True Test of Time

Full Moon Magic Art Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

True Test of Time

The full moon rose over suburban streets
faint traces of daylight slowly draining
from a shadowed sky…
… bats swooped above tree silhouettes
darker shades against the night…

Branches echoed with a babbled chorus
as parrots squabbled for tree-space
and one by one lights shone
from regimented rows of houses…

There was a measure of stillness
as night took over from day
autumn kissed my aging cheeks
chill lips against my skin
as a muted sense of calmness
permeated the quiet streets
somewhere a dog barked
and the last echoes of children playing
fell to silence…

I realized there was a peacefulness
in such a setting
even though it was not the tranquility
of my beloved wilderness…
… was it that I had become accustomed to my new surroundings
acclimatized to the hum of traffic and the way
buildings blocked the view?

Me by Me

As I ambled through the twi-lit streets
my youngest son, at 22, slowed his pace to match his mum’s…
… yes, the same mum who had hurried his little feet to school-
– stopped to tie his scuffed shoes… held his small hand in hers
and smiled… come on son, we’ll be late…
… as if sensing my poignant thoughts my man-child
smiled at me, nice night, was all he said.
How things change, as the years change
pace slows and thoughts take on reflective layers
each passing month… each year that slips by
offers insights new and rewarding
as a full moon rose over suburban streets
faint traces of daylight slowly drained
from a shadowed sky…
I smiled at the evening stars
that appeared one by one
and realized there was a peacefulness
in such a setting
even though it was not the tranquility
of my beloved wilderness…

Perhaps the true test of time
is to find such peace
where ever one resides.

Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

You and I

A poem in a fixed form, consisting of a varying number of four-line stanzas with lines rhyming alternately;
the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated to form the first and third lines of the succeeding stanza, with the first and third lines of the first stanza forming the second and fourth of the last stanza, but in reverse order, so that the opening and closing lines of the poem are identical.”

Motion Art Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver

You and I

When the night is spread out against the sky
shadows flying on darkened wing, silhouettes in twilight sighs
let us go then, you and I, and walk in company with the moon
let us go then, you and I, for the night will end too soon.

Shadows flying on darkened wing, silhouettes in twilight sighs
secrets whispered beneath starshine, you and I, hands entwined
let us go then, you and I, for the night will end too soon
and this our only chance to dance beneath the glowing moon.

Secrets whispered beneath starshine, you and I, hands entwined
let us go then, you and I, and walk in company with the moon
and this our only chance to dance beneath the glowing moon
When the night is spread out against the sky.
Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021

A Tomb of Stories (On My Skin) for D’verse Writers

A Tomb of Stories

She felt her body with
blind fingers….
…. feeling the hard curves and
shriveled bones of an old woman –

When did she get old?
         Crone-like… crow-like…. desiccated  feathers
dried to leather;

Skin akin to the family Book of Life… So many stories
among us… yet so many untold chapters
Skeletons in the closet, lips sealed forever against
unshared secrets…

She felt hervbody with
blind fingers. …. Self-examination before
 ‘selfies’ became 
a zen-ful form of self – evaluation. …

The years between then and now had
left their marks, for good or bad 
shriveled bones and all
she was older then she ‘d ever been
– but she is still the she she’s always been
just Crone-like… crow-like….
desiccated  feathers dried to leather
… a tomb of stories
wanting to be told… before
She fades into the
Lands of the Remembered or Forgotten.
Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver 2021

Spit it Out – For D’Verse Tuesday Prompt.

Choose one of your OWN favorite poems and flip it. Please include your original poem along with your flipped poem;

Spit it Out

Spit Life out, hack it up off the back of your tongue
repell the overwhelming intrusion of moments
ugly and mundane
you won’t find compassion in the streets
among the grime and dirty minds and hurrying feet
souls are lost forever out there, never reborn again.

Spit life out on the fetid breeze, no flavours to savour
amid mountains of man-made debris
seasons hide a multitude of sins, no one wins, when
Life is a funeral dirge
written with the tears of the lost
and engraved on the soul of the Earth.
Sharonlee Goodhand Imageweaver


My Original-
In the
light of personal epiphany
each soul will  find comfort in their night.

Taste life on the tip of your tongue
savour subtle remnants of each moment
find beauty at the bus stop
compassion in the street
all the textures,  traces and intoxicating  touches, 
sensations &  impressions of wandering feet
loves found and lost and reborn

Taste life on a spring breeze… in mountains climbed
In every season as it gently unfolds
life is a lyric poem
written by the experience of existence
and engraved in the memory of the soul.
Live the Layers of Life
SharonleeGoodhand Imageweaver ©22-Sep 2019

Hello D’verse Writers… if any of you read this, I would truly appreciate a link to your blog so I can comment on your post as well… I seem to be having technical issues… thank you!

