that all young girls have,
The boys they've known, the lives they chose.
With voices changed, they giggle still
And face the day as best friends should,
With laughter, talk and memories,
Two little girls who made life good.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 30, 2002
With sun aglow on silver hair,
Remembering how, long ago,
Two little girls took time to share
A dollhouse, when the days were cold,
An ice cream cone and dress up clothes,
The secrets that all young girls have,
The boys they've known, the lives they chose.
With voices changed, they giggle still
And face the day as best friends should,
With laughter, talk and memories,
Two little girls who made life good.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 30, 2002
When Bob Dylan Sang
When Bob Dylan sang about
"The valley of dry bone dreams",
I felt my preconceived ideas
Tearing at their seams.
I saw the mucus gathering
From infected days and nights
And fear built up inside my soul
As it turned out all the lights.
I felt the flashbacks crashing in
The door I hid behind
And old confusion scattered all
The thoughts formed in my mind.
It's been so long since I was you;
My soap box still in place,
Fighting to right all life's wrongs
And save the human race.
I never thought to fail again,
But as his words hit me
The failure comes in brand new form,
My own conformity.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 30, 2002
"The valley of dry bone dreams",
I felt my preconceived ideas
Tearing at their seams.
I saw the mucus gathering
From infected days and nights
And fear built up inside my soul
As it turned out all the lights.
I felt the flashbacks crashing in
The door I hid behind
And old confusion scattered all
The thoughts formed in my mind.
It's been so long since I was you;
My soap box still in place,
Fighting to right all life's wrongs
And save the human race.
I never thought to fail again,
But as his words hit me
The failure comes in brand new form,
My own conformity.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 30, 2002
Follow The Signs
I had no plans when I started out
Just following the signs.
I made my day a series of
Amazingly crooked lines.
I wandered down some country lanes
That I'd not seen before.
Under some trees, 'round a hidden bend,
I came to my first little door.
On the door hung a gilded sign that read
"Step in for a cup of tea."
I stepped inside this enchanted place
And its magic was wrapped around me.
There were teapots and cozies and china cups,
All colours and every size,
Set up and waiting with fragrant brews,
A delight to my curious eyes.
A voice rang out and I looked around
To the smile of a wise old crone.
She said, "Welcome dear. Please choose a cup.
It's so good not to be alone."
She poured the tea as she spoke to me,
Telling about the past.
Enthralled, I listened avidly.
Hours passed. When I left at last,
She walked me to her door and said,
"Just follow the signs on the road.
For further down is a shop you must see.
They call it the Wandering Toad."
When I found that shop nestled in the woods,
I read "Wandering Toad's Memories".
I walked inside to a curio place.
A gentleman said, "Enter, please.
Look around. Please take your time.
When you're done I will tell you a tale."
I gazed in awe at a glimmering shield
And a matching coat of mail.
Then I gasped in delight when I found a room
Full of carvings and books galore.
I whiled away my afternoon
In this marvelous little store.
So, I urge you friends, just to take one day
Where nothing special is planned.
Start following signs and, like me, you'll find
There's magic upon the land.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 30, 2002
Just following the signs.
I made my day a series of
Amazingly crooked lines.
I wandered down some country lanes
That I'd not seen before.
Under some trees, 'round a hidden bend,
I came to my first little door.
On the door hung a gilded sign that read
"Step in for a cup of tea."
I stepped inside this enchanted place
And its magic was wrapped around me.
There were teapots and cozies and china cups,
All colours and every size,
Set up and waiting with fragrant brews,
A delight to my curious eyes.
A voice rang out and I looked around
To the smile of a wise old crone.
She said, "Welcome dear. Please choose a cup.
It's so good not to be alone."
She poured the tea as she spoke to me,
Telling about the past.
Enthralled, I listened avidly.
Hours passed. When I left at last,
She walked me to her door and said,
"Just follow the signs on the road.
For further down is a shop you must see.
They call it the Wandering Toad."
When I found that shop nestled in the woods,
I read "Wandering Toad's Memories".
I walked inside to a curio place.
A gentleman said, "Enter, please.
Look around. Please take your time.
When you're done I will tell you a tale."
I gazed in awe at a glimmering shield
And a matching coat of mail.
Then I gasped in delight when I found a room
Full of carvings and books galore.
I whiled away my afternoon
In this marvelous little store.
So, I urge you friends, just to take one day
Where nothing special is planned.
Start following signs and, like me, you'll find
There's magic upon the land.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 30, 2002
Where Are My Angels
(This was written for a member of one of my poetry groups who had just lost her husband and was feeling extremely sad. She said she didn't believe there were any angels in the world any more, so I wrote this in response.)
Your angels are crying right by your side,
Their tears wash the dust from your feet.
They share your fear of the future's unknown
They too fear the fire's heat.
They, too, ask of heaven, "Why must this be?
Isn't this asking too much?"
Then they brush your hair out of your eyes
And love you with their gentle touch.
Theirs are the tears that turn into the rain.
Sometimes the flood waters flow.
No matter what happens, they are with you.
The angels want you to know.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 30, 2002
Your angels are crying right by your side,
Their tears wash the dust from your feet.
They share your fear of the future's unknown
They too fear the fire's heat.
They, too, ask of heaven, "Why must this be?
Isn't this asking too much?"
Then they brush your hair out of your eyes
And love you with their gentle touch.
Theirs are the tears that turn into the rain.
Sometimes the flood waters flow.
No matter what happens, they are with you.
The angels want you to know.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 30, 2002
In Your Hands
Jesus, I am in your hands.
I'll rest here quietly,
Put the fears that I have built
Away. You're watching over me.
