August 18, 2026

Years ago now

Posted by mother2rah under alone, love, passion, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , |
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Sham(eful) passion

I wrote you love poems, sonnets in fact

whether imperfect or traditional

they were my feelings laid bare for your eyes

I did not care if the world was watching

Their jealousy only showed what they lacked

Our passion was that unconditional

I did not know the words behind your lies

were being whispered to another she

I would have traveled the world with you

or lived my life in a small house for two

You chose to wander from our bed not once

but twice, three times four or more in your mind

and years later, I confess to myself

I was as imperfect as you – perhaps

my love tired of drunk passion – wanted

more honesty and tenderness and love

08/2026

 

August 18, 2026

Upon returning home

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One Way

Buy a ticket

and run

down the runway to runaway

forget (perhaps forgive?)

Just leave everything

behind, only looking forward

Is it a wish

to escape

to abandon

to love

finally, myself?

Too much time wanting

all that is

within reach

I cannot run

cannot release

responsibilities

I am hardwired

to care and care for

everyone else

08/2026

 

August 15, 2026

Empty Inside

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Don’t listen to the songs girl

Simply look in the mirror

Don’t wait on his promises

Find your own truth instead

Waiting for his approval

Will leave you empty inside

Rather guard your heart

Realize that to accept yourself

Is the greatest gift you can give

I didn’t, too many years

Wondering how to be the center

Of someone else’s world

Forgetting if I could not love

Myself, why should anyone else

 

January 1, 2025

It’s a new year

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Reality

elicits

several

odd

longings;

unlikely

they’ll

insist

on

never

surfacing.


		

					

		
 

	



					

	
June 3, 2024

	

		

					As we age
				

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I don’t know where I am, how I got here.





Once I was 35 and heartbroken.










Yesterday I was 43 and just





pretending to be happy … or …content.





Then I was turning 50, and watching





fireworks over Paris and the Seine.





Next week, where will I be? a bit older.





How should I feel with my hair going grey?





Wrinkles that remember joy and sorrow,





muscles aching from pleasure …and from pain.





What is beyond 60 – uncertainty?





A path more adventurous before me





one that will lead to where I’ve been going





without really knowing when I am there.

		

					

		
 

	



					

	
January 4, 2022

	

		

					On these cold days
				

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A fairweather fairy





I slip between autumn-bare branches





shimmy down the worn oak trunk





to find warmth in Mother’s earth.





Under rotting leaves, musty fragrances welcome me





to shelter from Jack’s frost,





give me a place to sleep and dream.





I count the days beyond Winter’s Solstice 





instead of sheep,





find peace cradled in her arms.










~ Siobhan1/4/22



		

					

		
 

	



					

	
September 10, 2021

	

		

					from a line I heard, somewhere
				

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First and Last

Just as you were the first in other ways
- the beginning (and end) I didn't want,
a never-quite-quenched thirst I couldn't slake - 
I know you'll be my last of many things;
perhaps the last kiss on New Year's midnight
or the final whispered goodbye at dawn.
There's a chance you could finish my summer
leave me to wander in autumn alone. 
The last person I want to see again
everywhere but in my dreams - day and night.

You initiated - and I followed.

Maybe you and I were our first and last
chances - complementary - balanced
out of synch together - and now apart.


Siobhan
09/10/2021

		

					

		
 

	



					

	
September 3, 2021

	

		

					Inside Beside Myself
				

		Posted by mother2rah under love, missing you, Poetry, Uncategorized  | Tags: , , , ,  | 		

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Moments wander along and confront me 
when I least expect it, tangling up
memories and dreams – blended together – 
until I forget which is which, or when.

You stopped by yesterday night, surprised me
with your blue eyes and smile – I smiled back
wishing for a hug to ease the empty
knowing you were there but not really here.

You’re not my only visitor lately;
unexpected faces appear before
I can stop them; pushing their way inside
until I realize I want them to.

Inside I am beside myself, outside
I am beside you and yet still alone


Siobhan
09/02/2021




		

					

		
 

	



					

	
September 2, 2021

	

		

					Out Here
				

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Winter has stuck out her tongue, lapping up





summer nights and turning them to autumn





Green has burned into a blaze of color





dried and crackling around the edges





Sidewalks are covered beneath





bags of debris raked from browning lawns – and





city streets stretch out grey, waiting for potholes,





salt and grime and snowplows.





 










Out here – where I can see the sky, I stare





at emptied cornfields and dying gardens





visible beneath the moon, not blocked by buildings





night becomes a soft blanket – blue





black instead of washed out grey;





unmasked, stars emerge – cold pin pricks of light





become an elaborate game of connect the dots





Cassiopeia, Ursa Major and Minor





both dippers and Orion; pictures filling in by imagination










    





Out here I can feel the subtle shift of seasons, swallowed





inside the city by lights and noise and the rush of people





Out here I can find peace, wrapped around me like the arms of my lover –





Out here I find I can just – be










   










Siobhan





10/21/2015





another one from the past

		

					

		
 

	



					

	
August 30, 2021

	

		

					That Place
				

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No longer body-shy





she strips for him





no make-up





no nylons





scrubbed free from disguise





shows herself bare





and he accepts her at face – and body – value















hands, clean yet un-manicured,





touch her with feather lightness,





strong enough to stir passion





without fear





his own held at bay





as he-she explores





this new place















Age has been kind





graceful in its caress





too far past youth to care





about the frivolous





too far from old age to give up





they have found





that place





we all look for within





another’s arms





~




















….from years ago, found today – Siobhan

		

					

		
 

	



				

			
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