Tuesday, March 26, 2013

All the Dead Doors (reposted from 08/23/2012)

All the Dead Doors
Lisa A.Williams

All the dead doors
bolted, warped in
old time, sealed
barring entry to a past
so keen
                                                                    in fortune telling.
long unspoken around
blazing hearths of kin
and truth.
Fathers’ wishes-
ashes now.
Mothers’ dreams-
cold, dead bolts.
Still, if I listen
heart remembers their
old songs,
if only I could hear
the true rhythm
                                                                     of their words.

Sunday, March 24, 2013


In honor of John Muir
Lisa A.Williams

Taste the wild
where even the hand
of God
does not desire subjection
only honor;
to find my voice
in the echoes
of ancient stone,
carved by time,
embrace the soul
I have lost in this
“money making machine”
slayer of truth and beauty
whose gluttonous desire
leaves the spirit starving.
To rest, cradled
 in earthly splendor,
shaded beneath
monuments whose roots
hold ages.
                                                                  I need to go home

Wednesday, March 20, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

In her veil of twilight-  
we sleep,
dreaming endless dreams
of  a tomorrow,
where sun
and rain washes clean
the soil of regret.
Renewed in the embrace
of  lunar lust,
 as its light in the darkness
 the end of another day.
In our silent calm,
 we lay still,
 shedding wishes
as though
they were tears

Deceptive Reflections

Deceptive Reflections
Lisa A.Williams

The image-
of a bitter conception

through the looking glass
she saw an old reflection

with want,
with need,

yearning to feel
the lightness
 of letting sorrows bleed-

 from deep rooted

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Those Girls

Those Girls
Lisa A.Williams

They found each other
in poverty
the likes of which they shared
 tattered clothes,
grass stained knees,
boy cut hair
to save mother’s time-
So she could linger
in the shadows,
living someone elses
made for TV life.
Hopscotch –
jumps never reaching far enough
to find freedom seemingly
only a stone’s throw away.
Spaghetti O’s and wonder bread
the staples of youth,
teeth decaying in revolt
of silencing sweets.
and still those girls
grew, believing
the charming prince would one day
swoop them up in rescue
and dinner would be more
than angry eyes
“Milk Toast”.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

The Dying Age of the Soap Opera

The Dying Age of the Soap Opera
Lisa Williams

            When “Daytime Drama” first aired, the majority of sponsors were manufacturers

 of laundry detergent, hence, the term “Soap Opera” was coined.

            As Guiding Light aired its final episode on Friday, September 18, 2009, I thought

of my mother, an avid fan for that and many other daytime stories.

            The blare of mesmerizing dramas filled the house. She seemed lost in their world

 from 11:30 am to 4:30 pm, starting with “Love of Life” and ending with “The Edge of

Night”.  This was how my mother spent the majority of her days, in the midst of fictional

characters as transitory as the soap bubbles sponsors blew at the lonely women who

 joined their world of make believe.

            A world created in hopes of easing the drudgery of homemaking, which most

 women of that era were brought up to believe should be enough for them. To deny

  reaping any satisfaction from these daily tasks was to admit failure.

          In the wee hours, when the house was silent, the discontentment of their man-made
world filled the darkness, some would drink it away, some would lose themselves in the

 false sense of contentment doctors would offer in hastily written  prescriptions which

dulled their “Secret Storm”. I’m sure many waited anxiously for the day to begin so they

could join “Another World”.

            “As The World” turned, they remained still, never moving with it, just watching

as “The Days of” their “Lives” passed them by and before they knew it, just as “The

Edge of Night” fell, dinner, dishes and finally sleep took over.  As they lay quietly in

their beds, many wondered when in fact, their “Love of Life” would actually begin. 

            These amusements, created by the media to pacify bored, lonely women,

 failed miserably. The rights of women, fought so desperately for by previous

generations, were put aside once again in the age old attempt to keep the female “safe” in

 the home where many believed she belonged.  Unfortunately, this is where she began to

 unravel, losing herself in the shadows of wifedom and motherhood.

            The loneliness my mother and many women of her generation must have felt as

 “home” became a solitary dream denying shelter. The windows to the outside world

  became clouded with their families wants and needs, leaving these wives and mothers

 floundering in discontent as they wiped away smudges and crumbs of their daily lives to

 a sparkling shine, catching sight of their own unfamiliar reflections, surrendering to their

 “living” rooms, filled with the all too familiar voices of their soap “families”.

            My mother passed away on February 4, 2009.  She was found in her home by the

housekeeper.  In the background, the soaps still told their stories, so I presume she didn’t

feel she died alone, but I do. 


Sunday, March 10, 2013


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.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Dark Moon (reposted from 08/2012)

Dark Moon
Lisa A.Williams

Beneath the Dark Moon
holding power,
my father’s steel cold fear
 hung heavy
 between us,
 as he lay dying -

in the
heat swelled 66 New Moon,
one day from independence,
sweating out life’s poisons
in a shaded room
seeking forgiveness
for old “sins” still haunting
his opiate dreams.

Trying to let go
fighting to stay,
 lost –
Wishing on a salvation
he never believed in-

and detachment sat
never shedding a tear.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Eulogy (reposted from 10/2012)


Lisa A.Williams

We won’t be lived
like some
forgotten morning
whose sunrise
was missed
                                                                       by the heavy
weighing world
of now,
said the muses
to Father Sky. 

To feel timeless,
like an evening
strewn with stars-
not the fallen-
but those
those that rise,
lighting the shadows
where truth hides,
as the flow of words
carves into slated indifference,
softening the sharp edges
 of the  armor
 we have worn
in the age old war
we have waged
within ourselves.