I'll think about the gifts You've given;
So many though the years;
A graceful home and family love
Through times of joy or tears.
I'll also think of challenges
That You have helped me through
And how, when life seemed dark and hopeless
You gave me Your strength too.
So, Jesus, I am in Your hands.
I'll rest here quietly,
Knowing that whatever comes,
You're watching over me.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 29, 2002
I'll rest here quietly,
Put the fears that I have built
Away. You're watching over me.
I'll think about the gifts You've given;
So many though the years;
A graceful home and family love
Through times of joy or tears.
I'll also think of challenges
That You have helped me through
And how, when life seemed dark and hopeless
You gave me Your strength too.
So, Jesus, I am in Your hands.
I'll rest here quietly,
Knowing that whatever comes,
You're watching over me.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 29, 2002
Around Every Corner
Around every corner
A new door awaits;
Some floor-to-ceiling;
Some open gates;
Some will give glimpses
Of what lies ahead,
Some hide their views,
Like secrets instead.
Reach out with your hand
With a clear point of view.
Open each door
And simply walk through.
© 2000 Pam H. Murray
Mar 29, 2000
A new door awaits;
Some floor-to-ceiling;
Some open gates;
Some will give glimpses
Of what lies ahead,
Some hide their views,
Like secrets instead.
Reach out with your hand
With a clear point of view.
Open each door
And simply walk through.
© 2000 Pam H. Murray
Mar 29, 2000
A Fairy Jubilee
Dancing in a circle,
The fairies gathered 'round
To share a little secret,
A treasure had been found;
A tiny fairy infant
Was born into the wood
Upon the young queen's bower.
The fairies knew they should
Plan a celebration
Among the fairy clans
And they should paint a banner
To carry through the lands.
This is a grand occasion.
The oldest fairy queen
Had just become a grandma.
She waited at the scene
And held the tiny newborn
Up high for all to see.
With endless song and chatter,
They had a fairy jubilee.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 29, 2002
The fairies gathered 'round
To share a little secret,
A treasure had been found;
A tiny fairy infant
Was born into the wood
Upon the young queen's bower.
The fairies knew they should
Plan a celebration
Among the fairy clans
And they should paint a banner
To carry through the lands.
This is a grand occasion.
The oldest fairy queen
Had just become a grandma.
She waited at the scene
And held the tiny newborn
Up high for all to see.
With endless song and chatter,
They had a fairy jubilee.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 29, 2002
Singing Together
I sit in the warmth of your arms, my
love,
And listen to music that you'll never hear.
I let myself flow to the classical music.
Your spirit, intrigued, draws silently near.
I let my hand rise and fall, like a feather,
Floating and free on the words of a song.
I feel your body swaying with mine.
Our special connection is suddenly strong.
As soon as you touch me, I feel us dancing,
Or have we gone further and learned how to fly?
I feel such joy as our bodies are singing,
Together, forever, just you and I.
© Pam H. Murray 2002
And listen to music that you'll never hear.
I let myself flow to the classical music.
Your spirit, intrigued, draws silently near.
I let my hand rise and fall, like a feather,
Floating and free on the words of a song.
I feel your body swaying with mine.
Our special connection is suddenly strong.
As soon as you touch me, I feel us dancing,
Or have we gone further and learned how to fly?
I feel such joy as our bodies are singing,
Together, forever, just you and I.
© Pam H. Murray 2002
May 28, 2002
A Small Girl's Point Of View
A little girl is waiting,
Sitting on her bedroom floor.
She knows her world is darkening.
Her father goes to war.
She sees her mother crying
In the middle of the night.
Her older brother says good bye
And he goes off to fight.
She doesn't understand it.
She misses them so much;
Her brother's constant teasing,
Her father's gentle touch.
Her mother's joyous laughter
Is never heard these days.
Her life is so much sadder now
In so many, senseless ways.
She soon becomes a shadow
Of emptiness and pain,
Wondering if her family
Could be whole again.
It is a war for freedom.
She sees it in the news.
But nobody has asked about
A small girls point of view.
© Pam H. Murray 2001
Sitting on her bedroom floor.
She knows her world is darkening.
Her father goes to war.
She sees her mother crying
In the middle of the night.
Her older brother says good bye
And he goes off to fight.
She doesn't understand it.
She misses them so much;
Her brother's constant teasing,
Her father's gentle touch.
Her mother's joyous laughter
Is never heard these days.
Her life is so much sadder now
In so many, senseless ways.
She soon becomes a shadow
Of emptiness and pain,
Wondering if her family
Could be whole again.
It is a war for freedom.
She sees it in the news.
But nobody has asked about
A small girls point of view.
© Pam H. Murray 2001
Red Poppies For Remembrance
(My dear friends, one and all, please accept my apologies if this
reaches you too late. I wrote this for the Canadian Remembrance Day,
shortly after September 11th, 2001)
RED POPPIES FOR REMEMBRANCE
Red poppies glowing brightly
Beneath the city lights;
People are remembering
How sorrow reached the heights
Through wars that killed so many.
And now there's something new
That we were unprepared to know.
It's changed our point of view.
It brought to mind Pearl Harbor,
But now there's something more.
Just one man's blatant hatred,
His creed, his holy war
Brought us a brand new horror.
It struck us to the heart.
This year, upon Remembrance Day,
This, too, will play its part.
This time we'll mourn for people,
Not just fighters in the field,
Simple folk turned heroes,
Those we know and those concealed.
The ones who had the duty
And those people passing by
Who tried to help the others,
Every one who had to die.
We pay tribute to their families
And the friends they've left behind
With poppies placed above our hearts
And thoughts strong in our minds.
