Thursday, June 23, 2011

Tumbling Shells

Walking through the woods,
sodden leaves cling to the soil,
a squishing sound under foot.
Bare branches cross my path
where circular mirrors dangle
with the reflections of youthful faces,
of family, long since dead.
They smile at me serenely.
I try to speak but my voice
had no sound.
When I look closer,
The faces turn to flowers.
There is a heavy scent
of lavender.


A white poodle was under the cherry tree.
A brass key swishes from his tail.
I motioned towards him
saw my name and house number
engraved in blood red ink.
Overhead, I heard bells chiming.
When I looked up, there were shells
tumbling as snow from a flame sky.
They landed in front of me,
melting into tiny yellow crabs.
I turned, facing a bronze archway
leading out to a lane.
In front of me was a tiny cottage
with a red door and white handle.
My name and number was on the door.
I stood outside, brass key in hand,
unsure about entering.


  1. This is really beautiful Maire, and your blog is most impressive. This poem has a real dream like quality to it. I love that bit about when you looked at the people, they turned into flowers. How lovely. Rachael

  2. Thanks Rachael. I am working on the blog, I am good in fits and starts so best to keep at it while I can. M x