All works copyright 
Mary Lee Mattison 
2010

A New England Winter's Night

The Banshees are upon us!
You can hear them in the wind.
They are on the track of 
some lost soul.
 And determined to get in!

They rattle at the windows. 
Hurl branches at the door.
But, I'm not going out there ! 
It's not me they're looking for.

You can hear them on the roof now!
Flapping cloaks and thumping staffs-
They want to be let in!
But my brave walls won't
 let them pass!

When they find they have 
no power here­-
They wail their keening call!

Then caterwaul off down the beach.
A Howling Winter Squall!

Stars to Catch

And so another day winds down.
But I am not yet ready to still my mind.
Not yet ready to relax my waking grip-
And drift the way-worn currents and eddies of forgetful sleep.

For with letting go-
I must bid, 'Fare ever well' to this day's promise …And slip back one day farther, from my dreams fulfilled.
For it is here in waking that I truly dream.
My sleep is no more than a ghostly veil-
Dissolving in the dawn
...like mist on the fens.

The salty sea breeze cools the air.
The city sounds are hushed to welcome quiet. Daylight creatures have long since 
found their beds. 
A lonely car breaks the stillness…
Then is gone.

My sleepy cat wonders at my delay-
Still, I cannot let go the Dream.
To sleep perchance to dream?
Or 'To sleep perchance to wake, 
to dream again?'

But, that I will pursue tomorrow...
For I see that they have 
come for me at last! They whisper
 "Greetings" from their wooden shoe. 
Their golden nets are poised and ready.

And I shall make them wait no longer...
For sleep's tide is on the ebb... 
And we have Stars to Catch!

The Widow’s Walk

  ...And so she climbs again the stairs,
That lead up to her prison where,
She spends her day in anxious prayer.
 She wrings her hands in her despair.

She paces out her tiny cell.
 Where everyday she's drawn to dwell.
 As if bewitched by some strange spell
She stands a seaward-staring sentinel.

She sees no mast cut through the sky.
No flash of sailcloth greets her eye.
The screaming sea gulls laugh and cry.
 Is it joy or doom that they prophesy?

She wonders at her Captain's fate?
What unknown danger makes him late?
And for her sons...she also waits-
As she braids and un-braids her worried plaits.

She regards the town from her woeful nest.
 It is quiet, yes- But there's no rest.
She knows each home must brave this test.
 There is a nagging dread in every breast.

  She clutches tight her shawl of lace.
 A tender gift from some distant place.
 And she scans the sea for some faint trace.
Numb to the frosty day's embrace.

  The sky is fearful lucid clear.
No mist to hide their presence near.
 No distant speck to still her fear.
 No callused hand to catch her tear.

 Cruel evening bells are sadly rung.
 Her day's watch wanes with the setting sun.
 Another barren day is done.
She drowns in sleep's oblivion.

 Till dawning wakes her with a start!
 A new day's come! Hope fills her heart!
She sees her weeks of fears depart.
Praying "Today will end our days apart!"

And so she climbs again the stairs,
 That lead up to her prison where,
 She spends her day in anxious prayer.
 She wrings her hands in her despair...

The Yin and The Yang

I wanted to write something
 drenched in deep meaning.
What is Life? Where's Gods Wife?
Towards verbose, I was leaning.

Then, I thought Nah…
I'll write something light.
I'll have a chuckle at life.
Then I thought that’s not right.

It is the union of both.
 Yes, the Yin and the Yang.
Equal halves make the whole.
As it's been since… The Bang?  

You can look at the halves
 and the wholes that they make-
Without Death there's no Life.
 Without Sleep there's no Wake.

Without Night there's no Day.
 Without Sky there's no Earth.
 Without Young there's no Old.
 Without Dying no Birth.

Without One there's no Million.
Without Hot there's no Cold.
Without Fat there's no Skinny.
Without Shy there's no Bold.
 Without Dark there's no Light.
 Without False there's no True.
 Without Wet there's no Dry.
Without Me there's no You.

Just half of a whole
is the loneliest state-
So why have the Gods chosen
that as my fate?

Sleeps Double View

I was there again last night it seems.
That Ancient place that fills my dreams.

I knew again the rocks and sea.
A well-worn path and cliffs I see.
Those gentle faces smile at me.

The air is chill and wet with spray.
The evening sky is leaden-gray.
Up rough hewn steps, we make our way.
Our baskets filled. Our spirits gay.
Behind each stone Sea Fairies play!

I shiver, but I do not fear.
I am not alone - My friends are here.
There is Warmth and Food 
and Fire near.

We share our Twilight Songs of Rite.
Bless Silver Moon. 
Praise Bright Star Light.
Then gather close to 
spend the night.

I search until I find that face.
That firmly holds me in this space.
And slip into my special place.
To sleep the night in sweet embrace

My dreams in that world 
bring me here!
All things I know there disappear.
And only my time here seems clear.

Do you too have this double view?
This sleeping-waking rendezvous?
Or is this my dreaming?
And that world true?

Salt Marsh Roses

    Salt marsh roses blazing in the sweltering summer sun.
A filigree of tangled thorny branches
Crown this winding row of carefully piled stones.
Stones that have stood here the centuries.
The centuries since they were drudgingly dragged from
Every inch of this ancient ice scrapped land.

    A winding wall of stones, a mark of early settlement.
For here once gardens grew!
The sea in time has shifted its fickle profile,
Placing this hard-worked dirt too near the tide,
To be of any planting use today.
And so this abandoned plot grows in unkempt. 
Unvisited by the scythe and plow.

    Now the rampant roses reign unchecked.
Every inch of sun-baked stone is thick with clinging vines.
The vines are glazed with ice-pink blossoms,
That glow like incandescent snow upon the ancient bark.
The tiny wind blown petals drift down,
To lay a luminous carpet upon the dank and salty soil.

    The seething canopy of bees weave their shadows,
As they frantically gather their sacred golden pollen.
Their selfish efforts unwittingly secure the birds survival.
For later on, the fertile rose hips will swell and ripen-
­In the abundant harvest the cooler weather will bring.

    For now the birds are content to wait.
They nestle luxuriously in the fragrant matted vines.
Every rocky crook is lined with sweet salt hay;
Carried excitedly from some adjacent meadow.

    The ancestral nests are always kept in perfect readiness.
For even in this soothing, welcome warmth...
The ocean's crashing waves...
Count out the waning summer seconds.

    For here among the winding rocks and salt marsh roses,
Not even the flaming glory of the molten summer sun...
Can entirely erase the menacing memory of icy winter winds.

    For summer here is just a precious lull.
A reflect-full, healing warmth before the leaves begin to change...
And all brave hearts must turn once more-

   To face the arctic breath of screaming winter gales.