They'll stand beside all others
Who have gone that way before
And, as always, we'll pray for peace
And a world where there's no war.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
reaches you too late. I wrote this for the Canadian Remembrance Day,
shortly after September 11th, 2001)
RED POPPIES FOR REMEMBRANCE
Red poppies glowing brightly
Beneath the city lights;
People are remembering
How sorrow reached the heights
Through wars that killed so many.
And now there's something new
That we were unprepared to know.
It's changed our point of view.
It brought to mind Pearl Harbor,
But now there's something more.
Just one man's blatant hatred,
His creed, his holy war
Brought us a brand new horror.
It struck us to the heart.
This year, upon Remembrance Day,
This, too, will play its part.
This time we'll mourn for people,
Not just fighters in the field,
Simple folk turned heroes,
Those we know and those concealed.
The ones who had the duty
And those people passing by
Who tried to help the others,
Every one who had to die.
We pay tribute to their families
And the friends they've left behind
With poppies placed above our hearts
And thoughts strong in our minds.
They'll stand beside all others
Who have gone that way before
And, as always, we'll pray for peace
And a world where there's no war.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
Breathless
Breathless, let the wild wind blow
As biting as a touch of snow,
I read your words and then I know
These words have left me breathless.
Breathless, hot or searing cold,
These words are ones my heart must hold
Like just a touch of dusty gold,
That flies and leaves me breathless.
Breathless, with discovery
I find a truth aimed just at me
And fight to set the feelings free
Free to make me breathless.
So, like a friend I'll follow you
And give your words a rave review
In hopes that one day I might, too,
Leave somebody breathless.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 25, 2002
As biting as a touch of snow,
I read your words and then I know
These words have left me breathless.
Breathless, hot or searing cold,
These words are ones my heart must hold
Like just a touch of dusty gold,
That flies and leaves me breathless.
Breathless, with discovery
I find a truth aimed just at me
And fight to set the feelings free
Free to make me breathless.
So, like a friend I'll follow you
And give your words a rave review
In hopes that one day I might, too,
Leave somebody breathless.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 25, 2002
The Essence Of Jim
His is the spirit of the Dodge Dakota
Parked in the silence of early morning
On a residential street.
It's not the type of vehicle that is
ashamed of rust
Nor does it feel afraid resting beside
an isolated, frozen campsite.
He, too, is attuned to simpler things;
His own company
And being able to hear a fish leap.
His home town, the place where he'd
grown up,
Had become a stranger to him.
He became adept at seeking solitude.
Finally, he found it on the front page
of a newspaper
As he lay stiff and cold on the floor
With a gun still clutched in his hand.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 25, 2002
Parked in the silence of early morning
On a residential street.
It's not the type of vehicle that is
ashamed of rust
Nor does it feel afraid resting beside
an isolated, frozen campsite.
He, too, is attuned to simpler things;
His own company
And being able to hear a fish leap.
His home town, the place where he'd
grown up,
Had become a stranger to him.
He became adept at seeking solitude.
Finally, he found it on the front page
of a newspaper
As he lay stiff and cold on the floor
With a gun still clutched in his hand.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 25, 2002
The Poem (For The Poetics Group)
Blood spilled on a page,
A mix of joy and rage,
A rhyme that has been torn
From where my heart is worn;
It reaches out to you,
Naked, clear to view.
So, lacerate its skin
And find the gold within
Then dance around its soul
And tear at every hole
Until it's sculpted right.
Come, help me shed its light.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 25, 2002
A mix of joy and rage,
A rhyme that has been torn
From where my heart is worn;
It reaches out to you,
Naked, clear to view.
So, lacerate its skin
And find the gold within
Then dance around its soul
And tear at every hole
Until it's sculpted right.
Come, help me shed its light.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 25, 2002
Dancing In My Garden
I will walk slowly in the meadow
Of my thoughts,
Carefully avoiding
The holes and tangled roots
Of passions quelled
And long forgotten.
This is a treacherous place,
This garden
Of buried memories,
With bony, reaching hands
That seek to stop me
And drop me face first
Into their soiled
Derelict remnants.
It is terrifying
And yet I must walk
Its length
From stem to stern
And tear down
Its surrounding walls,
Just as I cut down
Its bracken
To reveal the treasures beneath.
Only then
Can I dance in my garden.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 25, 2002
Of my thoughts,
Carefully avoiding
The holes and tangled roots
Of passions quelled
And long forgotten.
This is a treacherous place,
This garden
Of buried memories,
With bony, reaching hands
That seek to stop me
And drop me face first
Into their soiled
Derelict remnants.
It is terrifying
And yet I must walk
Its length
From stem to stern
And tear down
Its surrounding walls,
Just as I cut down
Its bracken
To reveal the treasures beneath.
Only then
Can I dance in my garden.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 25, 2002
The Stone
Out on a quiet country road
I picked up a single stone,
Gazed at it lying in my hand;
Like me, it seemed all alone.
I thought how, just the same as me,
The stone had lost its place
And, just like me, it seemed to have
No purpose and no face.
But, when I took it home with me
And polished it for awhile,
I found its hidden colours and
It's beauty made me smile.
And, then, I had a second thought.
This stone is so much like me.
Just look beneath my surface and
What colours you will see.
I suspect this truth must also be
A truth that's for everyone.
Let's look beneath their surfaces.
We may find a golden sun.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 23, 2002
I picked up a single stone,
Gazed at it lying in my hand;
Like me, it seemed all alone.
I thought how, just the same as me,
The stone had lost its place
And, just like me, it seemed to have
No purpose and no face.
