I would bury them…

I would bury them,
my sorrows,
deep into the loam –
into the comfort
of earth, and dark,
and waiting

I would bury them,
these burdens,
beneath the roots
of the locust that
stood as witness
to their birth

I would bury them,
my troubles,
close by where I’ll see
come the spring
these troubles become

more beautiful things

© Sarah Whiteley


the betweens

img_2462_cr_11 cr

more familiar
with the betweens
than with the origins
and destinations

and that, I suppose,
is the nature
of the journey we take –

a conglomeration
of moments framed
by first and last breaths,

by the hopeful fogs
of tomorrow’s mornings
and the dry silences
of last year’s gardens

© Sarah Whiteley

a winter life

I have not
dusted them away
those days
like daffodils in December
they lie quietly
below snowy crusts
nestled deep down
in the dormant dark
beneath sparrows’
flittering feet
whose beaks seek out
the forgotten seeds
of some summer
come the day
when I am old
and remembering perhaps
what spring once was
with a clarity of mind
only long years
can provide
I will brush aside
the snow
sweep away
the layers of leaves
and dried-up weeds
time has piled
upon us
and coax the days
into greening
once more

© Sarah Whiteley


crow night’s star-dusted feathers
drape her blue-black whisperings
covering over the green of gloaming
in the absence of light
I fall to forgetting
eyes tight-closed against
the possibility of loss
feather-tipped unknowing
brushes away the dust of hope
nothing gold can stay?
then I pray in the wake
of crow night’s flight
as she drags her wings across the sky
let me be dark-tarnished
by my lust for living, love of breath,
my over-attachment to my own skin
and how its pores open
to every dream, every wish imagined
when it lies against his
let me not be cold sparkling
as the stars tucked into the down
of crow night’s breast
but soft, quiet, unshining me
let me not fade with the stars at dawn
but breathing, linger a while longer
a dim Venus pressed against my love
eyes wide open
with the possibility of tomorrow

© Sarah Whiteley