Poet, Audrey Austin

Poet, Audrey Austin
This site is to honour my mother, poet, Eva Ruby Austin.

Friday, December 28, 2012

At Christmas -- Remembering Dudley

At Christmas

by Audrey Austin
Through multi-paned window\
Brown eyes wishing, praying,
Desire to be inside on carpet near fireside,
To hear what they say,
To watch children play.
The children are happy, Santa has been most kind
Gifts galore on the floor just inside the door
But I feel all alone on the other side,
My feelings are injured and so is my pride.
Then finally it happens
Susan asks where is Spot?
Bobby cries come here boy and share in our joy
It’s not Christmas without you, we love you a lot.
I lift freezing paw tap, tappity, tap
On the window. At last she looks up,
Oh, Bobby, you’ve left him outside in the cold, Susan scolds
Just before the big door swings wide.
Now through multi-paned window I watch snowflakes dancing
I lay, tail wag-wagging. I’m loving my life,
Christmas carols entrancing,
Outside reindeer are prancing,
Let me stay on the inside so there’s nothing I’ll miss,
Another dog’s Christmas and life is pure bliss.

Remembering Dudley

Three poems by poet, Joyce Jones

by Joyce Jones from Marshmellow Softness and Rock Hard Taffy © 2012

Three poems presented below.  Xlibris, pub; Susan Polk, Editor; Cover Art by Tori Egherman.   www.xlibris.com to order copies. 

THE HAUNT   p. 79


You haunt me like the breeze
Among the trees softly whispering.
Flashing in my thoughts
the love that was before you
the wide open love that
encompassed, surrounded and
then let me go. 

You haunt me like the flutter of my heart
and the scars on my kneeling knees
the hoarse, dry throat
begging love to stay.
My body shivers
in memory of
blooming love songs
recalling the melody
the sweet harp and lute
a lure to love. 
Going round & round & round
tickling and amusing
the harp twinges
taunting and teasing
your fingers play my skin
your tongue wanders deep in
syncopated rhythmns
like a mix of cool jazz
stir the gospels of life
more definitive than Aretha’s wail. 

Along the curve of the flowing satin negligee
tears drop like rain mist
clouding my day with promises not kept.
Threatening my tomorrows 
You haunt me with blessed
throughout the day and night
In all seasons
You are there
persistently reminding
love will come, but not today.

High Stakes     p.56 


Loving you
of the consequences
has taken its toll.
Already, I prepare
that part of me
that clings
so longingly
to you,
for the sacrifice
of letting you go.
another woman
can best serve
your need for
total affection,
the kind
that drains and
leaves no room for me
to care for me.
Another woman
too new to know
can love you
regardless of
the consequences.  

Triumph     p. 13 

Corseted passions

unleased by Cupid’s charm
leads to
cascades of feelings
swirl in fanciful parade. 
We strut to the
melodious tones
that bare once bridled desires.
Both lean on the edge of
as the romance unfolds.



Thursday, December 27, 2012

Eleven, Eleven - a poem by Audrey Austin: previously published in Northern Ontario Poetry Collection, "Arising From The Mist" Volume 17, 2012

Eleven, Eleven dances a polka
Round and round in my head
It's not pizza I crave
Of that I am sure
There is never a nine, six or seven.
Eleven, Eleven, it's there again
At once I remember my sister
And others who passed
On their way through my heart
Before journeying on toward heaven.
Eleven, Eleven, I feel the connection
No reason but trust with blind faith
And savour the moment
In loving remembrance
Of loved ones so precious
'Til we will meet again.

Monday, December 24, 2012

Merry Christmas!


Friday, December 21, 2012

Cocoons -- a poem by Marlon de Souza


Cocoons within cocoons
never stirring,
for fear of meeting reality.

Let's go on a ride where the music is fine
and the wind in our face puts a chill in our spine.
We'll stumble along till we learn to walk,
then we'll fly away from our safe little rock.
We reach new heights along the way,
this bold new ride is here to stay.
We see below cocoons on the shore,
washed up memories of a time before
that kept us hidden within the womb,
a safe cocoon that became a tomb.
So on we fly to we know not where,
the path ahead is a fun-filled scare.

Cocoons, cocoons
never stirring, never stirring
never, never, never stirring...
cocoons within cocoons
never stirring.

© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Marlon de Souza is a writer and artist based in New York City. More of his work can be found on http://www.JustAnotherAveragePerson.com and Facebook http://www.facebook.com/JustAnotherAveragePerson

The Response ... a poem by Susan Ruby K.

The question:  Is there anything you cannot or will not eat?
The Response
I will not eat fish heads.

I will not eat mould.

I will not eat dog food.

If it's frozen or cold.....

I will not eat cardboard.