But, when I took it home with me
And polished it for awhile,
I found its hidden colours and
It's beauty made me smile.
And, then, I had a second thought.
This stone is so much like me.
Just look beneath my surface and
What colours you will see.
I suspect this truth must also be
A truth that's for everyone.
Let's look beneath their surfaces.
We may find a golden sun.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 23, 2002
The Guardian
Disquiet settled everywhere,
Though the night was so beautiful
That it almost took his breath away.
He felt an incessant pull.
Something was wrong in the world out there.
He hoped he could make it right.
He thought of the peace of his home and friends,
But he knew, as he faced this night,
The cold of the rain and this lonely night
Had need of his presence here.
Something was wrong in this world tonight.
His purpose would soon be clear.
He saw a small house at the end of a lane
And he pulled up outside its gate,
Feeling the tears of a desparate soul
And hoping he wasn't late.
He slipped inside to a darkened room
And stood by a single bed.
Someone lay shivering against the cold,
Not hearing his quiet tread.
It was a young boy in the quietness,
Trying so hard to be brave,
Trying to come to terms with his life.
In silence, the guardian gave
A touch of his hand, a touch of hope
And watched as the tears began;
Release for a boy who had seen too much,
Too young to become a man.
The guardian felt another change,
A subtle release of pain.
All that it took was the touch of a friend
To give the boy dreams again.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
Though the night was so beautiful
That it almost took his breath away.
He felt an incessant pull.
Something was wrong in the world out there.
He hoped he could make it right.
He thought of the peace of his home and friends,
But he knew, as he faced this night,
The cold of the rain and this lonely night
Had need of his presence here.
Something was wrong in this world tonight.
His purpose would soon be clear.
He saw a small house at the end of a lane
And he pulled up outside its gate,
Feeling the tears of a desparate soul
And hoping he wasn't late.
He slipped inside to a darkened room
And stood by a single bed.
Someone lay shivering against the cold,
Not hearing his quiet tread.
It was a young boy in the quietness,
Trying so hard to be brave,
Trying to come to terms with his life.
In silence, the guardian gave
A touch of his hand, a touch of hope
And watched as the tears began;
Release for a boy who had seen too much,
Too young to become a man.
The guardian felt another change,
A subtle release of pain.
All that it took was the touch of a friend
To give the boy dreams again.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 23, 2002
Even Each Breath
Even each breath,
Be it shallow or deep,
Even the tears that
HE gives when we weep,
Even the pain as
We stumble and fall,
Are blessing and lessons.
HE gives them to all.
Just open your eyes and
HE holds out HIS hand.
Let HIM be your strength
And you'll understand
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 20, 2002
Be it shallow or deep,
Even the tears that
HE gives when we weep,
Even the pain as
We stumble and fall,
Are blessing and lessons.
HE gives them to all.
Just open your eyes and
HE holds out HIS hand.
Let HIM be your strength
And you'll understand
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 20, 2002
Toss and Catch
The laundry room, all sunny,
Said let the game begin.
I grabbed a tennis ball in hand
And closed myself within.
A birthday cake, half eaten,
Lay just outside the door.
Instinctively, I felt that this
Day should have something more.
I tossed the ball and pondered.
I caught and tossed again.
The birthday memories crowded in
As gentle as spring rain.
Once for each year I tossed and caught,
Then hid the ball away
To bring it out as each year passed
And it was more than play.
With every toss, the thoughts rolled
out;
With every catch, renewed,
It was a clearer yearly vision
The final catch reviewed.
It started out at seven years
And still goes on and on;
The toss and catch, the focusing
On moments come and gone.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 11, 2002
Said let the game begin.
I grabbed a tennis ball in hand
And closed myself within.
A birthday cake, half eaten,
Lay just outside the door.
Instinctively, I felt that this
Day should have something more.
I tossed the ball and pondered.
I caught and tossed again.
The birthday memories crowded in
As gentle as spring rain.
Once for each year I tossed and caught,
Then hid the ball away
To bring it out as each year passed
And it was more than play.
With every toss, the thoughts rolled
out;
With every catch, renewed,
It was a clearer yearly vision
The final catch reviewed.
It started out at seven years
And still goes on and on;
The toss and catch, the focusing
On moments come and gone.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 11, 2002
Onomatopoeia I
Click and clack a rolling engine
Rolls past streets too hard to mention
Rumbling its steady tension
As it runs away;
Swish and squeal a million tires
Rattle through my deep desires,
Hissing, crackling like fires
Burning up the day.
Beep, beep, ring, an answering service
Whining voice that makes me nervous
Life explodes another curve as
We begin to play.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 11, 2002
Rolls past streets too hard to mention
Rumbling its steady tension
As it runs away;
Swish and squeal a million tires
Rattle through my deep desires,
Hissing, crackling like fires
Burning up the day.
Beep, beep, ring, an answering service
Whining voice that makes me nervous
Life explodes another curve as
We begin to play.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 11, 2002
Walkabout
The shadows are forgotten.
The pain must be ignored.
The skin upon my hands and feet
Is calloused and it's scored
With marks of miles long traveled.
My face shows battles won.
The years have taught me nothing,
Except through what I've done.
I've learned that I am stronger
Than what I thought I'd be.
I've learned that marking every step
Is what forms destiny.
My childhood is behind me.
I've grown to be a man.
I know the secrets of my world,
The blood flow of the land.
So, now, I am returning
To the place where I was born.
I take my place up on the field
And know nobody's scorn.
The shadows are forgotten.
The pain must be ignored.
I've felt the sun, the cold and rain.
A man, I am reborn.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 11, 2002
The pain must be ignored.
