THE NORTHERN LIGHTS by Margaret R. Cunningham

I turned and saw
The Northern Lights ablaze
Dripping liquid fire.
Playing, they splashed across my vision.
Rising and falling
To their own rhythm.
Flinging greens and blues and rose.
Shimmering curtains of colour
Rising and falling
Fading and returning
Bowing to curtain calls.

MY FIRST WINDOW

by Margaret Rose Cunningham

Through that glass
Right smartly came the sun.
And towards sunset
I would see the glow if its descent.

Snow drew its own pictures
Gaint flakes
Fluttering feathers,
Clouded the earth
With white.

In June, Alma's lilac tree next door
Blossomed
Pulsing out such perfume
From its tiny floweres
That my room
And the entire
Neighbourhood
Were lilac scented.

On those long summer nights
When I was sent early to bed,
I saw and heard
Children playing in the street
Playing Kick the Can
Run Sheep Run
Statues
And skipping songs.

Another world
In Port Arthur
In 1945,
When I was ten.

TOWARDS A MISTY GOAL

By Margaret Rose Cunningham

Avoiding the river of someone else’s passion
I leap (or creep) from one stone to the next
Afraid that it will sweep me with it.

Feet wet, I leap for the next rock
Secure but exhausted
And remove the tentacles of water plants
That would have caught me up.

Alone, I navigate the river
Forever moving on
Discovering new balancing acts
Uncovering hidden surprises
Inching towards a misty goal