Poems & Essays

17 Apr


General/Column No Response

Let the door be the monk
dark brown and heavy
in un-dyed wool,
a humble servant
who guards the unknown.

Shadows cast seasons
upon the door.
Colourful spring buds
perfume the passage.
Summer memories jumble
swim days at the beach,
camping amid trees,
a distant partner
who does his own thing —
always locked.
Autumn leaves
scramble to the entry,
and winter preparations begin —
they, in denial.
Gather back-to-school supplies,
re-size hockey gear,
decisions made alone.
Hearts remain—

I face the door,
stand on the threshold
of a new reality.
With a long steady look
I see the monk nod
direct me to move outward
into the huge space.
There are no villains, he says
as the door back into the world
swings open.


Mary Vlooswyk is the mother of five sons and grandmother to three beautiful grand-daughters. She has a love of writing and a great passion for the outdoors.

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Do as I say, Not as I… April 14, 2017 Generation of Broken … April 17, 2017