The skin upon my hands and feet
Is calloused and it's scored
With marks of miles long traveled.
My face shows battles won.
The years have taught me nothing,
Except through what I've done.
I've learned that I am stronger
Than what I thought I'd be.
I've learned that marking every step
Is what forms destiny.
My childhood is behind me.
I've grown to be a man.
I know the secrets of my world,
The blood flow of the land.
So, now, I am returning
To the place where I was born.
I take my place up on the field
And know nobody's scorn.
The shadows are forgotten.
The pain must be ignored.
I've felt the sun, the cold and rain.
A man, I am reborn.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 11, 2002
Stones In The Garden
They beckon me on as the day awakes.
The first hint of sun is all that it takes.
"Come out to the garden," they seem to say.
"There's so much to do on this glorious day."
They seem to have secrets, so I must go
Where they are laid out and the flowers grow,
Where birdsong is sweet and the morning dew
Sparkles and shines in a diamond hue.
I must see the roses out by the gate.
Spring has arrived and I just can't wait
To follow the whims of the stones out there
And sit in the garden without a care.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
The first hint of sun is all that it takes.
"Come out to the garden," they seem to say.
"There's so much to do on this glorious day."
They seem to have secrets, so I must go
Where they are laid out and the flowers grow,
Where birdsong is sweet and the morning dew
Sparkles and shines in a diamond hue.
I must see the roses out by the gate.
Spring has arrived and I just can't wait
To follow the whims of the stones out there
And sit in the garden without a care.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May 7, 2002
Legend
He
sat with his back leaned against a stone wall,
His thoughts on a far distant sky.
He'd blown into town, like a dark winter night,
With a deep, haunted look in his eye.
Young women watched him as they sauntered by.
To them, he seemed totally blind.
Try as they might to make him look twice,
They weren't what he'd hoped to find.
Night shadows fell and he finally rose,
Sauntering down the main street
With only the sound of his worn, leather boots
On the pavement stretched under his feet.
He knocked on a door and slipped quickly inside
As a voice whispered out of the dark.
Then all became silent. The night shadows grew
As the moments remained with no mark.
Such are the moments in life, my friend.
Unnoticed they're silent and fade.
Yet, one single moment noted and told
As a legend is history made.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
His thoughts on a far distant sky.
He'd blown into town, like a dark winter night,
With a deep, haunted look in his eye.
Young women watched him as they sauntered by.
To them, he seemed totally blind.
Try as they might to make him look twice,
They weren't what he'd hoped to find.
Night shadows fell and he finally rose,
Sauntering down the main street
With only the sound of his worn, leather boots
On the pavement stretched under his feet.
He knocked on a door and slipped quickly inside
As a voice whispered out of the dark.
Then all became silent. The night shadows grew
As the moments remained with no mark.
Such are the moments in life, my friend.
Unnoticed they're silent and fade.
Yet, one single moment noted and told
As a legend is history made.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May
2, 2002
Your Slippers Wait
As
evening shadows fall, I hear
A song that you once sang to me
To soothe me from a restless sleep.
The notes are still slightly off key.
I sit upon your easy chair
And feel your heart beat close to mine.
I see your face creased in a smile;
The face that I know line by line.
Our living room is growing dark.
The house seems empty and so cold.
Your slippers still wait here for you.
I miss the stories that you told.
I know that life keeps moving on
And that, one day, my heart will see
A smile in someone else' eyes.
But now you still sit here with me.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
A song that you once sang to me
To soothe me from a restless sleep.
The notes are still slightly off key.
I sit upon your easy chair
And feel your heart beat close to mine.
I see your face creased in a smile;
The face that I know line by line.
Our living room is growing dark.
The house seems empty and so cold.
Your slippers still wait here for you.
I miss the stories that you told.
I know that life keeps moving on
And that, one day, my heart will see
A smile in someone else' eyes.
But now you still sit here with me.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
May
2, 2002
Stepping Stones
I
gazed from my window
And there they were,
Aglow in the moonlight.
I felt my heart stir
And my feet felt like tapping
A song on each one.
They sat in my garden,
Awaiting the sun.
They wandered through dahlias
'Neath trellises, too,
Enticing me onward
To each moonlit view.
They told me that I
Needn't wait for the day.
At night, if I'm restless,
I can still come to play.
I can listen for creatures
Who hide in the brush
At the sound of my footsteps
In the night's gentle hush.
I can hop on each one
Like I did as a child,
Or just stand and savour.
The evening's so mild
That my heart starts to beat
In a whimsical tune
As the stepping stones glow
By the light of the moon.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
And there they were,
Aglow in the moonlight.
I felt my heart stir
And my feet felt like tapping
A song on each one.
They sat in my garden,
Awaiting the sun.
They wandered through dahlias
'Neath trellises, too,
Enticing me onward
To each moonlit view.
They told me that I
Needn't wait for the day.
At night, if I'm restless,
I can still come to play.
I can listen for creatures
Who hide in the brush
At the sound of my footsteps
In the night's gentle hush.
I can hop on each one
Like I did as a child,
Or just stand and savour.
The evening's so mild
That my heart starts to beat
In a whimsical tune
As the stepping stones glow
By the light of the moon.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
Apr.
29, 2002
One Final Tear
Between
these silent walls
Exists your life.
You sit remembering
You had a wife
And laughter used to be
An easy thing.
You almost seem to hear
The songs she'd sing.
You rest a while deep in
Her favorite chair.
You fight the tears and
Battle your despair.
You know you must go on
But not quite how
You'll find a way when life
Is different now.
A mournful cry comes floating
Through the night.
You sit without the presence
Of a light.
