Poetry ~ Voices

she began to worry about the voices
they were no longer the familiar voices,
the voices in her head
these voices were distant, but within the
walls of the old home
she climbed the wooden stairs to the
second floor loft
the voices were louder
and seemed to emanate from
behind the closed door of the

second floor bedroom
slowly, she opened the bedroom door
a flip of the light switch
produced no light
darkness and laughter
louder and louder
the voices laughed
the last sound she heard
was the door slamming behind her

Poetry ~ Night

at twilight,
high in my writer's loft
i stand vigil at the window
and watch
as the forest goes black

the big sky,
marbled with dark blue clouds
slides like thin paint on glass
into the forest

night is falling
in the Okanogan Highlands

slowly, but suddenly
the sky and forest merge
into the blackness
that is night

the window
in my writer's loft
is transformed
into a black canvas
awaiting creation