Wednesday, March 25, 2009


Many moons ago I had some poetry published in a modest journal. I could no longer recite what I had written. The bulk of it had to do with childhood memories that were less than pleasant, punctuated on occasion with the naivety and whimsy of an eight year old. I did love to write though, keeping my musings to myself, stashing them away in a creased journal kept between my mattress'. I felt the urge to write again this past winter and the words came effortlessly. My structure is off to be sure, and I couldn't tell you the difference between a ballad an ode or an alexandrine but here's two that I like. Maybe their rubbish, but an artist is their own worse critic and I rather like them.

On a footpath well worn by her grandmothers
She walks on
Memories of lovers are silenced like fallen heroes
Laid to rest beneath her glass slippers
Her gown trailing behind filthy and worn
Her bejeweled hair falling limp
Under tissue thin voile and frayed silks
A handmaid
Of ordinary marrow, wearied from her endeavors
Walks on
And as her adornment falls away the
Delicate armour beneath lays witness to a birthright
She had forgotten
With no steed in sight nor banners winnowing
And with no trumpets to herald her arrival
She walks on
A princess on a mission to save herself

Small and vulnerable she stumbles along her path
Kicking up dust, harvesting sustenance
Posing seeds
Her weathered face turns upward in gratitude
The sunlight a balm on her heart
Mending it once more
She sighs
She seeks shade, solace
From her knowing
And allows herself a moment of nothingness
Time passes
Her youth returns to her and with arms wide open
She embraces a new path

- Nicole Evangeline Grace

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