Liilia Talts Morrison

The sound of truth rings like a bell
with perfect pitch and timeless knell

There are no jarring overtones
...

A woman friend the other day
said someone left her stranded
the person moved to other scenes
the parting had been candid
...

My songs are like small grains of sand
Tossed in the sea of days
Small pebbles from my shaky hand
Cast toward hidden cays
...

In days of youthful heady daze
I'd follow butterflies
and run through dewy reeds and fields
and hum sweet lullabies
...

Thoughts arise of home-baked bread
Set on hearthen coals bright red
Grain hulled on the threshing-floor
Coarse hands forming loaves of yore
...

The sky is ever azure
no cloud dare mar its view
as shepherds gather flowers
sweet maids to win and woo
...

Kind words are never wasted
though falling on deaf ears
somehow each word is treasured
and can become more dear
...

I've been granted blessings
not a few
challenges to conquer
and subdue
...

The wounds of life can't be avoided
in work, in play, or deep within
none is immune to swords of battle
no man, no woman and no child
...

What do you see there far away,
Horizon blue like you?
A touch of purple haunts your gaze
Enfolds your shoulders, too.
...

The spirit flies across the sea
where songs of locusts blend
with sounds of crystal waterfalls
in liquid turquoise dreams
...

Do you look good in purple,
Do you dare wear it?
If you ask this question,
You are not ready for
...

I had a knife in childhood
A villager had made
It's handle gleamed with birch wood
The sheath a darker shade.
...

In the forest they did gather
Bark and moss in sunny weather;
Later rested in the shade
And forgot their daily trade.
...

By brick lined gutters filled with trash
he sits upon the curb
the gray and blighted scene awakes
old feelings that disturb
...

Yesterday is but a haze
soon forgotten mild malaise
blur of sights and silent sounds
swirling, whirling, going round
...

When pressures of the day rise up
And fill the hours with stress
When every effort is too hard
To strive for, too much pain
...

There is a blessing
When I help

The homeless
...

I want to be a hummingbird
that flits from flower to flower
I want to spin my wings so fast
between fresh morning showers
...

they claimed the blood moon was most bright
when clocks of night
knelled five past three
and I agree
...