Then, like a dream, you feel
Her touch your face.
You feel her kiss as just
The slightest trace.
She lets you know that
She is always near.
You softly brush away
One final tear.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
Exists your life.
You sit remembering
You had a wife
And laughter used to be
An easy thing.
You almost seem to hear
The songs she'd sing.
You rest a while deep in
Her favorite chair.
You fight the tears and
Battle your despair.
You know you must go on
But not quite how
You'll find a way when life
Is different now.
A mournful cry comes floating
Through the night.
You sit without the presence
Of a light.
Then, like a dream, you feel
Her touch your face.
You feel her kiss as just
The slightest trace.
She lets you know that
She is always near.
You softly brush away
One final tear.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
Apr
24, 2002
Almost Familiar
Wrapped
in silence
He stood by the wall,
Almost familiar
But hard to recall.
Was he a neighbour
Who'd moved away?
Should we know his name?
I couldn't say.
Forgotten flashes
Of memory
Rose like a banner,
"Remember me?"
His total aloofness
Screamed of the past.
He seemed so alone,
I approached him at last.
I welcomed him
But I think he heard
The curious nature
Beneath each word.
"No, I'm a stranger."
Was all he said,
But instant denial
Whirled in my head.
Yet I couldn't push him.
That isn't my way,
Though he stood like a haunting
From yesterday.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
He stood by the wall,
Almost familiar
But hard to recall.
Was he a neighbour
Who'd moved away?
Should we know his name?
I couldn't say.
Forgotten flashes
Of memory
Rose like a banner,
"Remember me?"
His total aloofness
Screamed of the past.
He seemed so alone,
I approached him at last.
I welcomed him
But I think he heard
The curious nature
Beneath each word.
"No, I'm a stranger."
Was all he said,
But instant denial
Whirled in my head.
Yet I couldn't push him.
That isn't my way,
Though he stood like a haunting
From yesterday.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
Apr
23, 2002
Moments of Despair
As
the years roll back, I too have felt
Those moments of despair.
I thought that I was on my own,
That no one else could share
That sense of fear, the midnight tear
That trickled down my face.
I thought I'd be the only one
Without a personal space.
The wind was cold before the dawn.
I couldn't see the sun.
I thought that no one else could care
About the things I'd done,
Nor dreams I had that never grew
Into reality.
It took so long, but sunrise came
And warmed me, finally.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
Those moments of despair.
I thought that I was on my own,
That no one else could share
That sense of fear, the midnight tear
That trickled down my face.
I thought I'd be the only one
Without a personal space.
The wind was cold before the dawn.
I couldn't see the sun.
I thought that no one else could care
About the things I'd done,
Nor dreams I had that never grew
Into reality.
It took so long, but sunrise came
And warmed me, finally.
© 2002 Pam H. Murray
Apr
20, 2002
A Monumental Day
In
dreams, I found a quiet place
Beneath a willow tree.
The air was cool. A nearby stream
Meandered tranquilly.
The sky was blue, with feathered clouds.
The trees wore Spring’s new green.
The worries that had brought me out
Fled from this peaceful scene.
I sat upon a sun warmed stone
And, as time slipped away,
The world evolved and this became
A monumental day.
It all began because, in dreams,
I found a special place
And felt the awesome beauty of
The sun upon my face.
© 2002 rhymetimeblue
Beneath a willow tree.
The air was cool. A nearby stream
Meandered tranquilly.
The sky was blue, with feathered clouds.
The trees wore Spring’s new green.
The worries that had brought me out
Fled from this peaceful scene.
I sat upon a sun warmed stone
And, as time slipped away,
The world evolved and this became
A monumental day.
It all began because, in dreams,
I found a special place
And felt the awesome beauty of
The sun upon my face.
© 2002 rhymetimeblue
Apr 20, 2002
The Saved Whale
What do you speak of in the night
Adrift within the moon’s soft light,
Mere shadows in the moving waves,
A hint of passing time and graves?
An ancient memory saw you when
You first looked at the face of men
And felt their lances pierce your side.
Back then who listened when you cried?
Who thought of what a gift they had
Nor, in your death, did they feel sad.
But yesterday upon a beach
A whale was caught, waves out of reach
And we all came to set you free.
We watched you dancing in the sea
And heard you call to your own kind,
Our joyful thoughts trailing behind.
© 2012 Pam H. Murray
Adrift within the moon’s soft light,
Mere shadows in the moving waves,
A hint of passing time and graves?
An ancient memory saw you when
You first looked at the face of men
And felt their lances pierce your side.
Back then who listened when you cried?
Who thought of what a gift they had
Nor, in your death, did they feel sad.
But yesterday upon a beach
A whale was caught, waves out of reach
And we all came to set you free.
We watched you dancing in the sea
And heard you call to your own kind,
Our joyful thoughts trailing behind.
© 2012 Pam H. Murray
Saturday, 14 July 2012
Another Realm
Her simple lines reflected on
The river’s silent water
Were layered stone and gentle arch.
Just as the sunlight caught her
I saw the shadow of someone
Who came to meet another
And saw once more a memory
Of brother greeting brother.
I heard a voice from older days
Saw a little bridge worth crossing
Leading me to other realms
Where dreams become engrossing.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
The river’s silent water
Were layered stone and gentle arch.
Just as the sunlight caught her
I saw the shadow of someone
Who came to meet another
And saw once more a memory
Of brother greeting brother.
I heard a voice from older days
Saw a little bridge worth crossing
Leading me to other realms
Where dreams become engrossing.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Her Treasury
In silence he walked
Through the morning chill
Fighting his tears
As his heart grew still
Under the weight
Of his memories
Shifting and mobile,
Cold, restless seas.
