Tag: Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Posted on

Edge of Dusk by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

david-boca-709712-unsplash

By the edge of dusk I’d
escaped just in time
through the broken slats
of a fence, into an orchard
where I stole enough plums,
kept running farther away
till I could no longer see
the farm my stepfather owned
and my insane family who did
nothing but abuse me. All I
ever wanted was a peaceful
sanctuary, a loving touch to
waken my senses, a nurturing
light so I could find my passion
in the sun. Too wary to put my
thumb in the air when I reached
the open road, I walked for three
miles before I arrived at a bus
depot, and I counted my change
for an overnight ride out of here.
And when I slept I dreamed of
my future—barefoot in the wet
grass in back of my one bedroom
home, peaches ripe on the vine,
the stillness and quiet of an idyllic
life. New faces, new memories;
pancake breakfasts every Sunday.
And, maybe, if I lost my ponytail
and let down my hair, a man would
come into my life, wrap his arms
about me forever.

About the Author: Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry can be see in a variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain, The Wayfarer, Red Weather, Oasis Journal 2016, Helix Magazine, and Uppagus. Her books of poetry are available at www.Amazon.com, and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net. She loves taking walks on the beach with her husband.

Posted on

The Aurorean Morning Mist by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

I never dreamed I’d see
the parasol lady again who
would only appear in the
aurorean morning mist to
take me away from my
stressful reality, from the
emotional burdens of my life.
This time, a wrap about my
shoulders, I went after her,
eager to escape the pallor of
my unwanted life; and, in
the orphic wind, she led me
to a world I never thought
I’d be in. An elegant two story
house, a wide patio set up for
a party decked out with fine
china and white tablecloths,
long stem glasses with honey
apple wine. Paper lanterns
with candles to illumine the
walkway inside each one of
them. And a little girl in a blue
dress seemed to fill the lilac
shadow with her own light
wherein she quietly played.
The splendor, the simple
beauty reminded me of my
favorite story by Virginia
Woolf, the coming summer
night like a perfection of
thought. This house, these
gardens, for me to wander
in as I please. A breakfast
kept for me until I choose
to arise, with puff pastry as
a daily repast, stitching
booklets of verse that fit so
petitely in the palm of your
hand. A new family I can
cling to; their gaiety, their
genuine smiles that just stick.
I’ll never go back to what I
used to be.

About the Author: Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry can be see in a variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain, The Wayfarer, Red Weather, Oasis Journal 2016, Helix Magazine, and Uppagus. Her books of poetry are available at www.Amazon.com, and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net. She loves taking walks on the beach with her husband.

Posted on

Fairy Dust by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

It had been so long with the days
rushing by that I hadn’t been away
from rinsing fruit I’d gathered from
trees, churning milk for butter and
cheese, that I’d forgotten what it was
like to have a waking dream, to be
lifted somewhere else so nothing,
no one could touch me. It was then
I made a fusion for myself of apples,
oranges, cherries, strawberries, and
a rare ounce of fairy dust, a smoothie
I poured in a tall, chilled glass, and
I’d been asleep till a wind in the door
and a smidgen of feet woke me up.
It was a young girl in a bonnet, not
much more than fourteen who, as
quietly as she’d come, had slipped
away from me. I followed the path
her footprints had taken—past a
woman in her yellow dress, the ivory
memorial, and a road I’d never seen
before that curved around a copse
of trees. It brought me to a small
house of orchids and I stood there
with them watching me. I knew
they had eyes, and they whispered
among themselves. The empress
orchid was larger and more powerful
than the rest; her color was as golden
tawny as my hair, and there were red
streaks along her petals as though a
lady had stroked them with her fingers.
And her voice was so bare—a light,
airy rhapsody stoking the love in my
heart; and I saw the girl in her bonnet
again, spinning crystal into saucers,
ballet dancers, swans, angels, and
chessmen. She led me to the water
where handmaidens were finding
alluvial diamonds in the river,
the best ones on beds of soft
eiderdown, some of them blue
in the cerulean light, and I saw
them glister, perfect for a bride
on her wedding night; and, in their
deep fire, the crimson vanilla swirls
of an opal.

About the Author: Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry can be see in a variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain, The Wayfarer, Red Weather, Oasis Journal 2016, Helix Magazine, and Uppagus. Her books of poetry are available at www.Amazon.com, and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net. She loves taking walks on the beach with her husband.