The Balcony

Without fancy work or a gargoyle face,
she’s almost non-descript, borders on plain.
Clinging to the edge, she squints through the trees
not tall enough to fully block her view.
Vines grow, climbing to entangle themselves
about her, hiding her from passersby
who explore the city searching out love.
When spring buds unfurl blossoms, shielding
lovers who venture out to perch above
Paris streets, she holds court to their whispers;
secrets and laughter kept between the three.
She has played witness to joy and anger;
been baptized in tears of rage and passion.
She is the silent partner in their lives.


Keeping Score

We laughed often – once, exchanged words and love –
passionately, even when silent;
softly, when we were ready for being
together. Simple vows spoken over
and over in sonnet; our reminders
to one another that through everything
love conquers all
. In the game, in this life
the score was never even – I didn’t
realize it was a competition
or a contest between lovers and friends.

Private musings became a war of words,
imagination a challenge to best,
and art another rivalry to win…
Tell me – where was I when the war began?


I am Living

Soft whispers of a French song drift across
the room, filling every space with sorrow.
I want to dance, your arms wrapped around me;
hold me close against your chest, our bodies
barely moving in time to the rhythm.
Eyes closed, I can imagine the heart beats –
yours and mine, near silent to everyone
yet loud as trumpets to the two of us.
The music shifts, shuffling between songs.
Random musicians feel my mood somehow.

They remind me I need a few changes;
as they play, I know I can’t bring myself
to remove the pieces of memory
lodged inside the lyrics. They are part me –
part you and blended into who we were.
I can’t – don’t want to – relinquish that yet.
As we dance in my imagination,
I wonder who I am punishing
and realize – no one. I am living
and accepting and mourning and being.


80 Proof Angels


Reclining in to the snow, I stretch out –

arms thrown wide embracing cold; I shiver

and – welcoming the sensation beneath

my nakedness – I float on my back, swim

through the blizzard of emotion – silent.


One-night past the new moon, a sliver lights

the sky – a crescent waiting to emerge,

to kiss the darkness and, in that same breath,

warm my body with anticipation,

aware of each falling snowflake’s caress.


Drunk on the passion coursing through my limbs,

I close my eyes and picture you above –

I give birth to snow angels under stars

bright against the black velvet around me.



© Siobhan


A Silhouette of the Past 

I know his shadow-self, embrace that soft,

sad heart—will allow it to pierce this ghost;

freeing me to imagine him, the voice

in the wind and sea—picture deep water,

black ocean surrounding eternity

smooth about me. Paint strokes of winter light

seep through white glass so it floods over us,

our time together, free after waking

like fools from yesterday’s innocent blush,

only friends before; lovers now alive.


A silhouette of the past floats along

beside me, faded to disappearing.

Youth released, naked to only those eyes

that can see inside—me—bare to the world.




Similar Soul

A beautiful poem and what I hope
for when I write; that it speaks to someone
even one silent person passing by.
Brave a glance into my world, curious
to find a similar soul, anyone
else watching the ghosts of present lovers
and past passions shift around in their own
world. We share, not knowing one another,
save the lost hope found inside someone’s words;
words that seep beneath the surface of smiles.

When I look into the layers built up
by years of growing, this skin of woman
tightens as this flesh ages beyond where
I imagine desire is lying.