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Iona Matheson
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In Retrospect
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* Note: these are all the books on Goodreads for this author. To add more, click here.
“Woman of the Sea
To the men of the sea
Who sail with the wind
And are free,
To the Land that has borne them
And the seed that has torn them
From me,
For I gave it willing, without grieving,
To the sons of my soul,
Who in seeking the truth of existence
Have quenched the starvation in me,
For I, am but woman,
And all, 'tis all I shall be.”
― In Retrospect
To the men of the sea
Who sail with the wind
And are free,
To the Land that has borne them
And the seed that has torn them
From me,
For I gave it willing, without grieving,
To the sons of my soul,
Who in seeking the truth of existence
Have quenched the starvation in me,
For I, am but woman,
And all, 'tis all I shall be.”
― In Retrospect
“Man of the Sea
For the woman I see
Who stands by the rock,
And the tree,
Who put meaning and measure and might
Into all things
For me,
Who taught songs of the earth
And showed me the places of light,
Who then put the 'Orb' in my hand,
And bade me the Final Goodnight.
・・・・・
No man ever born
Could make courage to riseth
Like She,
This spirit that dwells
And excels,
And is living, through me.”
― In Retrospect
For the woman I see
Who stands by the rock,
And the tree,
Who put meaning and measure and might
Into all things
For me,
Who taught songs of the earth
And showed me the places of light,
Who then put the 'Orb' in my hand,
And bade me the Final Goodnight.
・・・・・
No man ever born
Could make courage to riseth
Like She,
This spirit that dwells
And excels,
And is living, through me.”
― In Retrospect
“What Am I to Write?
What am I to write for you?
Blank page,
White emptiness,
Broken words are not enough
Nor spluttered ink spat out in ignorance,
Contemptuous of its desire to mark
And maim,
Indulges so at first,
And then again.
But No
I will not take to mediocre ways,
Nor overplay the passion song in muse,
For the heart well tuned
Needs not the head
To pump its life,
And the arteries awakened to the rhythm,
Subtle rhythm,
Should suffice.”
― In Retrospect
What am I to write for you?
Blank page,
White emptiness,
Broken words are not enough
Nor spluttered ink spat out in ignorance,
Contemptuous of its desire to mark
And maim,
Indulges so at first,
And then again.
But No
I will not take to mediocre ways,
Nor overplay the passion song in muse,
For the heart well tuned
Needs not the head
To pump its life,
And the arteries awakened to the rhythm,
Subtle rhythm,
Should suffice.”
― In Retrospect
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