Featured Poem
Faint Refrain
Elizabeth Songstaffe; whose name
is inscribed in my gold-edged bible,
how was your life composed?
Did your pockets brim
with grace notes that scattered
like freckles on a nose?
Were you awkward
as a lonely clap, sounding after
a symphony’s first movement?
Born one hundred years ago,
your death was not recorded--
yet, I hear a faint refrain.
Did you once hum across prairies
on humid evenings, or lilt between bramble
and heather on mud-soaked moors?
Were you house-bound, gazing through
leaded windows while landscapes
blurred into the sea?
I imagine you, a ballad of emotion,
deep with French horns, wistful violins
and whimpering flutes,
ascending quietly into a mysterious
finale, while the cadence of your life
slowly lowered into another accord.
Faint Refrain
Elizabeth Songstaffe; whose name
is inscribed in my gold-edged bible,
how was your life composed?
Did your pockets brim
with grace notes that scattered
like freckles on a nose?
Were you awkward
as a lonely clap, sounding after
a symphony’s first movement?
Born one hundred years ago,
your death was not recorded--
yet, I hear a faint refrain.
Did you once hum across prairies
on humid evenings, or lilt between bramble
and heather on mud-soaked moors?
Were you house-bound, gazing through
leaded windows while landscapes
blurred into the sea?
I imagine you, a ballad of emotion,
deep with French horns, wistful violins
and whimpering flutes,
ascending quietly into a mysterious
finale, while the cadence of your life
slowly lowered into another accord.
POEMS
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