Under a cold Icelandic sun flowers still grow. Warmth beneath the soil breathes its life, bracts shield tiny blooms from harsh frost. I watch, wonder. What waits within your frozen soil, cold as the wind hard as ice?
There’s no room at the store for more on the shelves, as shoppers hustle and bustle and fuss, and jostle and shove like sheep as they flock for that little black frock, and trinkets, of gold, and frankly, spend more than they ever intended on presents and stocking fillers. They rush past the carol singers […]
Ends are beginnings too if eternity’s true, but if crosses are only losses and pain has no gain, there are no winners, including God. Rhythms of life become tedious hell going round and round in infinite meaningless circles, and seasons have no reason. The droning of summer bees; the tender fall of leaves; winter whiteness […]
The almost dead surround her, buried alive in mist-shrouded minds. Another year endured, she waits for a gift. Guilt-purging presents arrive, With one-click flowers and printed cards, from family, wrapped up in their own worlds. She holds her own hand in her lap and gazes into the past. Copyright © Gill Wyatt 2012
We’ve met before I recognise your face from long ago, and I recall the pain that you inflicted then, sleepless nights and swollen eyes, raw emotion, strangling breath. You stand in the doorway, lean on the wall, and await my invitation. I leave you there as I laugh at sorrow, until my eye meets yours […]
An echo of a careless whisper hovers, grows, resounds, rebounds, grumbles far away, rumbles closer, rolls like thunder roaring it’s mighty crescendo. An avalanche vents its wrath, violent and relentless until it rests content with death. Copyright © Gill Wyatt 2012
A breathless waiting fills expectant air for that first almost silent sound to flood the room with light, as bow and strings unite to raise a vibrant voice to lofty heights; descending to a rich full-bodied tone that soothes the senses, harmonizing in a symphony of sound then gathers pace to race, as rising, reaching […]
My canvas was clear, a simple idea in my head, mulled over and fed until it became an outline of thoughts, an explosion of fear in long, strong strokes of rich, dark colours. Layer on layer, it grew and took shape and before my eyes it came alive and I realised, too late. Copyright © […]