Her poems, which cover a broad spectrum of human emotions and themes, are largely rooted in the mysteries of love and of the natural world and its phenomena as well as in social concerns. One critic writes of her, that “…her sensibilities are essentially – like Lawrence’s – Romantic.” (Patricia Keeney-Editor-The Writer’s Quarterly) and that she is “an emotional colourist” in the introduction to her book Babylon and Other Dreams.

Apostrophe: A Love Song

Why have I, appetent,
chased you through snow storms
and muddy creeks in spring,
bathing your wounds like
an Algonquin Princess
in an Apocalyptic ritual
only we understood, to
expunge the wounds,
the humiliation….

What memory provoked me?

And how does love bore
through that kind of

Your ‘manan’ is
penetrable, but
what the cost?

Waited for you on
rock in springtime
forest which saw more
tragedy than any autumn could,
green leaf falling prematurely
at my naked foot and nourished
by the tristesse of my tears
which fell, frighteningly
silent…chunks of my soul..

Crossed river with you
on foot, marrying each
other in midstream to
seal the bond of our
soaring spirits.

* * *

“How do I love thee?”
The ways are far too
deep and wide, span
centuries, incarnations;
What ancient thing in you
called to me from the beginning,
calls to me now?
What ancient thing in me
What treason dropped us
in this nether time,
spins us up now to the chaos
to face each other one more time,
serves us up to the hungry
hunters who would have
our blood?

Where is the separate peace
we seek? The memory of
innocence? The Paradise of your eyes…?
You struggle now with
the poison in your
apoplectic soul,
the enemy that’s
wrapped you in
silken threads
ever-tightening around
the bane of your existence,
enbalmed you for enterrement.

We shout at each other ‘cross
canyons too great
to span;
We burn our blood to pay
for a bridge which
drops us mid-way,
collapsing as we
begin our walk
towards each
our lateral arabesque,
mating ritual, like
the wild pheasants
we watched for an hour
in the late afternoon
shadows of the silent
country road in early
watched them watch each
other, you touching my hand
as your spirit came loose,
freed for the event of
their mating, their
seeking, their
brilliant eyes
curious upon
each other
in an innocence
which stirred you to
new hope, new passion,
renewed tenderness…..

To watch them, finally
scattered in staggered flight
by the motor of a car, and more
embarrassed than afraid, to
conceal their passion
rather than show
their panic.

Ah! Bridge of Illusions
Rainbow in Time
scintillating in the
gauzy gloom of this, our
nether century………….
Dazzling us with promise
mocking our innocence
betraying our belief –
A flick of the wand
and it’s gone!

What magician? Where?
Our Selves…Our sins…

Oh “Tyger! Tyger!”…..

Whoever carved thee
my soul-mate
carved you in all the
extremes of thy manhood,
my ‘Prometheus Bound’,
Unbound, Bound

Carved you out of all the
innocence and experience
that man can muster
or God for him;

Carved Thee
to be the noblest and
the lowest…
Thou art god and beast
And my love for you
as we travel vistas
sublime on wings of
On your Apocryphal dragonfly,
then crawl, snail-like through
apolunar sludge and,
Silent, await an
to return us to the divinity
for a taste of Love,
a taste of heaven,
Fortune’s Smile,
a drop of blood,
of innocence
of undiluted Spirit
whose Memory,
never to be erased,
never to be forgotten,
has taken root
in my brain
and taunts as gently
at the edges of my naked soul
as a summer wind,
the winds of July,
the lonely winds and
sad to which I turn forever,
Forever return with
nothing but the dried petals
of earlier flowers.

I picked the cores of
decaying peonies last
night, thinking they
were buds, tricked by
their still-perfect perfume.

* * *

Better had we stayed Keats’
lovers on the Grecian Urn,
But the gods have dropped
us here again so they might
watch the enactment of our love
as we did the pheasants……….
of our divine passion and its pride;
And, jealous of our crescendo,
blow us helter-skelter as
Angry Poseidon did Ulysses,
smashing his ship upon
a perilous sea,

What punition awaits us,
My apocryphal Dragonfly
My Prometheus Bound?

I am not the Gomorrah
you imagined, nor the
Cleopatra you fear!

And “Our fate is NOT in the stars,
…but in ourselves!”

* * *

How many roads have I
travelled to find
How many sorrows endured
Only to lose you again
because of an idiosyncrasy,
some impurity,
some need to


 (to Albert Einstein who believed in the God of Spring)

Spring enters, a
God, tapping

Poppies burst
Red in fields


Oh! Lead me
The past.

The sea has not changed
As ancient Proteus rises
Smiling, triumphant, but
Silver-glazed, alters the
Heart of man
His vision

Oh lead me fast to the
Mountains of the

See them in the
Wake of

* * *

Poppies push through
Into the sun, the
Sweet, drunken
Spinning in the

The poppies rise

My feet wander…..run
I am caught in the

* * *

Spring enters…a God, and
Mountains ache, rupture as
Flowers flood the earth
Blistered red fecund
Rupture into ancient

Protean miracle

The wind-whipped symphony on the
Mountain high above the city is
The temple of Spring as man
Wages his confused war in
The streets of Beirut,
Babylon reincarnated

(continued below
Oh dance poppies!
I dance with you!

Let us go to the symphony of
Spring in the Lebanon!

Let us not be stopped by
The wars of man!

Let us visit the temple
Of poppies!
Let us smell the incarnate sweetness!

Enter, Spring!

(Alice Groves – Book: Dancing the Whitewater)

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