Poems by Regina M. Elliott

The souls of the seas are committed to their
maritime dwell,
and the reflected tides shall bear stars on
silent waves that mourn.
I expired in sorrow's seizing of my life,
and now my grieving for humanity has
left my earthly body.
My soul journeys to beloved Yeshua-
as the merpeople attend my seashell bier
in the summer temperate of the
vasty Atlantic's heart.

I ask of the night why it slips into my bedroom and
extinguishes Earth's light,
He replied softly, "I'm a jealous lover and my shade
of evening lies down beside you, as we bid the
augustness of the sun adieu."

I laugh and weep at the same time,
as I'm in love with the four season's soirees
he enchants my heart with.
Many years ago, walking slowly hand in hand
with my lifeguard lover on the sands of
Fire Island,
I thought love's charms would last,
his fire with starlight, jewels of moonlight,
and kisses-
with summer's wane he faded into
September's wooing embrace.

Yet glorious eventide was always there,
and, as he filled my eyes with the
swallow's flight,
he whispered breathlessly,
"You are mine to keep."

North Carolina ballerina,
sweet lady of the Piedmont,
she, so sterling,
died from the selfishness
of a drunk driver.
Gliding into a pirouette,
as she entered God's garden
of youth.

The anguish tatters the sails
of my psyche,
as the rain gently descends
from a sorrowing ash sky.
I drink the bitter taste of loss
from the goblet of the ages,
no, please no, she was a
precious one.

The dew glistens on the
white-hued roses of
maiden innocence,
as if tears on an
infant's cheeks.
Elena, our ballerina
of grace,
Death passes into life,
your beauty of a June
magnolia blossom,
charming the angels who
attend you.

Elena, Elena,
your lovely dancer's legacy,
still dwells in our midst,
Your name whispered in
summer's evefall starry music.

Of her gifts of nature,
once pristine flowing streams,
her green and blue majestic presence
in the infinite universe.
Jesus Christ left her in our care,
we must act now, not later-
for her survival.

Her earthly soul mourns as her
animals suffer, humans too,
her royal oceans with precious
marine life's waters sullied,
her rainforests plundered.
We must, as humanity,
rectify our trespasses against her.

Her polar regions sweating,
breaking off icebergs,
many of her kingdom species
endangered.
Stop the greed and the smokestacks
choking her air,
halt the pillaging of her resources-
for her survival.

o the vast lawns of white stones silent....
as a sparrow tends to her new clutch

only in engraving they speak soldiers' names....
and the wars they fell in

men and women of brave....as the bugle weeps
in taps too young in sleep

hearts in cadence stilled....wars are storming
bastards of fire roaring death

soldiers' stories whispered in....aligned
standing rows of everlasting

To my dearest mother and father,
I was your only child,
you both desired that I go to college.
But I joined the Army right after I
finished high school.
There you were at my boot camp
graduation,
clapping in the stands,
your eyes were welling,
so proud of me.

Mom, your warm homemade bread
scent filled our farmhouse with comfort,
it tasted so heavenly with our own
churned butter.
Dad, I wish I could shoot baskets with
you again,
the Middle East wars claimed so many
of us,
yet, our valor and honor survives.

Please, don't feel the painful aching in
your chests anymore,
please don't weep,
as I still feel summer timothy beneath
my bare feet in the purest of dew.
I hadn't a betrothed to carry in my
heart,
but, then again, I was only nineteen.

At the Veterans Cemetery with family
and friends in an ebony clothed sea of
mournful humanity,
Mom, the folded flag of our America
was placed gently in your hands.
I know your souls have a brokenness
over the loss,
yet, God has me for the ages.

I miss working our dairy farm,
the cow's mooing is sweet music
to me.
There are other fallen soldiers midst
us,
it is sad to say some didn't hear
from home.
Our spirits are here with you,
my beloved parents.
We are standing watch over our
farm of many acres.
And, dear Mom,
we can smell your homemade
bread,
that fills our afterlives with love.

starlight and raven waters
silence white of eyes
shadows nearing shore

Stepping through the pine and holly wreathed front
entrance of the homeless shelter,
as a Christmas Eve snowfall decorated the city,
I carried a fresh turkey,
I heard joyous singing of adults and children as the
warmth of the lobby with a splendid bright Christmas
tree filled my spirit.
There was also the baritone voice of a man with
such a generous hearty laugh.
I became momentarily distracted by a t.v. on
low volume playing the vintage animated
"Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer" movie.

When suddenly a scent of peppermint and nutmeg
delighted my nose,
a flash of antique-red and faux fur white trim with
a long curly snow-white beard swirled that sparkled
with ice crystals.
There was a thumping on the roof,
and a resounding jingle of many bells.

I felt Christmases of long ago were here again,
a six year old me meticulously placing decorated
sugar snowmen cookies and hot cocoa by the
burning fireplace for St. Nicholas to pause and
enjoy,
I was soon asleep after laying down in my bed.
I know I just saw him there at the shelter,
the children weren't sleepy that Christmas Eve,
there appeared so many presents under the tree,
as their parents drank coffee finishing up servings
of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream.

We can see Santa Claus year-round in so many
people,
you can feel him in someone's hug,
in the benevolence of family, friends, and
some strangers.
In giving of time or charity in food, money,
an embrace,
someone comforting you,
a pet cuddling you.
I know I saw him,
and so do many of you-
in the Christ Child we have peace.

Kings and queens of the timberland,
their pups learning their royal birthright,
running, running in freedom's natural gift,
as the winter ochre moon rises above the
ridge,
the pack howling in unison,
a music so enthralling.
Crystal blue eyes shudder the dawn,
please don't kill my wolves.

Oh, God no!
I cannot bear the thunderous rifles,
as they fell my spirit animals.
My heart asunder,
my soul bleeds with them in the
crimson snows.
Please don't kill my wolves,
Native American songs echo
through the pine forests as
their lamentation cries out-
please, please don't kill our wolves!

On a sweltering humid July morning,
she was escorted by her best friend,
as they walked through whispered prayers
into a beige brick one story building.
She laid on a padded table in a cool
gray room.
She didn't want this, she felt coerced-
in youthful vulnerability she obeyed
her abandoning boyfriend.

Her goosebumps rose as she waited
in a mint-green cotton gown,
her shallow breath in and out,
her mouth and throat parched.
She looked up at overhead glaring
lights,
God's own.

She felt she just couldn't tell
her Mom,
the words wouldn't come forth,
a searing secret bitter on her tongue.
Fragments of jagged thoughts cutting
her psyche,
she was sweating cold through
her forehead.

The abortionist was as if an
anonymous shadow,
his voice distant,
flashes of kindergarten in her
eighteen year old's mind.
Waves of utter pain,
her heart pounding,
her ears thunderous with throbbing,
a sudden stillness,
God's own-
another of God's own,
returned to Him.