Friday, July 27, 2012


Lisa A.Williams

What lies beneath

deserves stone unturned-

Suffocating in thick-skinned


 Mining hurt-


from my own quarry-

  So tender

from their

 weighty bruising, I unwrap

the old, left behind things,

feel their hard edges, no longer afraid

of bleeding,

 no longer looking for a savior,

                                                            I can stop crucifying myself.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012


Lisa A.Williams

August came,
and I remembered-
the onslaught
of things lost,
fading in their sun scorched fields,
 withering to fall’s intrusion,
filled with promises
of redemption.
I breathed in
her solemn splendor,
felt summer’s sorrow
knowing she would return,
in her same old lazy way.
She would be the same,
   it is I who would be different.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Hankies In Her Pocket

Hankies in Her Pocket
Lisa A.Williams

She held them tightly,
 in her apron pocket,
feeling the soft cotton,

delicate embroidery
of dainty butterflies in pink and blue,
faded from all the sadness
their wings embraced.

with no beginning,
no end,
just an endless stream,
searching for a soft familiar place
where like treasure
my mother’s tears
were saved.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Pale Butterflies

Pale Butterflies
Lisa A.Williams

Feeling freedom through
outstretched wings of
Soaring over the
green sea,
feet still touching soft blades
somehow they knew
they were “flying".
Cropped crowns of sun gold
racing against the wind
in the fields
of backyard magic.
Once grounded,
feeling the brittle fall
of harsh words and
 stinging discipline
wings clipped-
yet always there is a wishing
to fly again.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

July 3rd

July 3rd
Lisa A.Williams

Goodbye dad-
remembering this day
twenty-eight years now.
you never got to see grow
into the beautiful women they have become.
I see traces of you
in their smiles,
in their humor
and fair skin-
 sun kisses, sometimes burns.
I miss you , always thinking of you
resting by the river
of your genesis.

Monday, July 2, 2012

At Sea

At Sea
Lisa A.Williams

in restless current.
in the deep
all horizons-
deceiving images
almost breathless,
by the heaviness
not knowing.


Lisa A.Williams

The animal
knows the dark,
 two eyes
keen with insight
Soft padded feet step lightly
 trackless white, only instinct
leads the way
It can taste the familiar
hear the old earth bound songs
the beating urging onward
facing forward

 always pursued
by itself
lost to the songs
a break in the beat
leaves a cold want
to know,
what has been forgotten,
finding itself filling white space-
Tracks in the snow
leading the way home.

Standing on Stones

Standing on Stones
Lisa A.Williams

The wise-
don’t build on sand.
but spirit does.
 At the mercy of whispers,
the wind utters
 her contempt
for stability-
she is a freedom
lover, enraptured by
the pull of lunar
and warm breezes.
Sister sun-
shines on the shadows
 of stone-
where secrets try to hide.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

The Ladies

 The Ladies
Lisa A.Williams

They tell
of lifetimes spent
in small towns
when the world
was new to them
and grief and loss
were in their infancy,
as they raised families
still keeping their voices
in low whispers.
Time moved on,
some were separated
from parents while still
in desperate need
of their guidance.
 Husbands lost
to dying.
Their voices grew louder,
stories I was eager to hear,
in a small shop
where others “junk”
became someone elses“ treasure”.
In their company, me
at 50, still in their eyes,
a “young” woman,
to how cancer reared
its ugly head,
time and time again
sometimes beaten,
sometimes the victor.
How a man forgot
his wife’s name
and whether he was eating
cherries or grapes
as she wiped his mouth,
like he was her child.
Stories of loneliness,
 in an

empty house,
making winters
 colder than memory.
Most of all,
the treasure of aging
with strength
and beauty
how nothing would
cause the laughter
to cease.
Joy was always
on the cusp,
 the ladies-
wise enough to swoop her up
at every chance.