Thoughts scatter… like dry leaves in an Autumn wind…

Thoughts scatter
… like dry leaves in an Autumn wind…

… 60’s child growing up in outer-suburbia- shadows
when children owned the streets and roamed in safety
– after-school-care was a an adventure in the nearby swamp
or vacant lot… trees our look out towers
no thoughts to falling or scraping knobby childlike knees…
innocence was so innocent back then…
and tasted of stolen passionfruit
and honeysuckle blossoms… and one cent lollies…
sepia comics and homemade kites that tangled
in trees we never thought too tall to climb…

Mamas & Papas spilled from open windows
This is Ded-i-cated to the One I Love
and the Rascals
People Got To Be Free…
Curtis Mayfield
People Get Ready there’s a Train Comin’

…we watched Pollyanna & Mary Poppins
and  Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
and sang all the songs with innocence…
…the harsh details of the war
in Vietnam were softened
by my mother… who shooed me into my room
when the news was on…

…70’s child growing up “on the road”
temporary backyards in towns that differed with the seasons…
faces never stayed the same and even though the scenery changed
she felt  at home in every valley and mountain range…
as summers merged into summers and winters mirrored winters
She grew with the trees and flowing rivers…
isolation became the norm…  and vague the memories
of being suburban-born…
books replaced the TV… and songs are just poetry with music
sun-watching and moon-gazing filled the silent spaces
when poetic thoughts were scratched in the back of her home school English book…

… too soon it seemed her nut-brown body had desires to grow
she blossomed in soft rounded curves…  and let her hair flow
nubile changes… and a deeper turn of mind
and she left the pure innocence of childhood behind…

SharonleeGoodhandImageweaver ©

Serendipity – A Fantasy Tale

The recent heavy rains had slowed Pearl down; as much as she loved the rain and how it graced leaves and flowers in tiny liquid water jewels, it had made the narrow dirt tracks running through the borough of Shadewell difficult to navigate. Her wagon wheels ground to a halt in many places, choked up with mud and rocks.
At one point all that could be done was to sit there in the middle of the muddied track, pouring rain and wait it out until at least the deluge eased enough so she could see what exactly was stopping the wheel from turning. It was quite miserable, and for the hundredth time Pearl wondered what had possessed her to embark on this seemingly endless journey.

But of course she knew. She had no choice. Father had passed away and there were no more of her kin or kind living in Laylei Vale. All her kind had either left already or passed on into the realm of ancestors.  Father and Pearl were the last, mostly because father was the most renowned expert on Falabella ponies… which were favoured by the High Council of Elves.
Laylei Vale was the only home Pearl had ever known and she loved The Vale, even though she had never been fully accepted by anyone, being a Halfling as she was, born of mixed parentage, an Elven mother and a Fairy-Pixie father. Father himself was a Halfling and so dashingly handsome and so deeply caring that her Evlen mother fell madly in love with him.

Such a union was frowned upon of course, but because mother came from royalty no one could stop her, although the Council could and did petition for her royal name and role be strictly prohibited. Mother willingly became a commoner for the love of Pearl’s father.
First mother passed away, and more recently father, after which Pearls sense of belonging vanished. She sold what she could, packed what she could and simply left.

And here she was… several months later, slowed down by rain and mud, so much so she decided on an early day, it was all too much for Jesii, her very own patiently enduring Falabella pony. Jessii was such an obliging travel companion, she would do anything for Pearl, tackle any job, this Pearl knew and was careful to make sure that Jesii didn’t feel obligated to push herself beyond her capacity.
The two traveled on just far enough to find a suitable place to set up for remained of the day and night, deciding on a thick strand of sugar maple trees that thevwagon would fit under and offered places to tie up the cover to keep Jesii dry.

How grateful Pearl was that she always kept a few bundles of kindling and small logs in a trunk under her seat! With the little brazier flickering warm light and heating some soup, Pearl felt better, although she did sigh deeply in a long shuddering way, so filled with melancholy that Jesii looked up from her bucket of oats and apple.
“Oh I’m ok” the little Halfling assured her friend,  “it’s just been a long journey and not a very successful one at that! Remember the reception the gnomes of Agate Mountain gave us?”
Jesii nodded her glossy head.
“And what about the Fai who lived by that sparkling waterfall? They laughed at us when I asked if we could settle in their Shire”

Jesii blinked, nodding again.