I will not eat paste.

I will not eat drain scraps

Or brown bits of waste...

I will not eat plastic.

I will not eat poop.

I will not eat clothing

Or ink turned to soup...

Other than these

All sound great to my belly

Thank you for asking

Now pass me the jelly...

Susan Ruby K. is a writer/artist/illustrator.  Check out her website at http://yuneekpix.com

Minor Ailments -- a poem by Eva Ruby Austin

As I was doing Christmas shopping
One bright and sunny day
I came upon an old time friend
Who used to live up my way.
We chatted a while on the corner
Then as she turned away
I inquired how her health had been
And then I heard her say ....
"I guess there's not much the matter with me,
But I'm not as well as I used to be.
I have the cricks in both of my knees
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze;
My pulse is weak and my blood is thin,
But I'm pretty good for the shape I'm in.
Arch support I have for both my feet
Or I wouldn't be able to go on the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,
And every morning I am a sight,
My memory is failing, my head's in a spin
I spend a lot of money on aspirin.
My heart beats fast when I climb the stairs
I take kinks in my knees when I say my prayers;
My teeth are loose, and my feet are sore,
It nearly kills me to walk to the store.
But all in all -- I'm not bad you know,
I can walk a mile, if I go right slow,
You asked how I was, so now you know!
Goodbye dear friend, I have to go."

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Merry Christmas

Mountains and Countryside ..... a poem by Audrey Austin

previously published in Penpourri: Elliot Lake Writers' Workshop Anthology of Stories and Poems (2011)
Close your eyes
Open your heart
Come journey with me now.
Take my hand
Don't be afraid
No need to question how.
The first step is the hardest
I truly understand
So we'll take this walk together
Walking hand in hand.
We'll walk beside still waters
We'll rest beneath the tree
How loving was our Father
To provide for you and me
The beauty of this countryside
The river's gentle current
All fears are gone
The Power of One
Encounters no deterrent.
And now we face a mountain
No mountain is too high
We will meet the challenge
And we will touch the sky
Earth and Heaven meet
Faithful hearts rely
On the hand outstretched to guide
And with courage we abide.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

The Desert by poet, Jose Battan ......

Jose Battanfine it is! I am sending a piece. Find how :


After the long story I slept on the hot sands,
Tired, an empty mind and body,
All vigour flown out-
Sweeping winds and hot flesh massed over,
She told her tales,
A thousand nights more,
Long thousand nights:
“I ain’t like your tales”,
And still she told her tales-
A thousand nights more
And on the first, kill her.

After the long story I slept on the hot sands,
I dreamt of hot flesh,
Hiding black mice,
Plaguing black death
Tired, I sleep
My wine finished, the desert remains,
A memory to remain,
As a mirage of the oasis,
Far through time unborn.

After the long story I slept on the hot sands,
In the lap of love,
Strangled by fascination,
Amidst fuming smoke,
Gyrating in space,
Plaguing black death.
And the idiot told her tales-
Of sound and fury,
Of hollow caves and mating dogs.

After the long story I slept on the hot sands,
Tired in mind and body,
A thousand nights more
And on the first, kill her.



Special thanks to poet, Greg Laurenceson, for granting permission to post his untitled poem ......

If it is true
as they say
that passing a stone
is much like
giving birth

(and I have
no reason
to dispute this

please consider this
as the beginning
of an understanding
and a belated apology

to all women everywhere

for everything

Sunday, December 16, 2012

INSPIRATION -- a poem by Audrey Austin

INSPIRATION is previously published in Northern Ontario Poetry Collection, Volume Sixteen, 2011 - Scripted Inspiration ...


By Audrey Austin

Inspired to fly above the tasks that make dreams plummet I follow my eyes which do ascend
 to a private place
High above a humdrum habit of living a life that forbids a star to rise above the horizon,
My eyes grow deaf. My ears are blind.
At last I peer with God’s odd look at dirt below and see that secret site
deep beneath the magical hope of being all I am meant to be.
From lofty heights with arms extended I hang suspended staring down at God’s good earth,
That place where mother did give birth to such a one as me.
It’s warm up here despite the cool of lonely being all alone.
No one can see my frightened face that meets the ground,
that sacred space beneath the heights to which I’ve risen with great strain
only to realize I must go back.
I must go home since there are those who do depend
Upon my role which wraps in boxes needful things to hold them close
so that I dare to feel important, bigger than I’m meant to be.
My desire to linger here while gazing down on all held dear is crushed
by knowing that it’s true, yes, I am me and you are you.
Return decreed I teach my reach to draw arms close and stop the flailing.
I must descend, inspired no more, reality opens up the floor,
the drum of hum beats down the door.  I’m going home
To dream once more.

