Monday, February 15, 2016

Two poems for today:

"Sunday mornings"

Sunday mornings hearing preachers
talk of fire and brimstone
and pathways to heaven
with Mothers shouting in aisles
after being touched by spirits
while we hide in stairwells
counting down the hour
playing with coins in pockets
destined for offering plates
I watch as the girl pulls out
her comb to fix her curls
to catch the boys’ eyes

“she hid it so well”

she hid it so well
no one could ever tell
depression’s shadow had returned
her soul blackened by its burns
it filled up her emptiness
with a pitcher of bitterness
turning her heart into ice
but it didn’t show in her eyes
she smiled through her mask
saying all is well if you asked
but deep down it was not fine
not when she was dead inside


  1. I love the imagery in Sunday Mornings, especially the playing with coins in pockets and combing curls to catch boy's eyes

    1. Thank you seamushorn for reading and commenting. Much appreciated.