Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Mi na Samna (reposted from 11/2012

Min na Samhna
Lisa A.Williams

She came,
cloaked in gray.
Somber in her arrival
I sought the sun,
so well hidden
in her shadows
of dying vines, 
sleepy in fruitless wait
for rebirth.
She promised resurrection
but faith is hard
to come by
when hands clench
in remembrance
of all that has perished.
I have tried
 to embrace her
her icy  touch
that all things end.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Dream (Reposted from 09/05/12)

Lisa A.Williams

My offering-
was never enough.

Fair haired man,
sipping lemonade
in the garden
it was letting go
I was most afraid of.

White flowers-
sun thirsty blooms;
release easy for them,
willingly whisked away
by soft sweeping wind,
scattering their petals
  in the hills beyond
into a summer snow
embracing the freedom
of rootless release
from dying vines
of a soured season.

Fair haired man-
led the way,
I followed .
Turning back, I saw
my chains unravel
into pure earth,
in summer snow,
bittersweet taste
                                                                     upon my tongue.

Thursday, January 24, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

Tell me
of the fences,
places you’ve crossed
and climbed
of the splintered flesh
which has healed
when the chain was broken,
 the gate opened
where the once petrified fear
crumbled in its stone
and life began anew
once more-
behind those planks of painted white,
hiding the worn and weathered
hurt you left behind.

Monday, January 21, 2013


Lisa A.Williams  

Wound upon wound
all pretense-
anemic suture.

How truth bleeds
 through white silence-
Crimson shades 
 the pureness 
of our dreams long held in
 hunting hearts,
tasting each others hunger-

the nearness of it always.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

He Sang of Chains


He Sang of Chains
Lisa A.Williams

He sang of chains,

wishing to be free
of cheating hearts-

he couldn’t let go of.

He sang of doubtful minds,
 cold he couldn’t melt;
which made him cry.

A young man’s words
my father sang
in a low melodic voice,

which brought him
 beneath a familiar sky.


Sunday, January 13, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

Dark day
still morning,
not even the disturbance
of breeze to blow through
the bareness.
What gifts do you have
to offer
with no visible beauty
beneath the gray?
A sleepy kind of nostalgia
calling me inward
where poems
                                                                       wait to be born.

Sunday, January 6, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

I look out,
to where earth meets sky
spectrum of
holding promise
of “gold”
never enough to fill
our pockets
so fleeting
in its ethereal haze
leaving us
                                                                     in want of more