A Triolet

See these sea-washed smooth shiny stones

They represent the pattern of life

Waves wash in and seep out alone

Ruled by the Moon, hear the soft moan

See these sea-washed smooth shiny stones

Washed up like shells, wrecks, dead bones

See these sea-washed shiny stones

They represent the pattern of life

Published in The Lark


Petals Dropping

PETALS DROPPING by Chrissie Morris Brady

A shaft of light, torch-like, lights the room
this room, off a corridor, in the huge building.
Alone, save the silent nurse who sleeps, I long
to be home, to be kissed, to take in the scent
of Dad’s neck as he carries me.

My body does not respond no matter my effort
lifeless as a flower cut with petals dropping,
my limbs inert, akinetic, mute my voice, this done to me
without my knowing, and yet I sense each touch
every invasive thing. I am destroyed, a mind encased
inside a tomb that is my flesh, bone and blood.

My thoughts drift back to familiar worlds
of being chosen, the boy sweet on me, golden hair
they shaved away, the branch in that tree smoothed
by our jeans, I could not know it would be you
that died in my arms, and my Dad would die there too.

Published in Other Worlds in The Haar


Ring Of Light

Today the stars align, sun, moon, earth
a ring of light to the Earth from the Heavens

occasion rare but beautiful
to those who care to look upward

Skies hold hope, never changing
the movements are a pattern
since before time began

Sun and Moon light our paths

Published in The Lark


In Dreams

In dreams there are no shadows
only daylight and everything is

There are no questions in dreams
no need for asking
all is seen

Reality is clothed in shadow
a questioning of how this is
how did it start
is there blame to blame

A no not said
clouds pass over

Light flickers bright, dull, bright
darkness creeps
questions clothed in shadow

In the darkness
hiding in daytime
but it is truly night

Questions dim our eyes
dull our hands and mouths
cannot speak, cannot fight
in dreams truth is fully known
no need to explain even to ask

whilst within the dream
no need for waking
all is seen

Published in The Lark


Brighton Beach

Brighton Beach, the Russian Jew’s idea

Of what Americans think Russia is like

The little Odessa

On the Atlantic shore ten or so miles

From Wall St

A place for bathing and beach life

Cafes and restuarants, food from all the world

So many nationalities are melted here

And everyone smokes, even the waiters

In their breaks will find a bench to smoke

Old couples in big hats put up umbrellas

Against the sun and light up

The Mermaid Parade on 23 June

So scantily clad on the floats

At night you can dance with seafood clothed girls

In Brighton Beach the only thing

That will set you apart

Is to vote for Obama, for although

They all live most liberal lives

The fear of socialism from their past

Haunts them, even though they know

America is not like that, their fear lives

And drives their vote

While being scantily clad on the beach

Published in The Lark



These trees are old and cover my path
a canopy of leaves and branches
edging the schoolyard, the gate also covered

I hear children laughing, carefree play
running, chasing, catching balls
through the seasons the canopy changes, like me

Now, in summer, leaves are green and cool it is below
when Fall comes many colors adorn my way
and I tread on leaves of gold

Published in The Lark


An Astronaut Said

an astronaut once said

that if politicians could see

the earth from outer space

they would gasp in wonder

and see themselves futile

dumping of nuclear waste

wars, interventions, non-intervention

the earth was made for people

and filled with good things;

oceans, mountains, trees, flowers

forests, animals large and small

rare and common, fishes

birds and butterflies and bees

lakes and rivers and seas

why do we hate, make war

divide, sanction, abuse, kill

steal, rape, imprison

when we were made to love

and live in peace together

where did all that go

when did it disappear?

Published in The Lark


White Flag

So much water from the sky
my flowers are bruised and crushed
flowerbeds are flooded
my tears are disguised
as they mingle

Only the shaking sobs are noticed
convulsing my tiny body which has
withstood too much too soon
the white flag unseen
held tight amidst the downpour

Published in The Lark


Boy Wonder

The joy, oh the thrill
when I cantered Boy Wonder
around that menage
my love for riding renewed

American saddle, new to me
but I had him the right leg*
every time, and I laughed
with sheer pleasure for living

And every one gaped
as they’d thought he’d
take me under the branch
to rid himself of me

My horsemanship not lost
though American saddle so strange
I guide him, communicated
we became as one moving being

Strong nature but sweet
his action was a dream
the joy, oh the exhilaration
when I cantered Boy Wonder

*right leg as correct leg. A horse riding term

Published in The Lark



Dusk at another airport
one can see the heat hanging
a yellow orb is low in the sky
slowly turning to egg yolk|
and then mango

Sinking slowly as a goodbye
turning the color of oranges
finally some red markings
as that sun drops away

Published in The Lark


My Mother Loves Me

My mother hates me –
oh wicked liar I am,
she says she loves me
And everyone tells me so

I can do nothing right
And she chases me
, hairbrush
In hand to hit me all over
She says she loves me

I can say nothing right for her
I am rude, ungrateful,

And rewrite the history
Where she smelt of roses

No shouting at me, no threats
Not biting me, not calling me whore

There was no conflict ever
And she never kidnapped me

She hasn’t said I’ll come to no good
Or that she’d be a better mother
For my daughter, who hates her
She never stamped her foot

I’ve torn my hair out, actually
I’ve clawed my face and hit my head
But now I just don’t bother
When I can, I go to bed

See, I have responsibilities
And love my daughter dearly
So I need pay the bills, buy the food
I can’t indulge my memories

She didn’t shout when I was mute
By operations on my brain
And never felt sorry for herself
When I was totally helpless

Promise me this; never be
Helpless in front of my mother

She’ll shred you up and spit you out
You need to close up like a clam

Years of practice it took me
To tighten up that shell real tight

And become invisible to all
No more audible than a mouse

So it took years to let friends in
But still keep out my mother

Leaning to be a ducks back
Whilst alive to my loving pals

Am I then a schizophrenic?
No, I’m simply grown up wise
And cannot allow further hurt or hate
To waste my life and time

Written in 1999

Published in Know Thyself, Heal Thyself


I Have Wandered

Many countries are in my passport
many cultures,
 cuisines, cities, mountains
people are in my memories, that I prize

I still wander where the green light allows
refining me, learning, to be better person
this journey is never complete, more

is always welcomed, so that I am full,
wiser, better friend, better teacher
There is no stop sign in my way