The Star Inside

mallow star


She cradles her weakness deep,

tenderly touching places

that crisply curl past their prime;

she treasures bent blooms, broken

foliage. When petals lose

their sheen, her soul stirs, shouting

joy in exuberant notes,

song of the ancients who learned

secrets from secret sorrows.

To such spirits as hers, pain

is welcomed as Mentor, friend

whose sage presence sears blossoms

but harvests seeds. Thankful

heart, this, whose troubles have stripped

away the peripheral,

baubles which blocked her brilliance,

kept her from being a star.



Her Secret



She radiates joy. Joy

sizzles and pops around her,

a force field of Sun in

miniature, multiplied –

reflected off a thankful

heart; its power persists

in shadows, transcends

rainy days, stands true

through fog and storm

and cloud and clear skies

alike. Her secret?

She spends time in the Light…

Colour-Coded Freedom



Until the morning’s dazzle,

she never knew the night

had stripped her eyes

of the ability to perceive colour,


and her blindness did not

offend. She groped and

cursed and stumbled

but assumed that all


of life was grey, tinted

with shadowy brush.

She didn’t even know

she was purple; to see


herself in sunshine

is a delicious shock.

She inhales the

rainbow feast of it


all and her dreams

are Technicolor,

Northern Lights

dancing to an internal


spectrum, ribbons curled

in amethyst flourish. She

thinks this colour-coded

freedom might be – joy.