Liz Rule © 2011

For Den

In quantum webs of love, our souls entangled,
We lived our lives together and apart,
And whether I am near or I have wandered,
Know you are forever in my heart.

In the golden hour, we sat and gazed at sunsets, 
Or wandered in the Valley in the mist,
And looked upon the starlit sky at moonrise,
And watched as dawn the silent treetops kissed.

We are together, though we are sundered
By death’s deep gully; into Eternity
Your heart is yearning homeward, ever homeward;
Forevermore your spirit will roam free.

I know the places where your spirit lingers
On pathways that our feet have often trod,
By statuary of stone and twisted tree trunk,
In valleys where we found the key to God.

At mystic hour of night, my spirit wanders
And finds you where the blue meets the gold,
And from that shore, set free from the wheel of drama,
Our minds into the netherworld enfold.

We are together, though we are sundered
By death’s deep gully; into Eternity
Your heart is yearning homeward, ever homeward;
Forevermore your spirit will roam free.

©  Liz Rule 2006
From the seed springing

from the seed springing
the roots of trees pulse a path
through the strongest stone
entwined inextricably 
in love’s dance - you and I

meadow sunlight…
leaves tremble in the breeze
dragonflies glide
on love’s warm currents 
I tremble at your touch

in a jam jar
by your door -
my colour-clad messengers
to welcome the wanderer

azaleas in Spring
a spider bridges the gap
between two branches -
the way we weave in and out
of each other’s lives

photo on the web
a map of your face
with my cursor 
I trace the tracks of our love 
from half a world away

his empty house
the floor tessellated 
with manuscripts
each a chrysalid poem -
his doors padlocked against thieves
since your passing
Earth turns once around the sun
last night 
I read your poems of love 
to the rain's soft tattoo 

leaves crunch underfoot
morning dew on bare branches
does the falling leaf 
grieve for the loss of its tree
as I grieve for you?

© Liz Rule 2010

Love’s Bounty

Autumn reverie:
late afternoon mist
rises from the lake
and hovers like a pall
above the earth;
red gold of falling leaf
reflects the evanescent
colours of the sky;
the plaintive honking
of the geese
haunts my memory.

Is it a shimmering tear
or a soft rain
that caresses my cheeks,
and cascades like glistening 
diamond dewdrops
down my face,
as I turn, expectant,
in the half light,
seeking one last
glimpse of you?

Is it your voice,
whispering to me 
on a passing breeze,
or merely a shadow
of memory,
playing on my mind
like a magic lantern show?

Or is it a last whisper
of a dying season,
surrendering the fullness 
of its bounty
to the earth,
as I surrender 
the twisting threads
of our love’s bounty
to the tapestry 
of time?

© Liz Rule 2006


I have no name 
But Bliss.

Blissful was I born,
Like a rose upon a thorn;
Blissful I became,
Still the thorn could cause no pain,

Until that day, shattered and torn,
I crushed the rose and plucked the thorn,
And with the thorn, my finger pricked,
Till from the wound my life’s blood dripped,

And with the blood, a field was sown,
Yet the blood that flowed was not my own;
Full many a year I watched that field
And saw the crop that it did yield.

I reaped the crop upon an age, 
And discovered that my name was Rage.

© Liz Rule 1969

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