Frances-Ann Norton: Poetry

Coming and Going:  Every birth is different Every death hits differently The process The arriving or Departing Is a fact and The fact that we are here alive Is proof of the fact that We arrived The departing is different A life well lived and long A life never lived beyond the womb Ended by sleep Ended in an accident Ended by one another Ended by own hand Ended by illness, virus, disease, heart. And after Those of us who have arrived and not yet departed Watch as people leave We see the ways of their going And think of my own going Of the departure of The ones I hold dear And I wonder how I will survive And if those losses will mark the Beginning of my own Departure.

Eclipse – Brogdar’s Ring Time stands still While I tap my feet Ice crackles a chill While I drum my fingers As breath condenses I wait listless Blue-black my senses My hands empty – giftless. Once a box within a box Was given to me The giver a generous loves Contents given free. And table laid for guests Magpie trees crowded A lock of free hair, lest I forget you are my Lord A child in a chestnut skin Silken and milk-white A child in a cuckoo’s nest Stolen with eyes wide and light. What was in the gift Swans down golden hare Sun and moon eclipsed Promise me – wait right there. Just as silent birds hush Sudden dark from daylight Sun comes from moon, singing thrush, Meet me by Brogdar’s ring tonight.

Compromise: How can I love you so much? It hurts and it heals Every day you twist the knife Deep.

Cactus Blossom: Cactus blossom  She rode across the desert on a horse, No one could stop her when she was that way out.

Sleep Walker Between the first and second floor she walked Remembering the house before And taking the same route every night.

Throw off the wet gloves After Anne Sexton’s Consorting With Angels   I was tired of the early mornings I was tired of the computer screen I was sick of the drive around the gyratory Day after day, after day Meaningless – days sliding by And I said to myself Where is the meaning in my stale existence? And the answer came – “look up”. And as I looked up, snow fell like angel feathers And a voice seemed to say ‘Be playful’ When the snow falls it’s a game, a full stop. A clean slate as the Symbolists say It’s fun, let go of troubles Cares gone to the drifts of snow Climb inside joy Igloo up misery and distain Throw off the wet gloves of being a wet blanket, Live.

Time is a Patchwork Quilt Time is a patchwork quilt The pieces are different times The peak is a lofty top And a nut The walnut is a maze Time is a watch in a pocket Threads hold the weave together And make the top-quilting patterns:- Wine glasses Feather Diamonds Tree of life Bowl of roses Twisted rope Like the narrative of a span. And we are covered from cradle to grave.