Pamela Ascroft

LAURA

Incandescent butterfly!
Gossamer wings glittering with delicate steel lattice, velvet strength.
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HEAVY ARE THE BURDENS

If I told you God was dead, would you shun me?
The universe in silence weighs the scales of belief and experience.
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ALL THAT SHATTERS IS NOT GLASS

There is a grace in the flow of life when souls meet.
No heralds, not a single strain of violins-
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My heart is breaking; I am no longer whole-
The tigers are here and they rend and tear with sharp claws.
I hear their voices far into the black night-
I may bleed for all eternity, but I cannot die.
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In gentle tones he speaks volumes-
Expert hands seek the enemy within.

Eyes that warm the spirit and pierce the veil of solitude-
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Cusp of a Nightmare
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Death is not the finish line.
Beginning, middle, precipice, evolution, revolution, journey.
The goal is not to break the tape that stretches on all human horizons.
A foot race to anonymity and darkness no being strives to win.
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Artist mine, she addresses the inner sanctum,
Living in the spaces between then and now.
Memory of brush caressing canvas like a brandywine kiss,
Soft in its invitation,
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My Mother's Mirror

It does not do to rail and flail and fight and bite and gnash with teeth and tear with
Claws of word and gesture against the tide of chance and change,
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Before She Left

In the chalk-filled chock full garden, Arietty sits musing with her tea and paintbrush.
Those are primroses, she says.
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Sapphires richer than India's Prize;
Facets oceans deep spark crystalline fire.
Windows that reflect compassion
Darken to indigo at injustice,
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