Sunday, October 20

I've fluttered in and out
dipped into the fading flowers
but could find among the reeds
no new blossoms

Lonely Here
I've walked along the edge
of the sacred river
but you have gone
leaving a single track
a leaf, barely turned
to mark your presence here.

Perhaps the next time
I come to the river
I will here singing
and know
you are
Fran Sbrocchi

Lonely Here
I am in the gentle breeze that blows
gently on your face.
I am in a smile and in the eyes
of a childs face.
I am in your heart and memories,
So close to you, always.
I am in the sun that warms your skin,
I am in the first birds song,
I am with you - always.

T.Seed 2002.

The Leaving:

Old men plough while sons grow cold under the mountain
Prairie wheat fields murmuring golden and rich in the days before harvest
the smell of grass-- long hay newly mown
dry crunching under our running
and we counted our days in puffs of old-man dandelions
knew our distances in the long rows of telephone poles.

At the base of the poles we put our ears to wood
that trembled messages of the great world
Wind on our shoulders telling-
listening we knew that the time of our leaving would be soon.

The winds of migration were everywhere
in the v-line ofducks and the wide sweep of Canada geese
We heard at dusk the calling and in the morning packed
our bags growing fat with things we could not leave
memories of a hundred days of our mothers
and of long words of our fathers
as they sat round the furnace in evenings remembering

Remembering the furrows and the days they ploughed virgin soil
talk of the finding
talk of their wandering
and of coming to this rich black land and of how in long furrows
the seed had been sown - hand to machine
or of an old horse tied to a pulley
of trees retreating to the edge
to the fenced edges.

The scent of autumn clung to our memory to our fathers
but we were young and knew it was time to go
we left thinking that in spring we would return.
Fran Sbrocchi

Lonely Here
but by spring the air was ripe with promise
and our roots were anchored deep
in fertile soil

nourished by a cornucopia of plenty
and warmed by endless sunshine days
we were replete with love and crimson-berried wine
and learnt new songs in the promised land

how could we leave
so soon
what we had sought
so eagerly
on the winds of change?

how we had changed

we knew in our hearts
we would not return
though torn by thorns of remembrance
and thoughts of loved ones

shadow figures
waiting by the river
hoping for a sign
a singing on the breeze

walking along the banks
as spring turned to summer

they came down to the river
throughout the golden days
until a leaf fell
to the ground
before the first frost

when ice stopped the river's flow
there was heard a ghostly song
keening in the bare branches

it is only the wind
they said
only the wind.....

Jenny Aarts

Lonely Here
We found instead
our feet upon the distant shores
of a land so far from home
and here, we had to start again,
begin our lives, anew.
Our memories kept us strong back then
and keep us strong today,
as we remember the ones we love are
with us still - today.

(c)T.Seed 2002.