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Click on title to download single-page PDF microchap
Cover collage by Jan Keough
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Fawn Lilies
Spring wings through the air,
bounds across meadows
passing me by, its alarm clock
governed by weather, not
the months, days or hours
before me time has unwrapped,
the minutes left behind flying
away from me. Only in the
stillness of the morning did
the light beckon my awareness
to the fawn lilies, so slim in
their pale beauty I'd nearly
forgotten hope existed, their
silent dance in the wind
trembling, as if afraid to be
seen, as if they'd heard my
voiceless plea, their six-petal
blooms facing not the sky
but the earth, love so elusive
there was none of it to share,
but to stretch their angel-like
arms towards me, touching
me with their unrivaled
essence I breathed in that
was still there.
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Bobbi SInha-Morey © 2018
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My Heart An Amethyst Ocean
Soft May mists are here
again and the creamy
white tulips are bathed
in the quiet stillness of
morning sun; all this,
and the grass outside my
window buttoned with
dandelions, my home
illumined by God's glowing
touch. My heart an amethyst
ocean, ready to swell with
the love I've come to know
when time no longer starts
from so far away and I dip
into the lake of my youth,
taste the sweet fruits of life,
knock on the door of an
older memory and exalt
that I am alive. I long to
stand under a silver silken
sky, swim in a pool clothed
in blue starlight.
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Bobbi SInha-Morey © 2018
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Click on title to download single-page PDF microchap
Cover: Study in Blue
by Lauri Burke
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Every Origami Micro-chapbook
may be printed, for free,
from this website.
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Aurora
My new world is not yet
fully awake: birds perch on
limbs to watch the dawn
and dew on the cornstalks
turn into sweet, idyllic tears
from a young lass who shyly
left her hope like the sun
quietly closes the day. I walk
my mid-mornings around
the field and saw her again,
among dandelions heavy
with sun, picking delphiniums
one by one, her flowing white
taffeta dress pooled at her
feet; the brown feathered
curve of her hair waving
in the hushed voice of the
wind. Her whispered wishes
and prayers, though greater
than the sun, likely unheard.
When she looked up at me
she spilled her handful of
flowers into the grass and
left me standing still. I brought
them home, put them in the
milk pitcher on the windowsill.
My heartbeat longs to hear
her quiet breath. I see her only
when the morning star has left.
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Bobbi Sinha-Morey © 2015
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Azaleas
A tiny house by the highway
is alive in the darkness with
a light on in the window,
its heart beating only for one,
a sixty-eight-year-old woman
without even a pet for a com-
panion, only the nightly news
on the radio and canned foods
in her cupboards to live on.
Just last week someone sent
her a belated sympathy card
when her husband had died
two months ago, enclosing
pressed flowers: hawthorns,
pieces of sunflowers. Her
tissue-paper heart now
crinkled at the edges, her
breath like autumn frost
a chill after moonrise on
September evenings. In her
home, quiet as the fog, she
looks for him everywhere--
in her wallet, in greeting
cards with smiling faces.
She waits for azaleas to
bloom in the winter.
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Bobbi Sinha-Morey © 2015
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Bobbi Sinha-Morey's poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene's Fountain, The Wayfarer, Helix Magazine, Miller's Pond, and Old Red Kimono. Her books of poetry are available at www.Amazon.com. She loves aerobics, knitting, reading, and rock hounding with her husband.