I padded across the tapestry rug
covering the cool wood floors
splayed now; thread bare spaces
recorded a million footfalls
upon it, when ladies gathered
for tea, to sit in filtered sunlight
that danced through lace curtains

Christmas tree elegantly placed
upon her rich burgundy designs,
children sat cross legged, ripping
through paper and string ties,
cigar ashes fell from grandfather’s
cigars, spilling liquid spirits, cider
slopping with each hand gesture

Tears had soaked into her nap,
when news of bereavement came,
blood stained her with garnet
droplets when two men punched
each other in fury, over a woman
a well-worn path from hallway to
divan; years of worried pacing

I rubbed my bare feet across the
nubs of what was left, feeling
worn weaving scratch my soles
I understood innately the reason
it was called a tapestry,  for
what was beneath my feet was
a history of lives, woven tightly

©Brenda-Lee Ranta




self imposed prisoners
tied up in our frailties,
our fears, our past
moving forward is
wading through mud
bogging us down
mired by our mistakes
we the unforgiven
of ourselves
slowly loosening
our chains,
time served
freedom calls us
to give birth
to our

©Brenda-Lee Ranta



Show me


Never beguiled
words are fleeting
Show me
I live in words but
I love by what is seen
I love by what is done
I love by what is felt
so just show me

Never beguiled
by material things
Give yourself
I’ve liked many things
I love the real you
I love the secret parts
I love the fearful parts
I love the vulnerable parts
So just show me..

But don’t hurt me

© Brenda-Lee Ranta




Simple Girl


She’s a simple girl with a deep mind,
quiet and stillness make her smile
Peace without inner turbulence is solace for her soul
She loves too much; feels too deeply,
longed for the man who “got her”
that one man who wanted her alone,
the one she would support through it all
She longed to be looked at, as though maybe she was his magic;
not because she needs anyone, she’s managed alone, her whole life
She gets tired of being strong, craving his shoulder to rest her tired head on.

a simple girl with a deep mind,
who never asked for much

©Brenda-Lee Ranta



Falling from abergine skies
One lost wish at a time
Tin cans tied to a bumper
Running shoe on the road
Scarf droops from a high wire
Plastic army man in the mud
Rusted mood ring in a ditch
Lucky penny from sixty-two
Pink ribbon dances in the wind
Two flat bike tires, broken bell

Floating down from muddy skies
Promises made in quick sand
Bobbers on stormy seas
Message in a bottle, moored
On sandbars go unseen
Rubber boot catching light
On clear moonlight nights
Fishing reel lost the big one
That always gets away before
The sky shuts her twinkling eyes

©Brenda-Lee Ranta




A bit dark…


There are events
that can wrench
your stomach out
through your throat
You are certain to die;
your heart can’t bear
another stomping
You are surprised
when you don’t die,
breathing, blinking,
stunned, soundless
Survival seems so
very, very cruel
in all retrospect
Scar tissue can only
grow so thick before
you are terminally
numbed to everything
and everyone

©Brenda-Lee Ranta


Don’t label me as though I am spices in a rack,
assuming my flavour to be as sage, turmeric or

vanilla bean; nor give me your subtle inferences
that I be this or that
that I be of goodness
that I be of ill will

Don’t make feeble assumptions about my
intentions based on the cloth that covers my
limbs from nakedness; nor my native tongue
that I speak this or that
that I speak of kindness

that I speak of evil plots

Free me from your limited conventionality
Free me from your narrow mindedness
I know the covert meaning of your words;

your insidious jargon does not escape me,
your insidious jargon can never define me.

©Brenda-Lee Ranta 2017