Parallel Outlet: 10

Stars peer from behind curtains of daylight

Wishing upon my brief passage

Calloused sole alighting


Maybe it is the daydreams with which this poem opens. Maybe it is the stars.

Sand and Solitude, from The Memory of Trees, invites me into a world where more varied lights hang in the sky, and where long moments leave room for myriad small things. In the sand I don’t see the beaches or the dunes of Earth today. I’m imagining a less tangible place, where everything is different and yet everything is the same.

It could be the future – it could be the past. It could be nothing more than a fantasy. Where is the sand that you would walk upon?

That slow hour, high noon

Where time passes relative

To the pace of my thoughts


Image from artofsaul

White crest

There must be

a longing for adventure

There must be

a longing for the sea

I waited where

you never thought to enter

I ran the sun

around a trinity

So I leave you

a sand’s spill from the ocean

I leave you

your still and tidy wings

There is the sound

of drifting silver fountains

And with the dawn

a distant bell will ring

Let the night

renew a course and chapter

Lest the earth

grow warm beneath my feet

For there must be

a longing for adventure

There must be

a longing for the sea


Elizabeth Cook, 2015

Ages Past


Never shun a glory low and faded

But stand upon the backs of ages

Climb the columns and tangle hands

In vines wreathing alabaster span

Green touch of time on ruined might

As flowers strewn on graves incite

A soft fatality, a delight sublime

In wondrous crafts of bygone times


Copyright Elizabeth Cook 2013

For a Muse

In song of movement does he reach

After the trailing silken sleeve

Caught by breath of questing mind

So fluttering sweetly to entice

His eager patience, wearing thin

Through desire for the ideal within

For the muse with face still unseen

Whether in brilliance or simplicity

And he in gambling for her hand

Blind choosing a single grain of sand

In hope eternal that she might be

A work of most exquisite beauty

© 2012, Elizabeth Cook

Zedina in Translation

Zedina, she is called

The scent of citrus and cinnamon

And red poppies

Tint the velvet of her mouth

Her soft lips, inviting

Below her dark eyes, brilliant

They scintillate, two savants

Zedina – she tempts you

Her every gesture, every word

Is delicious, without fault

And her smile merits

A joyful, eager response

The smile she hides behind

Midnight hair, a mystery

Born of a fragrant night

Her entire person tempts you

Zedina, she is called

The scent of citrus and cinnamon.

© 2012, Elizabeth Cook

This is the translation of Zedina, which is originally French. It  seems quite different to me in English so I’ll keep this translation separate.


Zedina, elle s’appelle

Le sens de citron et de cannelle

Et les coquelicots rouges

Teintent le velours  de sa bouche

Ses lèvres douces, invitantes

Sous ses yeux foncés, brillants

Ils scintillent, deux savants

Zedina; elle vous tente

Chez elle chaque geste, chaque mot

Est délicieux, sans une faute

Et son sourire mérite

Une réponse joyeuse, avide

Le sourire qu’elle cache en arrière

Des cheveux noirs, un mystère

Née d’une nuit si fragrante

Toute sa personne vous tente

Zedina; elle s’appelle

Le sens de citron et de canelle.

© 2012, Elizabeth Cook