Warmly slipped past

A cool deceit

That slinks and covers

I was found by heavy hearted memories

And long held truths

Now boxed away

Expired

C. MacAdam

Stain

Stain

She is not broken in the ordinary sense

In piles of dirty dishes days

But broken as a light no longer framed

Scattered dying  in forest rows

This is not garbage you understand

But a catalogue of what was not

Consummated

We left those days

Drifting close in tangled drops

Her stench

Forever fragranced in the leaves

Of books and storms and confidence men

Yellowed in the corners

Marshland hides a lot of sin

Curling round its burdock stains

She sat with the ducks

And they -  

Walked on

Nothing was the same again

Ever

Catherine MacAdam

Briefly following the words that are not there and the feelings that are not emotions to search out a poem in between its freshest self...

Gathering Stones

The stones are smart
They gravel the road

And float the rocky parts
Travelling along
Holding their own

I love the smoothness of the stones
Their cool and blueness
I love the stones

Every day brings its roads

I have found a way
To gather stones
And keep them for my  
Travelling 
To help me
Hold my own

I hold the hearts of many stones

Close where they
Can hold me back

I love the trueness of the stones

They travel too
They are a part of us

Singing silent songs
Stones floating stones

By Catherine MacAdam

AWAY

I know we live our own lives and our children are born to do the same. I also agonize for her to be okay when I fear that she is not. Her life is hers to live. And she is very far away.


So try this on for size
In the middle of the
unwashed views
just in front of my
hopes for you
I always hold them just this close
I always hold them in my hands
like the smallest little hummer bird
that cannot ever stay
but always lights a moment
and I look at these
days of flying time
and close my eyes

So fast it always seems to leave
As does she
What matters in the after
places of how I live with what
we've said and done
Complete sentences are so overrated
They are not salvation
So here is what I stretch into
instead of falling on my face
I find a place between my self
And watch the play
And watch the dancing words perform
Something that's not quite a song
But dance they do
I hold my tongue
And whisper out inside my head
Spell it; not straight out
From where I stand
it looks safe and far

I have a child who is very far away
and not safe 
I could not keep her safe
I could not keep her dreams alive

by Catherine MacAdam

TOO LATE

The simpler

gold that shines

another late

regret

is not enough to

help me spend it

wisely

with a heart and soul

or even with a soul

alone

or even with this mind of mine

I do not know 

the way to

put it right

or find the time

exactly where

it lands between

this golden place 

warm but late

I turn around

to see if

you have noticed

me not there

still

late…

by Catherine MacAdam