Quilts On The Line
By: Vicki West

Quilts On The Line

Momma, sing to me Wildwood Flower and whisper to me one of the Psalms. Momma, sit by me once again and tell me all about heaven and let your voice speak deeper where it calms.
Momma, I have your washboard and your old mop bucket. Momma, I have your chipped china tea cup and the worn brown Bible in King James Word, that’s where I keep your sterling silver locket.
Momma, I miss your bright blue eyes and your light red hair. Momma, I miss seeing you in the front porch swing in the evening where the shadows cast a lovely light upon your face so fair. The memories are so loud like the old pipe organ and music from the violin strings, a flood of tears stream as the church bell rings.
Momma, I remember the quilts you made for us all. Momma, I can hear you telling us that they would keep us warm in winter and fall.
I can see the old farmhouse and the trees and the cellar behind. I can still hear the creek water moving over the stones and I can see so clearly those quilts hanging on the line.
Momma, could you sing me Wildwood Flower again? You always sounded so fine. Momma, would you read me a Psalm while I wrap myself up in one of those quilts off the line?


To Melancholy
By: Vicki West

So, you have to deal with Melancholy,
She is uninvited, not wanted.
It is not like you beckoned,
"Come hither, and weep with me."
She is haunting the recesses
Of the brain and walking
On your heart.
She is in every chamber,
Having her full rein.
You have to put her
Under lock and key, she is insane.
She is not made of gold,
You, being a miser, should know
She's defiant, a sunken soul,
Her eyes are cold.
Wipe the tear, it just lingers near the hole
Of the caving in...To, melancholy.


Be Strong
By: Vicki West

Be Strong even while you think all hope is gone.
Don't search for blame as you might four leaf clovers in the lawn.

If people hurt you, let you down, destroy your faith, break promises;
Understand you are not broken, even when confronting your nemesis.

Lose the fear that you might truly fail, because chances are there you will.
Stay true to your heartbeat and know, this time might seal the greater deal.

Leave your defeat behind as you raise a light higher in the darkness so long.
For your light shall shine the way where you belong and it will help you be Strong.


''Tis a Mystery"
By: Vicki West

'Tis a mystery all when the heart fails to stir up that undying love, devoted and sure. Yet, there is the radical truth which comes even out of a false and passionate lure. It isn't what it should be.

True love isn't harsh and bitter and cruel or unkind. It isn't selfish or outrageous or afflicted in wounds that bind. The setting of sun shines the light still on the things that are better, lovely, and real.

True love should be easy I would love to believe. Not elusive or evasive or ugly but it should have its glory in all that it honors like diamonds dancing upon the sea.

There lies the mystery therein you see. Like a well spring of joy bubbling up from the depths of a soul where true love is shed when given a choice. A love can endure in all things and truth. A true love can echo a passionate voice.


Bridling the Wind

I can't stop the sands from being cast into the sea.
I can't hold the sun or catch a falling star.
It isn't within me. It isn't even about me.

I can't ride the wild horse or stop the stampede.
I can't change the time back to where it was when I was in the lead.

I am breathing hard and fast but still out of breath, alas.
What could this all mean? Is there still this hope that swells fast?
Will it last?

It's a funny thing about passion. It's even ironic and strange how the wind blows fiercely over, lashing while I still hold the reins. I am bridling the wind.


I write poetry and prose to help ground me in all this chaos.