This crackle finish,

this patina of pain

makes her a marked woman.


layers of insulation

against the raw oozing

egress of bodily fluids

let loose from crushed conduits,

won’t stitch to spasms

or bind to burns.

What she needs

is not patches

but a new suit of skin,

armour-clad and seamless,

third-degree love-pierced offering,

to cover smarting soul

with the Balm of Gilead.



Shattered, skin begins to peel,

Fractured, neurons fail to feel;

Fragments blister, lose their grip,

Smithereens abandon ship.

Underneath, as  damage heals,

skin is soft, and raw, and real;

Tree lets go of what was dead

to grow in grace and truth instead.

After the Frost

The world,  risen from icy nap,

Looked inviting, warm, and still.

You took a chance, and opened up your earthen window-sill.

Expecting sun, you yawned and stretched

And took a look around.

You didn’t know that frost would creep and bash you to the ground.

Fair lily, don’t give up on blooms,

Though Fate was so unkind –

Despite it all, produce your flowers, with heart and soul and mind.

Though chill winds blow, and gardens freeze,

And worms and pests devour,

Rise o’er it all, stand true, stand tall – this is your vict’ry hour !

I can’t say that I ever remember a year when we had bad frost damage on lilies.  Most of them are pretty hardy here.  Obviously this one wasn’t.  It’s been a tough week in the garden – a tough week all round, for a lot of reasons.  I like to think that I, too, can rise above my frosty circumstances, and bloom well !  So I cheer on my frost-bitten lily, because she and I are in the same boat – and I have a feeling that we both have something to give this world yet!