Late October

Sunshine drips from mottled yellows and reds,
their dying lights evening, reflects sunset,
catches a hint of purple, left over
greens of summer. Scattered across the drive
sidewalk blanketed, they crunch under foot,
play my personal sound track, with neither
symphony nor rock band, just late robins
wondering where everyone else has gone.

Pink skies brighten to azure without clouds
darken to violet as cold settles in.
It’s the season to harvest ripened fruit
and prepare for winter’s chilly long nights.

I delay the rake, set aside bagging
and delight in the disarray of fall.




An Invitation

Inspect my imperfections,
the dimple
on my thigh
and battles scars
of child birth.
Run your fingers along my shin bone,
the subtle bumps
earned in childhood play
– and my young-mother-stumbles,
when I fell
pursuing little boys in danger.

Study the flaws
reflected in my mirror
each time I undress
when I see myself
with a critical eye – and wonder
what he saw
to find
beauty in the image.

Place your hands on mine
caress the length and detail
of this body;
discover me
with your eyes – accept
this invitation
to participate in life



Captured beauty stirs
through a simple camera lens
every season lives


Hospital Sheets

I deplore the white sheets in hospitals,
sterile backdrops for the ill. They provide
too much contrast for a loved one’s pallor,
showing jaundice or highlighting the flushed.

Beige or ecru would mask the sheen of sick,
swallowing the bloodless, washing away
the remnants of summer’s faded tan lines.

She could be seen as regal, almost calm,
grey hair, not blue-rinsed, brushed off strong features,
if not for the lines etched around closed eyes,
lips pinching in grimace with each movement.
Her classic beauty hidden by the pain.

She belongs in pastels or bold color,
not the starched blankness of hospital sheets.



Each morning, just when she thinks she’s ready,
life catches her off guard, throws her backward
into the years they were together or
forward to the recent past when they weren’t.

Hard work and love have simplified her life.
Home has taken shape around inner pain,
protecting the pieces so they can heal.
Uncertain of what will emerge, she waits.

Cup of coffee in her hands, she slips off
into the past for a little while;
lost memories have become a private
self-indulgence she shares with no one else.

She’s taken the good with the bad before;
realizes, at last, it’s all balance.




She is the ivy stretched out at your feet,

twisting along edges of awareness;

she’s the clematis winding her way up,

reaching out to entwine your limbs with soft

petal words. Her thorns are invisible,

worn down to dull nothingness over time

she’s spent worrying her beauty too plain

for your taste.  Once your attention was pricked

with bright color, she drew blood – passion

with her touch and drowned you in desire

for her nectar. Now she lingers in your

memory, her scent fragile in early

morning hours, dew-kissed with antici-

pation of the sun’s warmth – she grows on you.



© Siobhan


Future Unknown

In whose oblivion do you shelter?
With whom do you share this light-less future?
The flicker of flame from soft candlelight
casts shadows across my path; I know that
nightingale song will ever sing your name
and that along the horizon, sunrise
promises azure skies with starlit nights
to follow. The fragrance of evening blooms
tempts me into the garden, beautiful
with vows of forever more and silver
linings. I linger with my heart against
the edges of where I am – listening
to the future; it is hope-full, unknown –
the chance to learn to trust and love again.

© Siobhan