Dusk Walk

1.

The hills are clear.
The nights are becoming
if not really warm, less cool.
On my dusk walk
people are about.
Dads are out in their sheds
or yarning from driveways.
Little kids, some in pyjamas,
bounce and squeal on a trampoline.
Two slightly older children
still in school uniform
walk their dog —
a puppy who wants to be friendly.
I scratch behind his ears
and tell him he's beautiful.
The girl holding the lead smiles.

2.

I have been feeling the irony
of doing things now for myself only,
feeling the emptiness.
But after all, I always
did some things for me — the walks,
the meditations. Only he
was always there like a backdrop,
my backstop, at my back.
That night, before
he walked out into the dark,
he came and stood firmly behind me
with both hands on my shoulders
to give me energy because I was sick.
The warmth of his hands
was always magic. I walk
in fading light and think of him.


Submtted to dVerse Open Link Night #59

That Time of Night

It's that time of night
when we shut our computers
leave our offices and meet
in kitchen and living room.
The TV goes on,
the cooking begins.
At this time of year
we turn on the heater.
The cats mill about
demanding dinner.
In warmth and noise
we celebrate family.

That's how it's been
for most of twenty years —
even the last two,
when you've emerged instead
from the bedroom
following an afternoon nap.
That's how it's been
and now it's not.
Night after night you're not here.
Without you, the house
is cold and silent; even the cats
are moping and off their food.


My beloved husband, who is 83, is seriously ill in hospital. If he recovers, which is doubtful, he will have to go into permanent residential care.

Update: He has improved and will go into care tomorrow (24 Aug.). It's a good place where he will be comfortable and well looked after, but as he cannot move his own body now, it is highly unlikely he will ever come back to this home we have shared, even for a visit.


Submitted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry #111
and for dVerse Open Link Night #52

Solitary Imbolc

The moon is bright

and nearly full,

almost directly overhead

when I go out late

to make ritual for Imbolc,

for the coming of Spring.

More and more

my small back yard

becomes a sacred space:

place of daily meditations

and communing with Nature.

The energy gathers and builds.

I cast my circle simply, 

with my right forefinger.

Deosil (sunwise)

is anti-clockwise here.

I bow as I name the directions

then open my arms

to call down the light of the moon.

I feel her enter and fill me.

I have some prayers,

I have some praises,

I have some thanks to give.

All this is quietly done.

Then it is time

to open the circle

and free all spirits

which may have been trapped

inadvertently or otherwise,

bidding them go in peace.

I step inside my door

strengthened

calmed.


Submitted to dVerse Open Link Night #56. 
Check it out to find lots of good poems by lots of good poets!

This poem also appears in Sherry's Poets United feature: A Chat With Rosemary Nissen-Wade ~ On Poetry and Witchcraft.