Sunday, January 14, 2018

               Photograph by Ingrid Mathews 

What makes a morning
Following goodbye
The indecisive
Grey blue
Blue grey
Sky of in between
Here nor there
Things that might have been
A slant of solemn sun
Peers through
The sponge of teary cloud
Wish for me
Though the dried leaf
And the ground lacks life
And a chill hangs 
On every word
There is a glimmer
In the dying
A circling of hope
As other arms
Reach out with longing
Wanting for you
Waiting for you
All these days

Sara Mathews     January 2018

Sunday, December 31, 2017

Before the night lifted away
Like a little black bird
Catching a sigh
Before the day even spoke
Before the morning’s silver breath
Enchanted the window pane
And the golden sun rolled down
Each snow struck roof
Before any bird had thought
To fill the barren branches
With a song
And the brittle vine to chatter
On the sill
And the memory of moon
Press faces through the dawn
Before all this
I somehow knew
The day was filled
With every kind of hope

Sara Mathews     December 2017

Sunday, December 17, 2017

A little chirp of morning
Calls to me
The day is grey
But here am I
The ground is drear
But here I sing
The wind is harsh
I swing the course
A little chirp of morning
A cheerful chap
Then how can I
But chirp
Right back

Sara Mathews     December 2017

Sunday, October 8, 2017

An autumn wind blew in
Sighing on the sill
A fluttering of waning dreams
A song of purple Aster
Heavy with the bee
Of Sunflowers swinging drunkenly
And Queen Anne’s lace
A touch of night still
Guards the swollen grape
The warming sun
Concocting spices never named
Or bottled
The scents of childhood long ago
Besetting me
They wander past and
Waft against the shore of me
They drift me down a country road
A nip of frost beneath my toes
The glassy air
The cobalt blue
A rush of color at my feet
Ah, September
To be young!
She has me wholly in her grasp
And leads me hungry
To this memory
I pluck the essence from the laden vine
And hold the last few breaths
Of summer
On my tongue

Sara Mathews     October 2017

Thursday, August 10, 2017

                                                                  Nicolae Grigorescu

Shall I dust
Or sit and watch the sun
Play light and shadow games
On every leaf
Gold and black calligraphy
Secret sonnets
Just for me
And the tiny wren
Who nestles in the vine
Shall I wash
Or lose my way within the wind
We traipse the garden
He and I
Turning every blossom to the bee
We hum the grasses lazily
And trace a path of ghost steps
On the lawn
Shall I sweep
Or shall I practice on my echo
Every trill and buzz
And rattle
Every languid summer song

Sara Mathews     August 2017

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

                                                                        Duy Huynh

My pretty flowers
Every day I kiss your faces
And tell you how beautiful you are
And you tell me
How happy I look
I wasn’t always ~
Not this truthful
Deep and rooted peace
That only comes with weathering
And rain
It’s not wisdom that I seek
But to wake up with the sun
Glowing through my veins
In shades of pink hibiscus
Purple phlox
And morning glory

Sara Mathews     August 2017

Artwork by Duy Huynh (used with permission)

Thursday, August 3, 2017

                                                      Photograph by Dheny Patungka

When a friend asked me
If I missed you
I didn’t know what to say
Or how to explain
The murky depths of missing
How I search the hollows
Of the night for you
Trying to pull you back to clarity
To find your entity
Your expression
Your being
And how the fear of losing you
Once more from memory
Is what can break my heart
I stretch into the caverns
Of my mind
I strain my inner sight
To raise you up
To summon you
But only do I get a glimpse
A suggestion of your face
A trace of what you were
And I cannot sleep for failure
Of my recollection
And when my friend asks me
If I miss you
I want to tell him
How I leave my bed
Saddened that I need to do this
Once again
And hold your photograph
Your paper soul
Before my eyes
So tomorrow night
You will not slip away

Sara Mathews     August 2017