"Steal Away / Lament"

The spirit is restless and desiring to soar,

But windows are locked and so is the Door.

The wide open space is where I would be,

If only oppression would let go of me.

My wings are expanded but held by grim cords

While angels of Light battle teeming dark Lords.

A flight is imperative to quell this rage---

Wild birds will sicken and die in a cage

"Ivory Towered Wait"

I put all my things in order,

It took me quite a while-

And above the bookcase,

I see you vaguely smile.

You have not forsaken me

And I am pleased with that;

You know where my spirit dwells

And where my force is at.

It is hot and sultry here,

Wherever IS the rain?

I thought I saw you wink at me

From your window's pain.

I feel you all about me,

But my heart is void & hard,

I can't touch you physically,

But I see you from a yard.

It is still and stifling here,

Wherever IS the breeze?

I know you have the answer,

Tell it to me please.

And if slumber ever finds me,

Will it hasten my barren soul?

I wish my dreams are sweetened

As the early hours toll.

You hold vigil from the wall,

You make good the rest,

My things are all in order,

And I have done my best.

Please come to me quickly,

You are nigh too late---

I pray I do not faint & fall

From this Ivory Towered Wait. . . .


If lessons are learned by mistakes that we do,

I'd prefer to be ignorant as though I not knew.

The things I must do and the feelings I know

Have become a difficult baggage to tow.

Eons have come and epochs have faded,

Old Father Time left me shaken and jaded.

If I knew back then, what I know now,

Of living life I'd need never ask how.

Some things are hazy, with a pleasant glow,

And at times of rest they come out and show. . .

But I was young and chaste way back when,

And I wish I were back there time and again,

I would have held good times as a vise

And now I'd be counted as one who is wise.

If ignorance really and truly is bliss---

Those are the lips I should have kissed

But the passing of time has only left questions

And the agony of learning life's cruel lessons . . . .


He was her prince, or so he thought,

But he presumed that she could be bought

For thirty pieces of silver I’m told,

But not for all of Fort Knox’s gold. . .

He wanted her all aflame inside,

And desired for her to be his bride.

But no sooner than he told her this-

She realized he would surely miss . . .

“Don’t try to clip my wings” said she,

“I’d never want to change you” said he.

“And never tell me a lie so cold,

Or treat me cruel and act too bold. . .”

He courted and tried to charm the Sprite

Lied and schemed to his wicked delight

But all along knowing, the girl was aloof,

And with her magic made the Knave go pouf!

"No More"

My words seem useless, and they are in vain,
Best left unspoken for they cannot gain-
I gave of myself upon sterile ground,
Your ears were deafened, fixed and bound.
My metaphor is ancient, mellow and bold,
But in sticks and sand, it is sodden and cold.
Your scorning of this will eternally burn,
And you will WANT as you tumble and turn.
You will chase my voice, but hear it no more . . .
You had it completely-but locked was your door.
Now to your ignorance---my lips will close,
And in dark sweet silence, I shall compose.
Somewhere in the distance in your plague of gloom,
Traces of me will skillfully loom.
You will be trapped in your own place & mood,
And the voice of absence will surely intrude. . . 

High Plains Stranger

There's a secret Stranger,
an Alien in my life,
It couldn't be my husband,
he has a normal wife.
Are her locks of crimson,
Or are the locks of brown,
Does she hail from City,
or does she stay in town?
She probably comes from everywhere---
perhaps she came from Venus
I feel I almost know her,
And a cord is in between us.
Do we hold a kinship
for this double twist of fate?
I believe we both could dwell
In the same begotten state.
She's seems so happy where she's at,
No! that's just word of rumor,
She's witty, content, and oh so sly,
But where's her sense of humor?
Confident and sure of everything
But all the while confused,
Life is hunky-dory,
But she is not amused.
I'll bet she must be paranoid,
But trusts most everyone
She'd give the shirt right off her back,
Then scoff you just for fun!
I'm sure I'd like to meet her,
I'm certain I would NOT!
I'd like to have what she does,
I want NOT what she’s got.
At times she's all around me,
And she won't let me be,
Who's the crafty Stranger
impersonating me?
Alas, I think I know her,
She wields a sharpened knife,
Ah! I'm the unknown stranger . . .

(For My Lovely Sister Martha, The High Plains Drifter

“The Looking Glass”

If I could change the world,
I would do it in a flash-
But first I'd have a look at me,
or it would burn and crash.
You see, I am imperfect,
and I have a lot of doubt
So many things about me,
I'd have to figure out...
I seem to worry, whine and moan
And I am on the Lamb;
I look up to the heavens
And can't fathom who I am.
I have food and water,
and a place to lay my head,
But there are people starving
and thousands are near dead...
I have the simple freedom
to walk along the street,
But there are souls among us
who have no legs or feet.
I possess so many things
to make life my here swell
While innocents are wondering
why they're locked up in a cell.
If I don't like what's on TV
I can simply turn it off,
and retreat to my fine sanctum
where I sometimes sit and scoff.
Yes, I try to overlook the turmoil
and the horrors of this life,
For everything runs smoother
if I neglect the pain and strife.
There's so many questions
the ifs, and buts, and whys-
I peer into my looking glass
And I think it tells me lies.
If I could change the world
I'd have to start with me,
and with a swift and deadly blow,
I'd abolish hypocrisy....

First Place Winner of Wolfie’s Place “If I Could Change The World” Poetry Contest
January 2002

Creatures Of The Wind

Grandma was a Gypsy
And I am just like that,
When I want to go somewhere,
I’m gone in nothin’ flat.
Yes, and Granny was an outlaw
In the dark and distant past,
I shall carry on like she,
And make her spirit last.
As far as laying down some roots---
We’ve sown them from the air,
As long as we are traveling,
We don’t pick up the fare.
Last night I saw her in a dream,
And this is what she said;
“As long as you are moving,
You know that you aren’t dead,
There’s no rhyme or reason dear,
To weep or moan or pine;
We are Creatures of the Wind,
And forever in our prime. . . .”

© Copyright 2001 by Cathy Leming - All rights reserved.