He thought of years
He had shared with her
When the warmth of a smile
Caused his heart to stir
With simple amazement
That she could see
His value, his soul
As her treasury.
But now he lives
‘Neath an endless pain
Secretly wishing
She’d live again.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Through the morning chill
Fighting his tears
As his heart grew still
Under the weight
Of his memories
Shifting and mobile,
Cold, restless seas.
He thought of years
He had shared with her
When the warmth of a smile
Caused his heart to stir
With simple amazement
That she could see
His value, his soul
As her treasury.
But now he lives
‘Neath an endless pain
Secretly wishing
She’d live again.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Autumn's Turn
As autumn takes another turn
And Jack Frost paints another scene
The memories wash over me,
A soft cover of reverie.
I smell the scent of burning leaves
And see the world turn red and gold
As children hurry down the street
Bundled against the morning’s cold.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
And Jack Frost paints another scene
The memories wash over me,
A soft cover of reverie.
I smell the scent of burning leaves
And see the world turn red and gold
As children hurry down the street
Bundled against the morning’s cold.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Driftwood
| I am but driftwood passing by, So small against the summer sky. So many people never see Something worth looking at in me. Yet others stop to view my form And think of me as smooth and warm. Some carve a keepsake from my hide And show me off with so much pride Remembering where I was found, A simple stick upon the ground. It’s funny how some souls we touch, Yet others don’t see very much. © 2012 Pam H. Murray | |||
|
| |||
The Nothingness
Words used: simple choice poetry aggravate grace cardigan soul bowl crawl
can
The Nothingness
You can make a simple choice
Let poetry become your voice
With twists you want to aggravate
No grace, no soul, just speak then wait.
A shadow in a cardigan
Stooped and shuffling, tired old man
Too stiff to crawl, can barely walk
His begging bowl is filled with chalk
As he sets out to fill the street
With written words made bittersweet,
By passing feet that make them fade.
He carries on though he's afraid
That silence might deny each line.
He's always writing to define
The truth of people's apathy
Still hoping that someone will see
The poetry laid in the dirt
That tries to make them see the hurt
Of nothingness behind the wall
Of faces that won't see at all.
c 2011 Pam H. Murray
The Nothingness
You can make a simple choice
Let poetry become your voice
With twists you want to aggravate
No grace, no soul, just speak then wait.
A shadow in a cardigan
Stooped and shuffling, tired old man
Too stiff to crawl, can barely walk
His begging bowl is filled with chalk
As he sets out to fill the street
With written words made bittersweet,
By passing feet that make them fade.
He carries on though he's afraid
That silence might deny each line.
He's always writing to define
The truth of people's apathy
Still hoping that someone will see
The poetry laid in the dirt
That tries to make them see the hurt
Of nothingness behind the wall
Of faces that won't see at all.
c 2011 Pam H. Murray
Friends
Words used: keep flippant remember comfort grand drive elephant ache sunset
arcane
Friends
A flippant joke, an arcane phrase,
Keep echoing through memory.
An elephant does not forget
Yet I won't choose to let words be
The last remembrance of those years
When sunsets caused the soul to ache,
When you and I imagined life
A grand driveway, without a break.
Let’s take the time to think of when
We’d stand together through the days
When trouble seemed to rule the hour.
Let’s not forget in anger’s haze
That you and I have always been
The staunchest friends, through thick and thin.
Let’s both take comfort knowing we
Both hold each heartbeat deep within.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Friends
A flippant joke, an arcane phrase,
Keep echoing through memory.
An elephant does not forget
Yet I won't choose to let words be
The last remembrance of those years
When sunsets caused the soul to ache,
When you and I imagined life
A grand driveway, without a break.
Let’s take the time to think of when
We’d stand together through the days
When trouble seemed to rule the hour.
Let’s not forget in anger’s haze
That you and I have always been
The staunchest friends, through thick and thin.
Let’s both take comfort knowing we
Both hold each heartbeat deep within.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
First Shadows Of Grief
Words Used: explain grief frantic couple car breed come grow over
last
First Shadows of Grief
I can't explain the shadows of my world
Where grief and frantic pain obscure the view
The couple has been severed from its place
A speeding car and death, the end of you.
The night now breeds the feeling of despair
A growing sense that this one cannot last.
The growing need to have you come again
An overwhelming shadow of the past.
c 2011 Pam H. Murray
First Shadows of Grief
I can't explain the shadows of my world
Where grief and frantic pain obscure the view
The couple has been severed from its place
A speeding car and death, the end of you.
The night now breeds the feeling of despair
A growing sense that this one cannot last.
The growing need to have you come again
An overwhelming shadow of the past.
c 2011 Pam H. Murray
A Song
Words used: water, shadow, chill, distant, skyline, cloud, travel, sailboat,
rock, dorsal
A Song
A comforter, like water, spread
Across the shadows in my room
The chill of night was held at bay
A distant skyline pierced the gloom.
No cloud came sailing overhead,
My sailboat held me in its grasp.
A rock stood out like dorsal fin
And shocked from me a single gasp
As I awoke and shed the dream.
I felt the comfort of my home
And felt a song begin to float
Until I rose and wrote this poem.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
A Song
A comforter, like water, spread
Across the shadows in my room
The chill of night was held at bay
A distant skyline pierced the gloom.
No cloud came sailing overhead,
My sailboat held me in its grasp.
A rock stood out like dorsal fin
And shocked from me a single gasp
As I awoke and shed the dream.
