Rock Me, Stone Me


It was a stone, a simple stone

Lying in a bed

But if you shine it, polish it so

It will be worth more it’s said


Perhaps we can form it into a jewel

Small enough for a ring

Or maybe create a figure

Now that would be the thing


Let’s make it someone holy

Someone special it could be

Give it even more importance

Or make a cathedral for all to see


It does not matter what form it takes

Or if it’s pretty or a religious design

It is a rock, or maybe just a stone

And I cannot claim it mine


Barbara Blackcinder

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The Tiniest Thread


A little thread, dangling just out of reach

It is a strand of rememberance so weak

A glimmer that is tainted with loss

But a trivial thought I must seek


My mind has an image of it quite quaint

A house here, a street flowing by

If I concentrate without distraction

It appears in its history to my eye


But it is a sparkle, a shimmer of light

A glimpse of what may have been

And I am old, beyond travelling years

My memory probably not quite like then


Perhaps it is best, to keep it in its case

That magnifying bit of crystalized glass

Which raises it to my eye, to my thoughts

Back into my memories as I pass


Yet there it is, in my view once again

In the corner, a still wetting tear

And with some effort and imagination

The sound of it I can quite hear


So I have relived it, so easily brought

Without so much as a raise from my chair

And ever it shall be waiting to see

A memory to take me back there.


Barbara Blackcinder

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The Sinkhole


Alone on the hill, may be where the fool stays

But that’s not the place for me

Always alone, but never one for heights

I’m down in the valley you see


Down in the valley below sight it seems

Mostly alone and self-aware

Not always having gone there myself

But surely you’ll find me there


On many the sides of a slippery slope

Gliding on muddied pathways

While others find multiple handholds

I just get lost in the haze


Surely others lose friends through life

And others gain them as they go

I have never been one to collect them

Mine disappear, that I know


Causes are irrelevant at this stage of course

My pattern not something I can deny

Still it is hard to accept

In this depression looking up at the sky


Barbara Blackcinder

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Once A Child


Once a bully, he chastises at will

Though eagerly wanting more

There is no limit and no fill

Completed, he’s out of the door


She’s a fairy, a real dreamer

Looking for life so pretty

She will be crushed but cannot change

Finished, her life’s but a pity


Reclused, withdrawn, within himself

So young to be faced with derision

Held in place from within and without

Arrayed, it wasn’t his decision


And so the children are formed by day

Their minds and opinions steadied

Too young to understand their roles

Too early in life, not so readied


The mind of a child, so open and free

Many times closed by other’s opinions

Stunted and turned within

Not by conscious decisions


Like the child, to enter Heaven

The mind must be free to explore

Open to all that can be seen

Without a confronting door


Barbara Blackcinder

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Sad In the Middle


It’s so sad in the middle

But it is where we stand

Seeking time where we are

But not being on firm land


We can see our past times

Things we loved and hate

The future is to be seen

And for some we cannot wait


It’s a little bit of landscape

Our feet can hardly stay in place

It’s sadness to the front or rear

So many things we cannot face


Regrets of the past can be seen

But memories lurk in our dreams

So many paths there are

But so many are just schemes


We hope our past will guide us

Instead of end morose

But knowing the truth that’s likely

Wishful thinking is all we boast


It is sadness to our past

And a sadness looking ahead

There is only our present standing

For happiness in their stead



Barbara  Blackcinder


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Hopeless Days


Alas, oh yes, it is hopeless to see

That you will never agree with me

There is a doubt that you will always have

No amount of time will offer a salve

For you are restricted by your own will

And of changes now, you have your fill

Nothing can change your opinion pool

I simply have not gotten the proper tool


So I will go on with the faintest of hope

You will not be tied, no matter the rope

A change is something obscure and remote

I simply have nothing in my tool tote

On and on without any correction

No alterations or change of direction

A faint glimmer appears over time

But is shattered quickly without rhyme


So life is constant, an unbroken string

And so little now does it mean anything

Just a line of days taken in a row

Where it ceases I surely don’t know

But it seems that it will be a relief

Since daily life is a flood of grief

With no hope of a shining star

However long, it will be too far



Barbara Blackcinder

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The weave they say is the real way

To fit into the tapestry

To get into the real world today

Is to be woven is how I see


To coordinate, to assimilate

To fit without obtrusion

To be looking really great

To not be a visual obstruction


We all need to be knitted, and fitted

To be blended into the mass

Then we will all be benefitted

To be obscure beneath the looking glass


But I don’t fit, and I won’t quit

This life although it’s tiring

There is nothing available without it

Yet merging isn’t of my desiring


I have my wishes, my fetishes

My twisted personality traits

My developed and liked niches

To fill me, to satiate


Despite my fit, or the lack of it

I must walk alongside

It’s not something that I can quit

And so I’m forced to hide


Until I see, the change towards me

When life adapts my way

Until then I’ll just have to be

The best that I can be today


Without fitting in, it’s not a sin

To be different after all

A tapestry is how to win

Where our differences can all stand tall


Barbara Blackcinder

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