“Don’t forget what happened when we attempted to befriend the Griffins! They wanted to eat us! And the Centaurs wanted to steal you and lock me up!”

“Oh pishposh” continued Pearl “I’d turn around and go home, if we had a home to return to!”

At this the Falabella pony stamped one tiny hoof, shaking her head vigorously her luscious fringe flopping forward, covering her liquid brown eyes.
Pearl chuckled, dashing away a single tear which had threatened to trickle down her rosy cheek. She stood up and hugged Jesii, gently brush the pony’s fringe away from her eyes.
“Thank you” Pearl smiled, kissing Jesii’s warm forehead “tomorrow is another day, isn’t it”

Morning dawned filled with tattered clouds and dripping sunshine. Birds sang joyous melodies and small forest folk peeped from burrows and hollow tree trunks, whiskery faces judging the weather.
Pearl and Jesii waited long enough for water  to drain away from the dirt track a bit before setting off. After a time they came to a crossroad.

“Oh I do hate crossroads!” Retorted Pearl… “one never knows which is the right one. The last crossroads took us straight into a battle between two rival troll clans. That was a terrible sight. And the smell! We had to hide in a horrid cave for three days while those fools slaughtered each other. Although I did discover that wall embedded with those gorgeous yellow rocks, I managed to dig out quite a few while we were there. If we ever find a home I will make some lovely trinkets with them.  Oh Jes, I don’t know which way to go… will you choose please!”

The pony snorted, shaking her head.
“When have I ever gotten cross with you my sweet Jesii!” Pearl chuckled “I promise this time will not be the first time. You choose”

Jesii looked around for a second or two, then veered left heading towards the left fork.
“Interesting choice” Pearl mused ” and why this way and not another? “
Jesii tossed her head towards the sky in front of them, and there stretching across a deep green valley was an astonishingly brilliant double rainbow.

“OH!” was all Pearl could say, and sitting back she let Jesii take control.
The path they now travelled down seemed somehow magical… verdant greenery danced along the edges of the dirt track, huge trees grew fruit and nuts from every shire they had ever travelled through. Somewhere a musical little river sang and giggled along happily and the beautiful double rainbow glowed over everything, never moving or fading, as rainbows usually do.

Who would have thought that chasing a magnificent double rainbow on a morning infused in the woodsy scents of oak and mushroom, lingering in petrichor rich air from early rain,  could possibly lead to such a picturesque place! It almost seemed lost in Time.
The very beauty of such a location gave Pearl chills of delight. And when they finally reached a little hamlet the local inhabitants were so friendly! They rushed out to greet them and offer them dainty treats with dandelion tea, inviting them to stay as long as they wanted.
When Pearl noticed just who the inhabitants of this quaint little village were, she knew she had found her forever home, for gathered around were elves and fairy and gnome, and centaur and treants and griffins and all manner of different souls, all smiling and happy and sharing life together.

And that is how the tiny hamlet of Prisma acquired the auspicious little shop known near and far as
“Pearls Miraculous Bumblebee Bizarre”.

So if you ever happen to see a Magnificent Double rainbow glowing in the sky perhaps you should follow it, without asking why!

Ádhamh, the Paladin, Tiger-soul, the Elf, and the Watermaid, Líadan


A Poetic Fantasy….

A rippled stream through woodlands ran
wending through giant trees and tangled fern
rippled and sang all the way ‘round the foothill, through the woods
and onto to the  calm reflective bay;

Juniper grew beside cherry beside oak beside ancient fig
ferns and mosses in twined disarray  sprung from dappled bank
and half-hidden caves…

And it was there, where lay-lines met and energy sizzled
where rippled stream and foothills met
it was there amid the layers of dappled green
that Tiger-Soul sought the council of Ádhamh, Paladin of the Forestways…

Ádhamh sat in thoughtful repose…
A golden feather held gently between his fingers –
but still he knew Tiger-Soul had entered the glade
and bade the young elf come hither;
“You are troubled, little friend” Ádhamh murmured
“yea that I am”… with this Tiger-soul drew from his pocket
an amethyst crystal of purest beauty and what appeared to be
an ancient artifact in the form of a carved wooden stick
adorned with ancient symbols and etched with endless swirls;”
Tiger-soul’s hands shook… “and I see you have acquired a golden feather”

Ádhamh held the amethyst up to the light…
“Have you ever seen the amethyst
shine so brightly as now?” he muttered, almost as if to himself
“Where did you find it?”

The elf shook his head, cornsilk hair gleaming in stippled sunrays
“Well, I can’t talk Porpoise, but one momentarily lunged upon the shore, depositing it at my feet”
Tiger-soul paused… “a message I should think”

“It would appear so… and the Talking-stick? Where did you find that?”asked Ádhamh.

