Persephone’s Child

by Janet Crawford Trenchard

copyright 2011

.

A refugee of time,

I wander knee deep

over and through

used broken things,

scanning left to right,

pulling myself forward,

between crumbling pillars

as the debris begins to thin out.

Stepping lightly now

over splintered boards, dirt,

old mattresses.

I have survived,

drawn to the orange-red horizon,

longing to sink my hands

into the glowing fruit

floating ripely there,

to read with hungry fingers

Demeter’s code;

the mystery of the seeds

that refresh the world.

power plant

by janet crawford trenchard
copyright 2008   

driving along in the dark
earth and sea to either side
expecting to be surprised as always
by silvery stilts
rising out of the mist, Atlantis
spreading its net oflights
I wonder
if I missed it somehow
then  suddenly  crane my neck
to see it standing there
on stiff spiderlegs, unlit
a driveby tour of a dead fairyland
some woeful message
spelled out in enormous runes
indecipherable, reaching out to us
from oblivion

Spotlight

by Janet Crawford Trenchard, copyright 2008

You know this place very well
and it is lit, isn’t it?
candlelight or searchlight
police flashlight
It’s your soliloquy
a room on a stage
in which everybody leaves you
standing amongst
odd moments of your life
-they’re your history, but
still, you think: why drag them along?
and so
you step outside the room
into the rain
with only a thin jacket, now wet
and it is that leaving
disguised as everybody
always leaving you
isn’t it?