Writer/Dreamer

Imagination Equals Inspiration

                                                  Woman In The Mirror

  

When hope seems just beyond my reach,

And my dreams dissipate swiftly,

Like dewdrops warmed by the morning sun,

When the only friend around,

Is the one looking back at me in the mirror,

Those are the times when I reach out,

To the only person in the universe

Who knows exactly who I am.

Sometimes I hardly recognize her, and yet

She is a friend like no other.

Courage and strength emanate from her,

With a pure heart, she is loving and kind.

The wisdom of maturity shines in her eyes,

And she is the light that guides my way,

When the road ahead is dark.

I willingly place my trust in her,

Because I know I can.

In wonder I gaze into her knowing eyes,

Grinning, she winks at me,

And I know I’ll be okay.

My soul is intact; my heart is open,

And I truly love my dearest friend,

The woman who looks back at me in the mirror.

 

© Annabel Sheila

                                                      Something Blue

  

The dainty silken handkerchief,

Trimmed with soft blue lace,

Held tender, loving memories

Time could not erase.

 She wiped her tears of happiness,

On her wedding day,

With the very precious “something blue”,

That she carefully put away.

Throughout the years she cherished it,

And every now and then,

She’d press the hanky to her cheek,

Then put it away again.

 On the birth of each of her children,

She kept the hanky near.

For she knew the joy of motherhood,

Was sure to bring a tear.

Sometimes the greatest riches,

Are the hardest things to see,

Like the hanky in the faded box

My grandmother left to me.

But when my mother explained the gift,

With my wedding day in sight,

I knew it would be my “something blue”,

That I’d treasure the rest of my life.

© Annabel Sheila

                                                   

Sentinel

He stands like a sentinel, profound devotion

So deeply embedded in his heart

He would perish before abandoning

The one to whom his soul is forever bound.

 

His keen gaze unwavering, he scans the horizon

Watching, waiting, steadfast in his vigil…

Time has no meaning for him

But a lonely ache grows with every passing moment…

 

He has waited for him a thousand times before

But the longing is always the same

And there is no respite from the anxiety

Until he sees at last that familiar face.

 

His ears alert, he listens to every sound

From the symphony of the sparrows at the feeder

To the rustle of leaves neath the emerald clad trees

 Where he stands like a soldier on guard.

 

Soon a familiar sound, like the beat of his heart…

The steady pace of sneakered feet

On asphalt still cool in the early dawn…

His master returns!

 

Joyously he bounds up and down

His welcoming barks breaking the silence

As a human voice soothes his mind…

“Hey, boy, did you miss me?”

 

© Annabel Sheila

 

Echoes 

 Echoes of my ancestors

treading softy hand in hand

ostracized for who they were

 and driven from their land

 

 Forced to live among those who hate

their ways the white men scorned

but their native pride strong and true

is ingrained in every child of theirs born

 

 My grandfather was denied the right

to be true to his native roots

Indian was a dirty word back then

so he could not live his truth

 

His children had the right to know

but to protect them he was duty bound

so he raised them in the white man's way

at least when the white man was around

 

My father grew up without knowing

that his native roots run deep

and the stories his father told were real

unwritten records meant to keep

 

His father showed him how to hunt and fish

and how to live without fear in the wild

he taught him things he never forgot

even though he was only a child

 

My father's blood runs though my veins

as my grandfather's and his before

and until now I never understood

my connection to the earth and much more

 

I am drawn to the forest in a spiritual way

and I'm one with every flower and tree

there's no other place where my soul feels right

and it always baffled me

 

But now the truth has come out at last

though a century has come and gone

I'll never again be denied who I am

this journey has taken too long

 

Life is so much better now that I know

there are things ingrained in me

that I could never have figured out

without all that my father taught me

 

© Annabel Sheila 

 

Cape St. Mary’s

 

I wandered along an infinite plateau

Where a brisk breeze from a sparkling sapphire sea

Whispered a hearty welcome in my ear…

 

Majestic scenery sprawled before me

Mosses and lichens clinging to granite as old as time

And I was awestruck such a blissful place existed!

 

Wisps of white, feathers scattered upon majestic cliffs

Where only time has left its footprint

And a sky so blue it was a glimpse of heaven itself!

 

From the summit of a wondrous precipice

Sun tipped waves dappled a brilliant cerulean ocean

That has ravaged the primordial shoreline for centuries…

 

And I knew I had found the ultimate sanctuary

A symbol of nature’s infinite magnificence

As enticing as it was unapproachable

 

Cape St. Mary’s, Newfoundland…

Where the birds know with certainty

They have discovered heaven on earth

 

© Annabel Sheila 

 

 

History at the St. John's Regatta

 

Blue Peter was heavy in the water

As the sturdy crew from Outer Cove,

Oars at the ready in their calloused hands,

Awaited the crack of the pistol and the start of the race

 

Their rivals, the team from Torbay sat nearby

Focusing on the job ahead; they couldn’t lose...

Fishermen, most of them, they knew the importance

Of getting out on the water first… and they would

 

Excitement filled the air as the crowd watched intently

They were about to witness history being made

For the Outer Cove crew would today set a record

That would stand for eighty years

 

The pistol shot rang out and they were off

Down Quidi Vidi Lake the shells sliced the water

Side by side until they reached the buoys

And that was when the race was decided

 

It was a proud day for my Grandfather Croke

As he sat number three in the Blue Peter...

I wonder what he’d think if he knew

He made history at the regatta that day

© Annabel Sheila 

 

 

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