“The old grey wolf, Múirnín, dumped it at my feet” Tiger-soul said… “take it to Ádhamh he growled
And here I am;
And what of you Ádhamh? Where did the golden feather come from?”

“It was dropped from the sky by a goshawk” Ádhamh responded, his eyes lost
in a far-away gaze.

“This does not bode well for Líadan” the elf shook his head.

“It does not bode well at all … ahh my sweet Líadan, my willow-the-wisp watermaid… my mavourneen” Ádhamh allowed himself a moment of whimsy
before leaping into action…
“The Talking-stick indicates that the Crone of the Sea has acquired a concave mirror
and is using it to imprison Líadan’s spirit… she languishes in perpetual sleep!”

“The amethyst, of course, represents Líadan herself and the golden feather can only have come from one place… the crags above the watery tomb of those lost at sea… for that where the golden eagle nests..
the old Crone must have Líadan in the sea- cave that opens into the bay…”
Ádhamh paced furiously, trampling  Ruby-hued wildflowers and fragrant clovers;
“I’ll not linger a moment longer” he said to Tiger-soul  “Do you travel with me Tiger? Distinguish your path, soul of light, for those who do, balance their plight…
… and forever a hero be”

“I come” was all Tiger-soul said.


Paladin & Elf travelled the path of the sun… wading over narrow streamlets
listening, as they walked, to the wise whispers of the trees.

“Have you ever found yourself half way up a tree, enthralled with the tales
etched into the very fibre of the bark?”  Tiger-soul asked.

“Aye” Ádhamh chuckled softly… “many a time.”
My greatest delight is laying on the overhanging oak branch
the one that juts out across the break where stream meets bay…
… for there I  meet my Líadan, tales to share”
“ We will rescue her Ádhamh” the Elf offered quietly.

But Ádhamh’s face was creased with a determined set and he spoke no more.

The un-named sea cave was known to all as the home of the old crone… seaweed entwined her hair… waving behind her like slimy eels when she swam;
she was green and mean, wove nightmares from dreams
and conjured up the wicked of might of storms.
But she had a weakness, Ádhamh knew and had not come unprepared;

The Elf could swim better than the Paladin and so it was Tiger-soul who plunged into the cool salty waters of the bay… on a mission to find Octopoda, the Mother of all octopuses in the 11 oceans… and personal friend & guardian of the watermaid Líadan.
Octopoda and Tiger-soul arrived at the mouth of the yawning damp cave
filled as it was, with hollow winds and watery echoes;

Octopoda had turned ashen grey with rage and in each of her tentacles she held loosely woven net bags, filled with the purest amethyst on land and in the sea… amethyst- the old sea crone’s one weakness…

The three rescuers entered the cave with silent stealth… creeping, sliding, slipping
through dank darkness and putrid air… until
until they reached the central cavern, where lounged The old Sea Crone, picking her teeth with
a starfish thorn…

Ádhamh saw Líadan’s prone form crumpled on a mound of seaweed… she did not move, and
to Ádhamh it seemed she did not breath…
Rage and fear and love boiled over inside his soul… only Octopoda managed to foil the Paladin’s  reckless plunge towards his sweet Líadan’s side…


Octopoda had rendered herself invisible… amethyst seeming to float and dance in sprays of light…
… and the sea crone who saw only the glimmer of crystal was, soon enchanted, then mesmerized; Octopoda’s tentacles wavered & danced
teasingly close… until the old crone spun with delirious fervor…
…  Ádhamh ran to scoop Líadan up into his embrace- but no!
his movements caught the sea crone’s eye… and she screeched
like all the banshees in the world, shattering the air and piercing everyone’s souls…

All but Octopoda were caught in the sea crone’s trap of noise… and Octopoda hastened her sinuous movements, amethyst tantalizing the crones gaze once more…
Ádhamh threw Líadan over his masculine shoulder, racing the watermaid back across the cavern to the vast opening…
… and Octopoda gave the sea crone her prize… 36 bags of amethyst, piled atop the crone like a burial cairn and her banshee howl ceased;


Silence descended upon the cave… filled only with hollow winds and watery echoes;
On the soft warm bank of the bay, Líadan woke to find herself in Ádhamh’s gentle embrace…
… she looked around, seeing Tiger-soul and Octopoda… a hushed calm breathed across the land
as day and twilight mingled;
Shimmer did the trees, she thought… how moonlight becomes them.
Image and Poetic Fantasy by SharonleeGoodhand ©26-Jan-15

ÁDHAMH: Irish form of Hebrew Adam, meaning “earth” or “red.”

