What time is it?

Threads are scattered
across my lap. How long 
have I lain cross this table?
Tic Tic the Clock
in the back of my head -
and the table rocks.

Threads. Thread...
bare in my hands.
The original tie -in.
Like a macramé hanging -
in its unformed state
yet frayed from sliding fingers.

And the time.
Ceasing. Unceasing. I relent.
the hands, the pen, the plug.
Toc Toc the Clock.
Stand - and the threads scatter 
Across the floor.





Shelley Rae Bell




Song, Sorrow and a Flower

I have a song of sorrow in my heart.

you only know.

The first born light today

shines on me.

while I suffer notes of weariness

shadows play in minor key.

I lay down in cool downy greens

and I see

notes in blues and reddish hues.

Up and down the scale it goes

a song begging to be free.

shelley rae bell

My Hand is on the Lock

 

Do I keep things out? Or in?

I cannot tell. I would not say.

Forged bars are where doors

would compose an opening.

 

I held the blacksmith’s hammer.

And tongs when I breathed fire.

Placed each bar in tedious fashion.

A wartime plan.

 

Do I lock the door against? Without?

I select. I would indulge.

A secret keepers combination.

A brave companion.

 

 

shelley rae bell

keep-out-wm-1

The Two Betweens

Where the light is

Between the night and dawn,

pc harbor-8844-2wm

the sound of waking birds calls out and then responds across the view.

Not alone. But…

Waves meet the shore and slash against

the wooden pilings underneath some burdened boards.

A lonely chair sits, awaits its owner, cold and damp from dark’s scrutiny

Waits for mornings warmth and dissipation of night’s cold, unfriendly offering.

 

Where the light ispc harbor-

between the dawn and darkest night, the sounds of life grow dim

and sleep falls across the waters.

Waves rustle to the sand and tickle wooden pilings.

I watch my feathered friends hurry ‘cross the waters to their safety.

I envy. Then…

These splintered burdened boards hold me,

 I lay down and feel the breath of day breathe out.

 I let dark’s scrutiny cover me in hope

that morning’s light returns.

 

shelley rae bell