| Age How is it that age does not drape itself around me until I spy myself in a looking glass? Do I carry those years, or do they carry me? |
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| THE POETRY OF SHERRY ASBURY |
BRAIDED SILVER RING Found a braided silver ring Slipped it on my finger, reminder of what I have lost.. Twist it in idle hours of contemplation, wishing it would reverse the march of time Let me have another chance fix things try again How gladly would I sever this finger from my hand if it were able to bring you here to me, like a genie from a Persian ewer Upon an altar would I lay down, offering myself in exchange for those few quiet joyful hours eaten by oncoming storm |
| DROPS FALL Trapped behind the glass wall of my heart, watching my tears in review, without sound. Nothing touches me anymore, not beauty, not even woven words of poetry profound. Each splatter on the glass lessens me a bit. For I have given in to caring by mistake. Once I had no walls or boundaries around me, there was no pathway I would not take. My soul drowned in the lake of humanity, each hurt nipping at the roots of my soul. Torn asunder, was I, ripped limb from limb. Now no magic power can render me whole. Pain is an ocean where I drown every day, held under by my own hand in abject misery. Darkness is a shroud I wear, dark and dank. There is simply nothing left of me. . . |
| DROPS Lost in thought Watching the clock flings drops of my life off its busy, disinterested hands They pool beneath my feet, gone before I might retrieve them I am less and less with each drop Nearer to nothingness I, powerless to suck them up again. |
| IMAGE Spilling myself onto paper Open to interpretation Oracle of Muse Scrivener rearranging words into a vague self-portrait that lacks substance, meaning For I know myself not Change from day to day Psyche, a dervish spinning to gather dust motes that may be woven into concrete flesh and bone Self seen from within, a jumble of sins, salvation and moments of triumph molded into some icon that has my name, but shall never have my deepest thoughts Construction paper dolly Frayed edges sting with salt Aspirations, contemplations, perspiration. . . vague ideation Each moment a struggle to keep within the parameters of the gods |
| All work is copyrighted by Sherry Asbury. Do not use without express permission. Copies of poems are $2.00 payable to [email protected] Pay Pal |
| From the Tongues From the tongues of women fly the bon mots and bits of wisdom, along with foolishness They know things they shape the world they go forth where no man has gone Painted, pretty in their pearls guardian of the sacred gate able to hold secrets until they die Women decorate the world with the tinsel and ornaments of long suffering, sacrifice and compassion |
| Night Thoughts Mind torn wide open, smears on the relentless velvet of ideation From the closet slunk that odious reminder of how soon Death plans to dine on my old white flesh |
| Spring Whispers Will winter vex us still tomorrow and again? Will snow linger lazily in the folds of yon fen? Robin�s songs I long for, singing in the bright of morn. How dear t�will be when the little lambs of spring are born. Shoo, snow, melt away into a warmer time of spring, whilst life blooms yet again and birds return to sing. |
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| If he hits you once, he will hit you again. Abusers never change. See Page 3 for my story. |
| 1-800-799-SAFE(7233) 1-800-787-3224(TDD) Don't let anyone hit you - get help! |