I felt the comfort of my home
And felt a song begin to float
Until I rose and wrote this poem.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Dreams
Words used: drown point depth aspect dart frenzy floating clutter ageing
detangle
Dreams
She stood on a corner drowning in dreams
At a point in the tangle of clutter she knew
As life, from a depth of despair, cold and shadow
A door into darkness she'd had to walk through.
She wished she could live like the girls in the movies.
Each aspect of life seemed so perfect for those
Who lived with the yards and the new painted houses
And viewed her like dirt down the length of each nose.
She thought how she'd dart in a frenzy to flee them
Into the clutter of tenement rooms.
Aging, like drugs, was a state to confuse her
She was part of the street, with its discarded blooms.
But out in the sunlight a garden was growing,
With fish floating by in a hand crafted pool
And dreams turned to hope for a break in her future
Where people were kinder and life not so cruel.
c 2011 Pam H. Murray
Dreams
She stood on a corner drowning in dreams
At a point in the tangle of clutter she knew
As life, from a depth of despair, cold and shadow
A door into darkness she'd had to walk through.
She wished she could live like the girls in the movies.
Each aspect of life seemed so perfect for those
Who lived with the yards and the new painted houses
And viewed her like dirt down the length of each nose.
She thought how she'd dart in a frenzy to flee them
Into the clutter of tenement rooms.
Aging, like drugs, was a state to confuse her
She was part of the street, with its discarded blooms.
But out in the sunlight a garden was growing,
With fish floating by in a hand crafted pool
And dreams turned to hope for a break in her future
Where people were kinder and life not so cruel.
c 2011 Pam H. Murray
Drowning
Words used: drown point depth aspect dart frenzy floating clutter ageing
detangle
Drowning
As night falls I am drowning in memories
At a point where the depth of emotions
Is an aspect I had not planned
But it is a dart of fire
In the frenzy of winter
And I find myself floating
In a clutter of anger
Laughter and tears.
Is it ageing that disallows
A detangling of self
Through clear thought?
Possibly.
Before sleep claims me
I make one last grab
For a peaceful shoreline.
It disappears
Leaving me drowning in memories.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Drowning
As night falls I am drowning in memories
At a point where the depth of emotions
Is an aspect I had not planned
But it is a dart of fire
In the frenzy of winter
And I find myself floating
In a clutter of anger
Laughter and tears.
Is it ageing that disallows
A detangling of self
Through clear thought?
Possibly.
Before sleep claims me
I make one last grab
For a peaceful shoreline.
It disappears
Leaving me drowning in memories.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
My Universe
words used: queen mould cook grant stand stir fire black free cord
My Universe
The most wonderful queen I see,
Mould me as you want me to be
Just let me simply take a look
As true love potions start to cook
And grant me just a simple boon
To stand or dance to this new tune
Let every cry stir fire and be
An echo of my destiny.
How awesome as I watch your birth
And find a new world here on earth,
No black and white, it’s colour now,
I cut your cord and make this vow
A father’s heart I freely give,
To hold as long as we shall live,
And every day, your whole life through,
My universe is built on you!
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
My Universe
The most wonderful queen I see,
Mould me as you want me to be
Just let me simply take a look
As true love potions start to cook
And grant me just a simple boon
To stand or dance to this new tune
Let every cry stir fire and be
An echo of my destiny.
How awesome as I watch your birth
And find a new world here on earth,
No black and white, it’s colour now,
I cut your cord and make this vow
A father’s heart I freely give,
To hold as long as we shall live,
And every day, your whole life through,
My universe is built on you!
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Overgrown
Words used: queen mould cook grant stand stir fire black free
cord
Overgrown
Once she had been a garden queen,
Her flowers bright, her hedges green.
Now she can’t even come outside,
And few know why she chose to hide.
Her garden bench is thick with mould,
Her outdoor cooking stove stands cold.
She prays God grant her youth again
To stand beneath the trees. In pain
She thinks of stirring that old fire
And watching all the sparks dance higher
Than the porch where she could see
A cord of wood she’d got for free.
It all seemed black as winter came.
How life had changed and who could blame
The children who lived far away
And promised they’d come by one day.
The world had grown too busy now.
She’d love to change but can’t see how.
Soon all the joy in life she’d known
Became a garden, overgrown.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Overgrown
Once she had been a garden queen,
Her flowers bright, her hedges green.
Now she can’t even come outside,
And few know why she chose to hide.
Her garden bench is thick with mould,
Her outdoor cooking stove stands cold.
She prays God grant her youth again
To stand beneath the trees. In pain
She thinks of stirring that old fire
And watching all the sparks dance higher
Than the porch where she could see
A cord of wood she’d got for free.
It all seemed black as winter came.
How life had changed and who could blame
The children who lived far away
And promised they’d come by one day.
The world had grown too busy now.
She’d love to change but can’t see how.
Soon all the joy in life she’d known
Became a garden, overgrown.
© 2011 Pam H. Murray
Simplicity
The truest sense of self I’ve found
Is simply passing over ground,
Earth’s living shell. Each changing mood,
Each realm, each sound, each interlude
Is like a toy shop for my soul.
No want, no wish could make me whole
Quite like the air upon my face
As I look on and find a place
Beyond my starting expectation.
A tiny wren whose dedication
To its nest is worth far more
Than all else I may have searched for.
© Pam H. Murray
June 17, 2012
Is simply passing over ground,
Earth’s living shell. Each changing mood,
Each realm, each sound, each interlude
Is like a toy shop for my soul.
No want, no wish could make me whole
Quite like the air upon my face
As I look on and find a place
Beyond my starting expectation.
A tiny wren whose dedication
To its nest is worth far more
Than all else I may have searched for.
© Pam H. Murray
June 17, 2012
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