Monday, December 10, 2012

aequam servare mentem ... a poem by Maggie Kirton

aequam servare mentem 

twisted strands

a taste of spit

a single blue egg

in the center of it 

mother sits tranquil

her beating heart sings

to her child in the egg

about wind and its wings 

the warmth of her feathers

genesis stirred

aequam servare mentem

the birth of a bird

Links to blogs ....

The following are the links to my three blogs:

Sunday, December 9, 2012

A Trip To Wertheim -- a poem by Maggie Kirton

A poem by Maggie Kirton:

A Trip To Wertheim

The penny dropped from her hand
the first of three
into the wishing well below
And she wished she could stay
she wished the sun
would never stop shining
would never stop warming
the smooth cobblestones
beneath her feet
but mostly
she wished she could stay

An ocean away
stood the house
and its rooms
and its secrets

An ocean away
bred the discharge
the pus of dysfunction

An ocean away
very far away

And so mostly
she wished she could stay

She gazed towards the hill
way up near the top
and spotted the walls
half there
half not
The stones of its existance
shone pale and pinkish
in the sun
of a new day
Smooth to the touch
warm and smooth

From the wide of the well below
she gazed towards the hill
Her feet followed the gaze
they simply knew where to go
They led her
embracing the warmth
of the cobblestones
with every step
of little bare feet
towards the hill

She passed the quaint shops
of cheeses
and fish
and breads
and things
She inhaled the fragrances of them
of the river
its shore
its people
and their boats
She exhaled the venom
bred by the dysfunction
and the anger
and confusion
in the house
an ocean away
She felt herself become clean
cleaner with every step
that led her
towards the hill

Alone she climbed the pathway
steep and steeper
lined with the sisters
of the cobblestones below
warmed by the same sun
worn smooth by the same wind 

The change jingled in her pocket
two pennies
one for the well above
and the other
for the well below
for on the way back down
back home
where she wished to stay
Her hand ran along the railings
little fingers
leading her up
up and higher
to the very top
and there she would enter
the broken walls
of the broken castle

Ah! but the dreams that remained
living dreams
within those broken stones

She straddled the wall
at the far side
sat precariously on it
One foot just inches from safety
the other
playing with the air
between her toes
of the cliff
a thousand miles
straight down
She searched the horizon
for nothing important
just looking
just searching
for something
for nothing

Time passed slowly
upon the sunwarmed rocks
lazy and sweet
dripping with insignificance
and curiosity
and little bare feet
swinging back and forth

The penny dropped from her hand
into the wishing well above
in the center of the courtyard
where she counted
until she heard it fall
to the bottom
a long fall
a long count
And she wished again
the same wish

Then once again
back in the center of town
she would drop the last penny
into the well below
and wish yet again
as every day
three times
for the same thing

She would meet her grandfather there
as every day
with open arms
a gleeful cheer
a small public display
And from there they would shop
for the meals
and the snacks
of the day
With her hand in his
they walked home
laden with bags
in the morning sun
her bare feet
caressing the warm cobblestones
her eyes searching out his face
He had only one
one look in his eye
no need for another
it was a matter of trust
An ocean away was mistrust
broken and writhing

But here
with the wishing wells
and her grandfather
she was safe to dream
and hope
and smile
and to engrave in her mind
the sights
and sounds
and smells
of the castle
the sun
the river
its shores
its people
and their boats.
she could be clean
and happy
with her hand in his
her grandfather
with one face
the same every time
she looked into his eyes 

Her bare feet
caressed the cobblestones
their simplicity
as they walked home
where she wished
a little wish
again today
that she could stay

Christmas 2012 - a poem by Eleanor Lambert in Bermuda ....

  A Christmas Poem by Eleanor Lambert:


It’s Christmas time again,
                             the most wonderful time of the year,

As we celebrate the Birth of our Saviour
                             we all hold so dear.

It’s a time when families and friends
                             can all come together,

To reminisce, laugh, and sing Carols
                             no matter what the weather.

It’s a time to give especially to those in need
                              and those we love,

As we give special thanks for the many blessings
                             from God above.

It’s a time to forgive so that we in turn
                             may be forgiven,

It’s time to help the sick, and those
                             who are bed-ridden.

There truly is so much suffering
                               in our world today.

At this special time let’s do our best
                               to help along the way.

It’s true to say from our hearts
                                without a shadow of doubt

He is always here to bless us as we reach
                                 to help others out.

Many years have passed since that first Christmas Morn.

When our Saviour Jesus Christ came to earth to be born.

We’ve been through happy times;
                                   we’ve been through sad,

Even with our loved ones gone, He filled the void
                                   to make us glad.

Just to be alive, happy, and free is more than enough reason,
                                  To shout to all


                          MERRY CHRISTMAS”