Free Over the Boundaries by Marie Barrett Page B

called out,
    Would you return again to London?’
    I answered ‘yes’ while he, head on my shoulder,
    Moved ever closer in the quietly
    Unfolding landscape of my dream.

The Debutante
    She waited for me, ballerina-like,
    In short flounced skirt of royal blue
    As she stood, demi-pointe, by the door.
    Not even a protegee, just a fledgling
    I had helped take a few short steps,
    Nothing more. She had other agenda —
    Career-forging, fun-seeking tasks ahead.
    Her voice trailed off as the list ran out
    And I could not help, could not bridge
    The awkward silence with a word
    To hold her flight aloft:
    Know the gift of innocence you possess,
    Know the happiness, child, of which you are recipient,
    Not donor in this dark, empty world of ours, I could have
    said.

O Silent World
    Part of me’s been growing
    While part of me’s just been living
    And now the part that has grown
    Far outweighs the other, way outstretches it
    As the blanket of cloud that reaches out to cover
    From tip to tip the blue heavens with grey canopy
    And silently is made manifest
    As the white cap of snow that covers the mountain tops.

New Age Dawning
    Saw the world take shape out of the mist,
    Saw a new day begin. As angel or historian
    Might preside, saw the dawn of civilization rise
    In some far-off city to the east.
    God-time, when man’s thoughts scarcely exist –
    Lost in sleep, wearied by striving, toiling
    And the effort required of building,
    Conquering, destroying
    And not surprised as he might be
    By this new miracle of day,
    This new age dawning,
    This new beginning.

First Frost
    Winter has set in. Departed
    The mists and ‘mellow fruitfulness’ days,
    The endless drifting into night.
    Daylight comes abruptly
    With a sharp nip, a cold fog.
    Summer’s lush grass lies
    Limp in roadside ditches,
    All the flowers are gone.

In the Gloaming
    Hospitality, goodwill, cheer,
    New and familiar faces
    Round the extended dining-table,
    Laughter, merriment, tales.
    Within and without the crowd
    Much listening to the inner voice,
    A warm tear shed to sprinkle
    The heavens’ shooting star —
    Loved, bereft,
    At the start of yet another new year.
    Returning from racing and the hunting fields
    To log fires and warm fare, neighbour
    Greeting neighbour under pink and russet skies
    As the sun sinks behind bare trees.
    Our lives engaged in age-old pursuits
    Though talk is of shrinking markets,
    Biological warfare, cohabiting friends.
    Remote, austere, not too far removed
    From the jousting knights and ladies, the yeomen,
    Saints and patriarchs of old, their lives long well run.

Saturday Morning Blues
    Worried that I was alone,
    Feeling sick in the bath,
    Struggling with the hairdryer
    From a reclining position on the floor
    And then I saw the little wren
    Clinging to the climbing rosebush outside,
    The rook perched on the highest branch
    Of the beech tree above a flock of sparrows
    Busying themselves in the fallen leaves below,
    The wagtail dancing on the rails like an acrobat.
    Thought of the cats and dogs I had fed,
    Who had greeted me with yelps and miaows and excited
    faces,
    The horses lazing in the paddock
    Glutted with corn and blackberries and harvest fare
    And cried, ’Hell! Heaven!’ I may be tired,
    Slow of limb, dull of heart
    And suffering from this or that
    But I am not widowed or deserted —
    Though it seemed sometime I was —
    And am not, even for one iota of a second,
    Alone or on my own.

Study of Louise
    Standing in your doorway,
    Love and freedom on my lips
    And a young man at my side,
    I came in closer view of you,
    Lost in rolls of curtain chintz.
    You sat in a different era then
    Quietly busied with the less colourful role
    Only the needle you plied
    Was more dagger or lance
    That worked through flesh and bone.
    I saw the pain, the crossed features wrought,
    And from the heat of that summer noon
    Returned to leave with you
    The largest portion of the loaf.

Lost Years
    Time it was of dying,
    Of going nowhere,
    Heart set on no great