Liilia Talts Morrison

The sound of truth rings like a bell
with perfect pitch and timeless knell

There are no jarring overtones
...

A woman friend the other day
said someone left her stranded
the person moved to other scenes
the parting had been candid
...

My songs are like small grains of sand
Tossed in the sea of days
Small pebbles from my shaky hand
Cast toward hidden cays
...

In days of youthful heady daze
I'd follow butterflies
and run through dewy reeds and fields
and hum sweet lullabies
...

Thoughts arise of home-baked bread
Set on hearthen coals bright red
Grain hulled on the threshing-floor
Coarse hands forming loaves of yore
...

Kind words are never wasted
though falling on deaf ears
somehow each word is treasured
and can become more dear
...

The sky is ever azure
no cloud dare mar its view
as shepherds gather flowers
sweet maids to win and woo
...

The wounds of life can't be avoided
in work, in play, or deep within
none is immune to swords of battle
no man, no woman and no child
...

I've been granted blessings
not a few
challenges to conquer
and subdue
...

What do you see there far away,
Horizon blue like you?
A touch of purple haunts your gaze
Enfolds your shoulders, too.
...

The spirit flies across the sea
where songs of locusts blend
with sounds of crystal waterfalls
in liquid turquoise dreams
...

I want to be a hummingbird
that flits from flower to flower
I want to spin my wings so fast
between fresh morning showers
...

they claimed the blood moon was most bright
when clocks of night
knelled five past three
and I agree
...

'Shhh' read the scribbles made in haste
upon that cold gray wall
as darkness covered alley paths
and dread fell over all
...

What's an oar and what's a paddle
what's a mount and what's a saddle
yaks in herds and flocks of birds
who can ever master words?
...

Watch the river currents flow
to and fro, to and fro
see the bubbles rise and grow
vanishing to depths below
...

What is a poem but a whisper
a lark, a sprite, a butterfly
a silver sparkle on the ocean
a fleeting cloud just floating by
...

A candle burns and melts away
its stately form transforming
but to a fleeting memory
of warmth and welcome glowing
...

no, she won't leave
not now
not ever
...

There are people who have loved me
and a few whom I have loved

There are those I've soon abandoned
...