LÍADAN: Irish Gaelic name derived from the word liath “grey,” hence “grey lady.” In legend, this is the name of a poetess.

MAVOURNEEN: Irish name derived from the phrase mo múirnín, meaning “my honey, my sweet one.”

Heart Quivers, Rain Shivers

Tonight the rain falls soft, persistent as if
to fill the nooks and crannies of my world with sky- tears…
… listening to the muffled world beyond the lamplights glow
I feel somehow
detached from the world and all I know…

Global energies run high… I try to hide… from it all, but
once seen it cannot be unseen, once heard, it cannot be unheard
– and a life on the run, from life, reality, might suit some
But I committed and that can’t be undone;
Strange, isn’t it, how fear is louder than understanding, and
how selfinterest blusters pretentiously, in flatulent tones, whereas
empathy embraces unconditionally, in a gentle soothing hum.
Often drowned out by more belligerent forces of human nature;

Are we losing ourselves in the collective madness or are we lost within it-
– struggling to stay afloat in a sea of mass turbulence?
Is the media inciting us to live in fear not only of a global virus, but also
of our fellow human as well… suspicion of our neighbour, our grocer, our friends?
When will it end?
Is this the World Wide disaster of these times, as wars and economic depressions have been in the past?
It has been some time since the Global Community faced a crisis and conflict that could shake its very foundation.
Shake it by creating division and fear and loathing; rattle the very truths and certainties we live by. Clouding reality with deliberate lies and misinformation…

I don’t understand why having a difference of opinion need be a problem.. a fear, something to fight against- if those differing opinions are not actually criminal and morally unconscionable conduct, then will name calling and violence prove or solve anything?

Perhaps I am having a conflict of Faith: my faith in my fellow people, the cross-section of loud blustering hotheads who believe their way is the ONLY way… and subsequently drown out the healing lullabies of the faith-full and compassionate.

Don’t lose heart, I say, even as I feel my own heart quivers in sorrow. Don’t lose faith… and please, please don’t condemn the unknown… ridicule the different or belittle unfamilier beliefs.

I don’t recall being asked if I wanted to be born this colour and height, this nationality and culture.
But I do have a choice how to live it and what energy I return to the Universe.

Tonight the rain falls soft, persistent as if
to fill the nooks and crannies of my world with sky- tears…
SharonleeGoodhand 2021

I Am Yours – A Prayer to Mother Earth

Art- SharonleeGoodhand

Spirit of the Mother Earth, I feel you;

I feel your energy in the very air I breathe…

…. I feel your power in the winds rushing over land and sea

I feel your joy in each season passing in accordance with time;

I feel your sadness, I feel your sorrow…  much has been done that may never be undone;

And Mother Earth, I feel your hope… see your hope, in every rotation around the Sun

I see your hope in the Light that shines to guide us through dark & troubled times…

I see and feel your hope in hearts and eyes and minds of people who I connect with

– people of like spirit … a kindred-kind… for we seem to grow in number;

Mother Earth, as patient and enduring as you have been, please be patient a little longer

…. a little longer…. an awakening consciousness is blossoming, can you feel it? Sense it?

a new stream of consciousness flows stronger as day passes day… evolution of the spirit;

… a deep-seated desire for spiritual cohesion  is drawing together  tribes of many colors & cultures

an underlying link vibrates… stirring in souls and quickening  energy… I feel it like a natural current

racing through my blood… and I know others feel it too…

I am yours… yours to guide as you see fit… I will do all in my power to champion your cause;

I am a child of Peace… a child of this Earth… sister to all and enemy to none

 your wisdom has been my guide through times of trouble and great joy

your seasons have been the timetable that shapes my days

I am your defender, protector and advocate … your keeper & sharer of tales & truths

I am the midwife to your rebirth… handmaiden of the Earth;


Just a Few Thoughts



I read things and react, because I am human & humans, regardless of how evolved enlightened educated they may be, are emotional beings.
I react to injustice and pain and suffering of Earth Animal & fellow Human.
I react to joy love and beauty, and to achievement and triumph.
And sometimes I read things which sends my heart into hiding… replaced by a hollow ache… Mostly I do not respond to the negatives which make up daily life. The conversations at the work lunch table… a comment on a friends post…
I’ve learned to recognize certain mindsets. But they still fill me with a deep fear, that we have come so far in human evolution that we balance on a dangerous tipping point.
Which way will we plummet?
Backsliding into a dystopian existence or slipstream ahead into a freer cleaner more empathetic global community?
Sharonlee June 2019

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