From 1994

Walking in Sleep


Dying irritation,
Smells weaken,
producing sleep in a continual.
Moving, but not out.
The chances were forewarned.
Light is static and stings.
Outside working, out of the otherside of mourning
Can see no more of the elsewhere.

© 1994 Sonja J. Phinney



Worms

Early, early
bluebirds,
Sunny blue
I am this fragile and small blueness
with wounded shoulders and exhausted heart
Flying back to a rock above the waterfalls at Awosting.
This rock has worn different energies over the seasons.
It has been violated and sucked of it's energies.
It's shine, disrupted by those desperate.
I flutter about and sing alone, twee, twee.
The wind rushes, I hide my head, bring up my feet and wait
for the passing.

© 1994 Sonja J. Phinney


A Small Thing


Teeterd a plaything
back and forth.
Melody scampering
stumbling innocence
Voices entrapped
snared into new cells.
An instant, timeless in its ring
A forelorn thing.

© 1994 Sonja J. Phinney

She asked if I
were indeed
Peter Pan.
"Little Tink", I said
"Hold fast to your dreams."

© 1994 Sonja J. Phinney



Swimming over
as my final day remembers that it must
move on.
Winds skirt.
The warmth of the flowers beckon a memory.

© 1994 Sonja J. Phinney