Lorna Lend

Between the cracks

Her self does send;

The twinkled smile

Of Lorna Lend.

Here she comes.

From he’en descends

A lilting face –

It’s Lorna Lend’s!

They know her fast.

No grin pretends

When gleeful eyes

Meet Lorna Lend’s.

She met a man,

I comprehend,

Who knew of beer,

Says Lorna Lend.

A gentle man,

A steadfast friend.

He caught the heart

Of Lorna Lend.

She knew a teaching

Girl – Godsend!

Were her sweet gifts,

Bleats Lorna Lend.

No student lacked

For mind nor mend.

Not under her!

Says Lorna Lend.

A singing chat

Did near its end.

(That death was stopped

By Lorna Lend.)

Singing? Oh!

Ne’er such a blend

Of voices heard

By Lorna Lend

Did kiss the stone

Walls at Southend’s

Cathedral. Bliss!

Cries Lorna Lend.

A tear spilt, to

Alone descend

The darling cheek

Of Lorna Lend.

My Russian beau,

My model friend

Would know this well!

Squeaks Lorna Lend.

She speaks the tongue.

I swear, no end!

It’s music! Red

Goes Lorna Lend.

Is this Polish

Wine? I tend

Such precious gifts,

Coos Lorna Lend.

A dear, kind soul

I did befriend

So quick and fast,

Says Lorna Lend.

I saw the world.

The hills and glens

Did call one name –

‘Twas Lorna Lend’s.

One soul whose time

She oft would spend

Did capture well,

Says Lorna Lend,

The natural sights

That weave and wend

About the path

Of Lorna Lend.

I have his prints!

I’d ne’er offend

To leave them by!

Laughs Lorna Lend.

What’s that you have?

You do attend

So closely –

Noticed Lorna Lend.

Unto your paper.

What’ve you penned?

A poem? Joy!

Squeals Lorna Lend.

A precious mind,

I must commend,

Does write it too,

Says Lorna Lend.

How splendid! Oh –

I do intend

To read it soon,

Smiles Lorna Lend.

I wonder, could

I so depend

Upon the voice

Of Lorna Lend

To share this work?

She would defend

My precious soul –

Would Lorna Lend?

When homeward bound

Her path attends,

I hope dear Lorna’s

List of friends

Does follow too.

Who would pretend

Such things? Oh,

Never Lorna Lend.

poet’s grief


This is how we must respond – in verse, in rhyme

When what we knew of life is robbed of time.

Those of us – whose plaster’s black on white

Let grief’s place quick be took by what we write,

And death’s dark shadow lighten up just slight.

The lowly page does catch these tears of mine;

I would this inky charge in duty, might

To heaven’s twisted gate sore loss alight.

Trust – I’d ne’er seek to cheapen pain in art

Most poor. Know the solemn ‘tentions of my heart;

Time stole, I will not think myself allowed

To more, on needless thoughts; I’m not so proud.

A crumpled page does represent this state.

To spread anew, on poesy I must wait.


Some place, joined with the stores of sun and snow,

Who tread the fragrant earth scarce long ago,

There comes a man. Ne’er was such tragic plot as this,

An autocratic theft to reminisce.

‘Tis fine! ‘Tis sweet to dwell on bygone days.

Yet one is wont to ponder; now, who pays?

Who Time becomes, whose own Self must be flung

Down cellar steps like rotten fish. I’m stung.

All bitterness — in bitter weeks enough.

Return to him whose tired soul ‘scaped the rough —

(I wonder how his hands did feel to hold.)

If I can mourn, how sharp your pain, how cold,

In those shared hearts. His days remain thereof,

‘Twere void of much, but ne’er did want for love.

things to come

good morning everyone. here I must first apologise for the lack of posts recently, after the Little Mermaid poem I found myself very busy with university work and my job. I am glad to have been able to publish a few pieces with Free Verse Revolution which I have reblogged for you all to read.

I am at a bit of a crux writing wise. I am finding myself uncomfortable with a lot of online poetry communities and pages. I will explain this at a later date but as of now, I am working to try and articulate what my problems are, and how I might fix them for myself in the future.

Currently, I am working on a project for NaNoWriMo. I am writing a children’s book, which is a first for me. It’s a challenge, but it’s a great challenge, and I’m enjoying trying something new. I have a few other pieces in the works – specifically my other short novella and a short story. I am trying to figure out what to do with them. It is scary to put something out there when you have little publishing experience except for online blogs.

I will have an Advent poem coming up throughout December which I hope some of you will tune in to follow, sort of like a poetic Advent calendar. I hope to give you some other short pieces until then, but you should know I am concentrating most of my writing power into my children’s novel.

That’s it from me as it stands. See you in Advent.

Her creamy strap was sin itself – Lois E. Linkins

my latest piece on FVR for desire month!



Her creamy strap was sin itself; a mark

Of woman. Bosoms hid beneath the mask

Of Cotton, next her silver cross, ‘tween bones

Like knees outspread. Who is more insulted?

She whose form betrays, or the boyish ways

Of him that make such tigress beggars of

His Kind. A pure Youth, for a separate life –

Dry lips and cold sheets, crisp as morning plastic.

You are pink. Those spots, my dear, are fine –

My God! How much more precious must you be than sheep?

Whose wool is flecked with dirt and still they graze;

Precious as bleached wool, but ne’er to drink

For Fear of Shredded Throat. You put it on

Your sweet skin and are damaged; you must not

Gasp when in your lace, it sheds.



Lois E. Linkens


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The Lipse and Lapse of Time – Lois E. Linkins & Candice Louisa Daquin

My collaboration with Candice on FVR:


lois and candice


I saw beautiful men and

beautiful women. I had lucked out,

all this beauty; my heart’s a drummer

with a stick and feather. My mother held a gnarled club

and beat me gently… The man I had,

the gentle man I loved –

could I not love him full and whole? To commit

is to renounce – a pretty life, or one lit in red.

My wiring does not bleed into

our lover’s bed.

And with that purple face I took

the other’s hearts,

with special care.

The kisses that you spit on, I have bottled them

with lavender and thyme.

not the numerics against my skin

scratching their prophecy

nor length of hair

there’s no Disney moment left

we examine in our woven display

the paper-cut fold of our life story

I list in dusty light

urging you to like me, for my tempered fears at night


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The Shape of Fear Does Lie Amidst Mine Air – Lois E. Linkins

My contribution to FVR’s ‘Fear’ writing theme.


October Fear imageThe shape of fear does lie amidst mine air,

In some cruel form true known to trick my truth.

Like a wizard moves ‘tween form and guise,

Does writhe ‘twix things that be, and things that may.

It is oft a flitt’ring kestrel o’er the trees,

Or beauty in a smile with silver hair,

A sound of heaven, wove with envied care.

It is a diamond ring on fingers else,

It is contemp’ry cheer. The lifeless face

Of churches closing doors and ripping flags

(If ‘tis not the veil, ‘tis nothing.). And next,

In the witching hour, oft an empty book

Does show itself.     

                               But darkest still does claim

Those dear full pages, ne’er to bloom with name.

Lois E. Linkens


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