They All Knew the Little Boy Who Fell

They All Knew the Little Boy Who Fell by Heather Westra

They all knew the little boy who fell,

Who tread the waters one whole day,

Alone at the bottom of the wishing well.

In a breathless gasp he tried to yell,

His desperate echoes seemed to stay,

They all knew the little boy who fell.

Wintry cold in his darkening cell,

He clawed the walls of slimy clay,

Alone at the bottom of the wishing well.

He heard them tolling the big, brass bell.

The laughing voices whisked away,

They all knew the little boy who fell.

Squinting his eyes he thinks, Farewell,

Through mumbled lips he starts to pray,

Alone at the bottom of the wishing well.

Yet he never heard them sound the knell,

Or saw the tears of much dismay.

They all knew the little boy who fell,

Alone at the bottom of the wishing well.

The Beauty In The Art

The Beauty in the Art by Heather Westra

The gold leafed pages open wide,

Are seen from every pew,

Sparkling with shaded pride,

Attract from every view.

Rays of light through coloured glass

Do warm the leather bind,

Amidst the candles lit for Mass

Enlightening the mind.

The people climb the marble stair

To see the detailed script,

And capture photos of its flair:

Its mysteries encrypt’. 

The kneeler lowers at his feet,

He leans his long white cane,

A book once left upon the seat

Now lifted up again

A pair of withered, folded hands

Await the crowds depart’,

And only then, he understands

The beauty in the art. 

I Dare To Dream

I Dare To Dream by Heather Westra

I dare not sleep, for you will find me there

And show yourself, once you are in my dreams,

And conjure up your loud and morbid scenes

Of spears and fire, of sorrow and despair.

My prison waits and bids me rest my eyes;

I wage the war, and count the hours till dawn.

The ticking stops, my watchful gaze is drawn,

The battle lost, myself do I despise.

As one we sink, and melt into earth’s core,

In single breath, you steal away my soul

And land me in a bath of whitened coal.

A steaming vial of bloodied tears you pour.

From silver plates, you feed me misery,

Enchanting my ghost with your chivalry.

Psalm 5

 Psalm 5 by Heather Westra

Oh Lord, please hear my crying voice to you

And, listen to the words I have to say.

When every morning, I will ask for grace

And, for your love to guide me through the day.

My God, I know that you will keep me straight,

For you are not a God of evil ways;

And no one wicked shall be in your light,

Destroy the men who spoil your ears with lies.

Oh, turn me from my sinful nature, Lord;

And, welcome me into your house of love.

I kneel down in honour at your temple

And cannot praise your holy name enough.

May all the guilty hearts of men fall down

Who slice their master’s name with faulty tongues.

My enemies will fall back on their swords

And perish when they fight the will of God.

But, for the ones who boldly state your claim;

Pour down your blessings with abundant grace.

Embrace and shield them with your loving arms

And guide their feet toward your warm embrace.

Tea-time with the Wife

Tea-time with the Wife by Heather Westra

You’ll never guess what happened at the pub

I hope you’re sittin’ down--you won’t believe

Your ears. What that? Oh no, you don’t need tea.

Okay I’ll wait. But please make mine with cream.

Thank you- But now I don’t know where to start.

Ah yes: As I was sittin’ at the bar

The owner said “there’s goin’ to be a song.

So who in here is brave enough to start?”

Then guess what happens next- you’ll never know.

A drunken man, he whispers, “Hey, Jerome!

An angel’s comin’ to grace us at the club”

I laughed and said I left my wife at home-

You’re welcome, Hun- now let me finish this.

He told no lie, the crazy man was right!

Her eyes were stars. Her gown reached to the floor.

That creature walked up to the standin’ mic.

I almost ate my hat if not my words.

Her voice was from the heavens, that’s a fact.

You should have seen what happened next, my dove

I’ve seen a lot, but not somethin’ like that.

The men took off their caps and closed their eyes

And even Drunkard Jo was sayin’ a prayer.

No bird on earth could match that last long note

Except my darlin’ wife- Of course my dear.

The Afghan Girl

The Afghan Girl by Heather Westra

Wrapped in orange burqa from head to toe,

With rips and holes and unravelling seams,

You captured the world unknowingly with your stare.

Your green, Pashtun eyes have haunted more pages

Than the experienced models in fashion magazines,

And your Mona Lisa smile has bewildered everyone

Who tries to reason what you’re thinking.

But no matter what the viewer finds

Each time they wonder at your troubled face

They sense a different feeling than the first.

Even women cannot reveal what’s behind the eyes

Is that fear I see, or confidence in your own beauty?

I cannot tell. 

Snakes, Ladders and Love

Snakes, Ladders and Love by Heather Westra

Two pieces on the chequered board, wrapped in pink and navy blue;

I raise my head and toss the dice, and move three spaces up to you.

Your blue eyes warm as I approach, but when the dice again is rolled;

You slip away and leave me there, standing in the frosty cold.

With slight remorse, I test my fate and wave to you from down below;

And up the rungs, I climb with ease to join you on your great plateau.

Your hand in mine, we walk the route; by only chance, we throw the same

And with each space, a tale unfolds and sets my pulsing heart aflame.

Enraptured in our mystic dance, we scale from here to thirty-four

And gently pass two rings of gold to boldly state our grand rapport.

With buoyant spirits we ascend, it seems the game has just begun;

But up ahead, a shaky road where we meet player number one.

The scaly serpent eyes your feet and beckons with its flicking tongue.

Your longing eyes stare straight ahead to focus on a face so young.

So sleek and sheen her plastic form with pointed toes of velvet red,

You lust to feel and plummet forward; falling heels over head.

---

 [BaSF1]My spelling checker says in Canada this should be spelled “chequered” but that’s news to me

The Fan Heater

The Fan Heater

 By Heather Westra

It is as though a fly were trapped inside your thick, white skull

That you lazily move from side to side,

While you search for something to heat.

I hate you and your imitation of waves at sea

That never crash against the shore,

But I need you to cease my shivering.

After a while your continual sigh turns into short gasps

You sputter and recover in exactly thirty seconds-

I’ve counted many nights.

I lie here waiting for you to be silent,

Or for my mind to forget to listen, but in thinking so it never does.

You limit my use of space with your long white tail

That zigzags across the floor and up

To

Sink its teeth into the socket on the wall.

You sit there mockingly

Because you know I cannot move you,

And remind me so, by sending a whiff of burning metal.

Your sun-coloured eye pierces my closed eyelids,

Daring me to sleep under your stare.

I hate your rings of fire and the complex controls

That sit like ears upon your head.

Finally I twist your knob three clicks to the left,

And it is my turn to sigh

As you rattle to your death and breathe your last.