Tag Archives: light


This overshadowing,

even though expected,

still thrills. We step outside.

Our slow, sleep-slurred words

falter as the concrete steals the bed-warmth

from near-naked feet.

It takes some seeing, oh but when we do,

the frisson: this otherness, this unfamiliar

rubbed-out red that’s neither blood nor bloom,

brazenness subdued,

blush hued,

amber to ember.

To our left, a light flicked off.

We sense the shape at the window stare

at us staring. The restless earth rolls on,

and all becomes the shadow.

© Marion Adams 2015


Tuesday, 7 January 2014


Moving reflection

on the dark pond’s tense surface:

light glimpsed within light.

Photo & text © Marion Adams 2014

NaPoWriMo Sunday, 14 April 2013



 Acid-yellow street-light

shreds vestiges of sleep;

ungentle, indiscreet,

nothing uncertain in its glare

that keeps no secrets.

Tumbled thoughts attempt

a semblance of order,


like bats with faulty sonar,

banging against the skull.

This is the cruel hour.

Likelihood becomes inevitable,

possibilities become probabilities,

potential succumbs to the ineluctable.

This is the cruel hour,

the long waiting

for the rising that cannot be suppressed,

the kindly light.

© Marion Adams 2013

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/storm-crypt/2054451263/”>Storm Crypt</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;