Posted in The Wandering Mind

The Stile

I am a prisoner…

My old life at an end.

Yet within the warmth of your embrace

My life has just begun.

And I am free…

©Ruth P. 2017

No part of this work may be reproduced.

Posted in The Wandering Mind

Silently Ruminating

Silence – Part I


I have considered Silence…




In quiet meditations and crowded places.

Ever before had it seemed an ally;

Now it is a double-edged sword.

Amidst the vast hum of sound

It stands out;

Small as an ornament, yet equally bright,

Catching the eye precisely when

It’s keeper longs for that precious peace,

A moment of solitude,

A gentle lullaby,

A gradual hush,



Yet amidst the quiet I learned a language new;

Silence in silence speaks

It is not loud in the continual chatter of conscious minds

Uttering phonetically sound symbols in systematic order

A chaotic representation of culture and civilization and history, no.

Silence in silence speaks,

Loud in the emptiness of verbal warfare,

Casting long shadows, deep and unclear

Even under the sun

While it waits to be…

Be interpreted

Be written

Be read

Quite unlike that Rorschach inkblot test, and yet…

So like it.


©Ruth P. 2017

No part of this work may be reproduced.

Posted in The Wandering Mind

In The In-Between 

Sometimes, all I want to do is write,

Every little thought in my mind’s sight,

All the little things I ever did or said,

From sun-up till I go back to bed.

Sometimes all I want to do is hurt for a while,

Chase every little shadow born from a smile,

But I lack inspiration,

And my mind’s too tired for concentration.

I do not hope or dream of another life,

I don’t want to add more to this one’s strife,

The loss of this one would bring that to life,

Balanced as it is on the edge of a knife.

I keep on walking when I want to lie down,

I keep on hoping though the world spins around,

I know that I feel frustration,

But that is why this is my confession.


Ruth. P. – 2016 ©

No part of this work may be reproduced.

Posted in The Wandering Mind

A Dream Story

It is not often that I dream

A series of images floating

Through my unconscious mind

Making little to no sense

Or maybe repeating a tale

A book or movie clip

That I watched recently

Or never saw at all

As if dreams could also

Draw from things like

Deja vu or premonition

ESP or another rendition

Of the fanfiction I read the other day

Or perhaps a childhood nightmare

That I never remember anyway

When by the light its chased away

To another dimension, time or space

Leaving me free to delve again

Back into the madness

Of the dream I forgot

Memory clinging to remanents

Of the imprint it left behind.

© Ruth P. – 2016

No part of this work may be reproduced.

Posted in The Wandering Mind

A Labyrinth of Mirrors

Sometimes I turn to speak a thought
A random, dreaming utterance
Born from the flitting pieces of my mind
As natural a movement as any I’ve learnt
Over these years of my life
But as I turn and see this empty space
My mind stutters to a stop
Those random thoughts that I had herded
Break formation, scatter, and are lost
Fleeing from the blooming surprise
A renewed sense of disbelieving shock
And I wonder if this is how it will be
Through all the years that lie ahead of me
This turning and stopping
This crashing of impulse
This re-learning of old loss
This renewal of hurtful sorrow
The wounds are filled and healing now
No more blood flows from them
And yet, the new skin is tender
The ache is still fresh.
No memory will be lost in the years to come
So much I am sure of, having experienced it before
But it is these darts I fear,
Flying sharp and true
Right through all defenses
Not hurting the body, but the mind is black and blue.
This assurance I do have
Whatever the future may bring or be
There’ll be no lack for hope
No recourse to “wait and see”

No matter the time or change

I will always be, strongly, Me.


© Ruth P. – 2016

No part of this work may be reproduced.

Posted in The Wandering Mind

Bubbles in the Deep

Help! Help me scream!
Help me take apart the night!
Help me let these voices out,
Before they rip me up inside.


They’re in my throat
They’re in my head
I’d really like to get them out because
They’re every thought I’ve left unsaid.


I stamp my foot, I gnash my teeth
Like some maddened savage beast
Sadly it’s all still in my head
Tied down, like I am to my bed.


I am calm and jittery, turn by turn
The end is near, how do I learn!
To take up arms and drive them out
In some way that won’t leave me burnt.


The moment passes, I’m bereft
The loss is real, the journey swift
I do not pause to look back and see
Where the madness disembarked and left.


© Ruth P. – 2016

No part of this work may be reproduced.

Posted in The Wandering Mind

Dark Beacon

There is something about the night

Cold and calm, a sea of light

Merely reflecting those heavenly orbs above

Not aspiring to those lofty heights.


Their splendour white, in twinkling array

Steals from breath a long drawn sigh

From human chests rise wishes old

From lupine hearts fond songs arise.


By land, by sea, through distant air

They call, a tugging primal call

Like moths, that to beacon’s luminescent light

Yearn to gain, though flight or crawl.


There is something about the night

Wide open spaces, calling, falling

Hide, Reveal, Fly, Freedom, Explore

At once a draw, at once a warning.


© Ruth P. – 2016

No part of this work may be reproduced.