Chelsey, Keep Fighting!

It's in their words
of comfort, to tell her
to keep fighting! To
banish the black
from the edges
of life and bring back the pink.
And she has been fighting,
knocking back the black
pounding it into submission
until it was a mere fringe,
a ruffle on life.
Now she sleeps
a maiden, an angel
resting for the last leg
of her journey, perhaps
the toughest of all paths.
May God bless her
and hold her tight in his arms
and may she awaken
to know the joy of Paradise.

Passing Galveston

Black waves finger the shore.
Galveston waits as the sun
descends through peach.
Buildings stand steady, foundations
cemented. The sea will curl
around them, claim
them one sand grain
at a time, one mortar crumb
at a time, and flee with them,
returning history
to the ocean.


Illustration by RH Keeling, photographer,
Poem by Karen Sweet

The Woodshed

There was a green shed
tacked onto the end of the garage
at my grandparents' place.
Sometimes I would go in

and sit on the chopping block,
a big old stump of macrocarpa
that I could sit on cross-legged,
or drape myself over so I could stare

up at the corrugated tin roof
where sometimes the sun
peeked through as if it were watching
my every move. Sometimes

I stood on the block, pretending
I was a rock singer, moving hips
and holding an invisible microphone
to my lips while I sang out of tune

those old songs that played
on the radiogram. But mostly
I'd just sit and soak in the scent
of chopped wood, run fingers
over the seeping gum

and pretend that pre-winter
would last forever.

Fishing the lights

I swing my line
let it sail through the air
hook a star
and haul it in
until the sparkle
blinds reason -
darkens daydreams.
So I cut
it loose, let it free
to swim through the night
and find its home
among the other lights.


'Fishing the lights' is a phrase that caught my attention from a wonderful fishing site and its awesome members. The phrase keeps nudging me and so now and again I put pen to paper and see what happens.

When there's a chance, please say goodbye

Sometimes we get a chance
to say goodbye
to farewell a lover, or friend,
a sister or soul mate.
It is far better
than a sudden passing
where we are shocked
and have no words
to offer our own soul, or
theirs, far better
than having a limbo of silence
that stretches beyond endurance
carrying us to the open sea
where we are left to flounder
with panicked arms,
or to drown, far better
than never saying those thoughts
that make us most comfortable,
most cherished and most loved.
Take the chance,
say goodbye.

Post Processing

There is depth in the shadows
she wears, beneath her eyes
a suggestion, a possibility,
a promise.

A close companion

It's at his ear
again, the slim
silver case
he calls his 'Cell'.
If he screwed
it to his head
he'd be able to drive
without swerving,
walk without screaming
and eat without dribbling.
I wonder if he realises
that phone has him cuffed.

Halloween Horrors

A witch came yesterday,
called in not to pass the time of day
but to collect on her dues -
she received an orange ghost

in return. Not a thank you
passed her black lips,
no nod nor satisfied smile
just a slight straightening
of her back as she strutted

down the driveway,
a tightening of the bend
of her hat
and a two feet clap
when she loaded her loot
into the car.