Tuesday, April 30, 2013

I Am

I Am
Lisa A.Williams

I would like to hear it-

Your silent sung song held so tightly

Living in an image-
stone heart hutch keeps you distanced

I know there is pain
flames of wishes blown away

I know there is love
buried deep in memory

Regret rides the moon-
celestial gods hold all that is dear

They wait upon silence for your voice
 to fill the sky with
 I am...

Sunday, April 28, 2013

That Place

That Place
Lisa A.Williams

I forgot
that place-
where she hung high
like the sweetest apple
on a bending bough

The harvesters guided by
lost shepherds
in the top most fields-

blind sighted by their hunger
 missed her – she fell
 no longer worthy.

She felt the sweetness
seeping from the seeds
she never planted.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

Your heart

never settled there

in that empty place of silence.

You had to give name to all those places,

all those times which changed you.

Words born of a feeling that is timeless,

voices of those long gone, no longer

able to sing their own song

passed to you from generations 

of the questioning spirit which holds the heart in limbo.


Sunday, April 21, 2013

Phyllis (reposted from 10/2012)

Lisa A.Williams

We don’t speak of it-
the loss silencing
our world.
How arrogant of the sun
to rise
when we were facing
 the black hole emptiness
not enough breathing space
for our own grieving.
Some pain can’t be shared,
sometimes we are islands
surrounded by restless current
fearing if we were to plunge
we’d breathe in each others tears
and drown.
It was good to love you,
but oh how the earth trembled
when we had to say goodbye.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

My Mother's Eyes (reposted from 09/2012)

                                                              My Mother's Eyes
Lisa A.Williams

Blue communion-
of restless sea
and silent sky
an undertow of illness
behind those stormy eyes.

Stone between us
dark catatonia,
kept you hidden,
Always I wonder
who you were,
always I wonder
what parts of me
are you?

Sunday, April 14, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

Breathing promises
tomorrows to replace,
 we still hold close
 nurturing the infancy
of our dreams,
 afraid if we wake
we will see they
are still just dreams.
We strung ourselves along
on wings and prayers.
Grounded and silent
we raise our eyes to the blue
and sometimes stormy
celestial breadth
who even in silence
hears our plea.

Friday, April 12, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

Beneath this sky I cannot
recognize myself
so far off in the distance
disappearing with the vanishing
light of day.
A rise of feeling,
surges through the stillness
so dark, not even shadows dance
as I stand in this far off place
of knowing.

Thursday, April 11, 2013


(Celtic Goddess of poetry, inspiration,birth
and unity)

 Lisa A.Williams

Goddess of fire,
whose gifts
the love of words,
healing through birth
and unity.
Born at dawn
 with the rising Sun
who crowned her queen
of rhyme and reason,
knowing she would lead
to those abandoned rooms
we lock with restraint,
fearing the truth may
slip beneath like
a stream of light
edging its way into
open space.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Grand Canyon

Grand Canyon
Lisa A.Williams

I look to the depths
far, far below
to crevices, caverns 
formed long ago,
to twisting trails,
ledges steep,
winding rivers with 
pools so deep.
Under the gaze
of Wotan's Throne,
a river of scarlet steals
mammoth stone.
High above in heaven's eye,
the Temple of Vishnu
guards changing sky.
Mountains greet 
with great surprise,
cascades of color,
with each sunrise.
Golden walls with
lavender hues,
shades of pink 
and smoky blues.
Rainbows of stone
dance in fading light,
lengthening shadows
with the approach 
of night.
Distant howls echo
in black skies,
piercing the silence
with lonely cries.
Into the depths
of the purple abyss,
surrounded by towering
crimson cliffs.
Showers of turquoise
bathe ancient walls,
sculpting new images
as water falls.
Bright Angel Point
in creation's glory,
from the beginning
knew the story
of a piece of
untamed land ,
how it succumbed
to nature's hand.
Woven by time
into glorious form,
witness to age
and frequent storm.
Beneath an endless sky
of change,
the molten earth
expanded range,
took over more of
untamed ground,
transforming stone
into craggy mound.
Watchtowers rose
from the silent earth,
each new creation
celebrating its birth.
Below an air of
altered shade
a new foundation of 
world was made.
A brush in hand,
the painter can see
the miracle of nature
and all it can be.
Trying to capture 
the beauty of age
seems impossible 
with human gauge.
So much to take in,
the eyes try to behold
an ancient image of
creation so bold.
Formed by ice
 and melting snow,
an artist's canvas 
sketched long ago.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

The Skin You Don't Know (reposted from 09/2012)

The Skin You Don’t Know
Lisa A.Williams

Wear it gently-

feel its familiar sheath-

 the one it was born to,

in all its keloidal ache



Savor timeless


trickling down crimson faces

burnt by enduring


Wear it

until it molds to the shape

of all

it must embrace.

Thursday, April 4, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

Speak to me
in this silent moment
of remembering
all that has passed.

Help me tell the story
I own-
bound in some ways
frayed in others.

As I came alone
I will leave alone
 with attachments,

with loss that lifted
my spirit in search of whys
and pleas for no more.

It was during this journey,
in the stillness of a reflective
oasis, goodbyes
were remembered
with that ache of emptiness
 time can soothe
                                                                       but not erase.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013


Lisa A.Williams

Persephone rises
from the dark
 confines of earth,
 free once again
 from winter's grave,
no longer a slave 
in frozen wait.
Nature knows the body
of her song,
 hears it in the wind
as her gentle
 whispering  awakens
a sleepy world.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Cinders (reposted from 08/29/2012)

Lisa A.Williams

by brick
or board.
they were called
those tow headed girls
wanting to purge
this dry christening
which scathed
skin and soul,
its adornment
crushing the
childhood chant,
“names will never
hurt me.”
Lingering lyrics-
notes carried high
by those who sang of
smelling of smoke
and cinder.
by thought or word,
somehow they knew
the fire was always
to be discarded,
They were singed
yet somehow
rose from the flames
and bore their blistering-