Life taught her well –

hide beneath pretty

packaging, paint sleeves

pink like brittle


fingernails to ward

off the curious

and offer a semblance

of heart without


engagement. Scars

mean band-aids,

amateurish wrappings

to disguise the terror


of being known, the

risk of offering her

self and finding that

she is not enough.


You’ve wept until your eyes are puffed

In turtle-shell disguise,

Your face is red, your cheeks are stained

With tears that trace your cries.

You hang your head as sorrow deep

Weighs your visage down;

You’ve cried heart dry so many times,

It weeps without a sound.

But you don’t see that in your grief

Your blooms are opening wide;

Rich beauty lies within your pain,

Allurement which can’t hide.

And as you grieve, the Master of

Your heart is drawing near;

He wipes your eyes, and as you cry,

True beauty washes clear.


Mysteries are pondered there

Where secrets, clutched in heart-shaped lair

Are locked away, a furtive dare

Nursed in deepest core;

Cloak-and-dagger, covert heart,

Your cryptic self plays cryptic part

To lock away your obscure art,

Enigmatic lore.

Furtive with your truest self,

Selected wares displayed on shelf,

Reserving heart, a shrouded elf,

Hidden from our sight;

Veiled beneath a petalled shroud,

Thoughts are thought, but not aloud,

You remain a misty cloud,

Buried, locked up tight.

If You Chose

If you chose, you could dwell in midnight shade,

Covered in shadows, a shroud of despair;

The darkness would hide, your infirmities fade,

If you chose the safety of blackened lair.

But here in the sunshine, your beauty blooms,

Radiance spills from your vulnerable stance;

Reflecting Creator, created resumes,

Tripping the light fantastic in dance.

Peony of the Garden

Peony of the garden, of what do you think?

Do your thoughts turn to candy floss dipped in palest pink?

Do you meditate deeply, or do your thoughts flit?

Does your brain enjoy conundrums, or does only foolish fit?

Peony of the garden, of what do you dream?

Does your heart contain fairy tales of knight and castle theme?

Or do you simply wish to soak , lazy in the sun?

Do you yearn for usefulness, or is your purpose fun?

Peony of the garden, of what do you hope?

Do you have contentment, or is your goal to cope?

Do you see a higher call, a purpose for your days?

Or do you choose to simply bloom, and go out with a blaze?

Courage to Bloom

After a spell of wicked weather,

In which wayward wind ruffled your feathers

And battered your stems, to knock you flat –

You coax petals out, and stretch like a cat

In nonchalant grace, smiling so brightly

That no one would guess that your leaves were unsightly,

Whirled in a dervish and whipped out of place,

Lying at strange angles in odd spot and space.

Peony, may I have some of your art,

The courage to bloom with my storm-battered heart?

This She Can Play!

The blossoms of youth have abandoned ship,

No blush of innocence stains her cheek;

Her false teeth often misplace her lips

And all of her joints now ache and creak.

A cap of grey fuzz replaced her tresses,

Some body parts sag like an apron in front;

The young ones object to how she dresses,

Her verbiage tends to be much more blunt –

But oh! the freedom to do as she wants,

The pressures to wow are fallen away;

A joker’s cap rakishly follows her jaunts –

At last she is she, and this she can play!

This is what is left after the peony’s bloom is finished – and I couldn’t help but notice the jaunty joker’s hat!  🙂