Pink Petals

I can’t bear to pull the petals
of your lovely pink
it was all that I could manage
to break your fragile stem
and place you in a pot
for my selfish viewing
I wish I’d let you live
knowing you can’t tell me
if he loves me or not



Pink Petals


Carrying Balloons

I’ve passed through life carrying
balloons assigned to me at birth.
Multiple colors, shapes and sizes
always mindful of their care.

I preferred the pale pink of youth.
Fresh, innocent, I smiled broadly
as I held them high, when a young adult
I released them to the sky.

Grasping red balloons, much
harder to retain, these passionate
balloons pulled me in directions
where I shall not go again.

Thankful to trade them for the
green of adulthood, I released the red.
Raising family, financial stability, I busily
collected more and more balloons to
float above my head.

Vibrant blue balloons faded through the years,
calm, relaxed floated quietly above me.
Slipping through my fingers and flew away
one by one….

Forced now to carry black balloons in
stiff jointed hands.
These balloons don’t float away and
tangle in the trees.

These are fragile balloons of thin material.
I wrap the strings around my wrist
trying to hold on, and yet they
pop, pop, pop.


Apple Tree

We carved our initials in the apple tree
big enough for the world to see
It was always going to be just you and me

Fifty years later I came back to see
you’d scratched your initials
from the apple tree


Victoria Feathers@2014



IMG_0996I see the poetry in your graceful limbs,
although no longer green.
Limbs swaying in the wind to music
only you can hear.

Formed by generations of reaching
for the sun, limbs outstretched to grasp
its warmth. Branches wrapped around
youself, protection from the cold.

No longer does sap run through
your veins, now brittle, gray and old.
The beauty of your form will
save you. Now a lovely work of art.



The Rose

DSCF0715I held the roses to my face, breathed in the heady scent.
Roses hued in scarlet, said to signify your love.
I pressed them in my journal, which I wrote in every day.

White roses, glowing in the moonlight, twining on the fence.
When you planted these roses you swore, that your love for me
was mightier than death.
This love would carry us through forever, that is what you said.

I threw the roses in your grave, they tore me and I bled.
Beautiful black roses drew my scarlet blood.
Just like the rose, I overlooked your thorns to appreciate
your petals.

Victoria Ramsey@2014



It’s as though I stick my toes
into the black pit of pain
to check the temperature.
I slip in gently and tiptoe around
quietly, as not to disturb.

Eventually, I’m wandering cautiously
into each dark corner, peering
Unsatisfied, I begin picking up dark memories.
I exam them from every angle trying
to see what I could have missed.

Looking for solutions, too late
to change the outcome.
Forever moving slowly to avoid
a stirring, a breeze, to unsettle layers
of misjudgments and misunderstandings.
Never finding answers to the questions
that haunt me.

Poem copyright protected, and the property of Victoria Feathers, and not to be used without permission.


Untie My Wings

I long to write a happy poem,
won’t you untie my wings?
I want to tell a cheerful tale
please return the words you stole.
Send my heart back to me,
no need to tie a bow.

My dreams are built of rainbows
riding on the backs of clouds.
Perfume scented flowers
color every word.
Songbirds and honey bees
provide music to my ears.

Joy is coming back to me,
one smile at a time.
Eyes alight with happiness,
no longer do they cry.
The sun is always shining,
no black clouds in the sky.


Poem copyright protected, and the property of Victoria Feathers, and not to be used without permission.


Country roads call to me

A trip through the country after the Bluebonnets are gone. So many beautiful wildflowers …


Country roads call to me


And with the beauty
come the beasts…




Cousin Annabelle is here to stay.
Her mother is very ill so she was sent away.
Today we’re picking flowers to place
on grannys grave, out behind the house,
behind the wrought iron gate.

Granny loved a sweet bouquet
on the table near her bed.
We put the flowers in a jar
and place them at her head.

Blueberry picking in the afternoon
baking pies and blueberry scones.
Little Annie crys a lot,
wanting to go home.

We don’t know how to tell her
she will soon be all alone.
I love you cousin Annie.
You will be my sister,
this is your new home.

Poem copyright protected, and the property of Victoria Feathers, and not to be used without permission.