Poetry By
Barbara E. Walton
Published on: 4/30/2010
Ella of the Ashes
She sits among the cinders, gaunt and grim, A ghost of ash, a dust of burning frost. And in her heart a melancholy hymn To mark the precious world that she has lost For something stood here once upon a time-- Her heart can sense its long-forgotten shape-- And when the midnight bells begin to chime It touches her and whispers of escape. In dreams she walks the halls that are her own A vanished world, and she, its kindly queen; But morning shows the shattered, empty throne And daylight passes high above, unseen. At night, she makes her unheard moonlit plea, Then sleeps upon her ashen legacy.
Published on: 12/10/2009
Google-Driving in Northern Scotland
I Google-drove from Aberdeen Toward Blackdog, Newburgh, Cruden Bay, Through green fields on a cloudy day. I toured and skipped around the scene-- The world through my computer screen. I passed a Buchan bus--bright red-- And it in freeze-frame motion fled. Alone at home, in pixel thrall, I drove beside a low stone wall And followed roads to where they led.
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