Beneath The Mountain Ash
by Louise Gallagher

The space you held
remains, not empty,
filled with echoes of memory
once alive with your soft laughter,
rippling through time
like the rhythmic tick-tock
of the cuckoo clock you loved
on the wall beside the kitchen sink 
merrily chiming away the passing hours.

I see you there,
at the kitchen sink
hands veiled in soapy water,
gazing out to where the Mountain Ash
stands, bare
shrouded in snow,
its roots frozen,
awaiting the tender thaw
of spring’s warm breath.

I see you 
still, standing silent
beneath its naked branches.

I close my eyes
and breathe the air
scented with lingering tendrils
of the perfume you wore,
it clings to the soft blue shawl
I've wrapped around my shoulders.

It was yours, in the  before time.
I hold it close 
and wrap it around my shoulders,
tightly.

I breathe. In. Out.

Silently, you fade
into memory’s warm embrace.

Listen To It All
©2024 Louise Gallagher

I want to listen

to it all

to the sun rising

into the indescribable blue of infinity

full of whispering clouds floating

within the sweet nothingness of

endless sky falling

into the story of forever

kissing the far-off horizon

where it dips down to touch

the untold mysteries of the sea

diving deep

deep into the silence

of the womb

of mother earth’s divine creation.



I want to feel

it all

deeper than my skin

peeled back

to reveal

my blood flowing red

my heart beating wild

in love with the ecstasy

of being alive

in this world

of beginnings and endings

forever tied up in the stories we tell

so that we do not have

to listen

to the beauty of the silence

that yearns to be heard

above the cacophony of our human noise.




I want to listen

without knowing

I am listening

to anything

other than life

unfurling

in all its mysterious beauty

and unfathomable cruelty

impregnating the darkness and the light

with the wholeness

that rises up

to embrace me

when I listen

deeply

to it all.

In The Language Of Trees
by Louise Gallagher

The language of trees
lays buried
deep within their roots
digging into the earth
stretching their arms
in search
of whispers of life
within the cracks and crevices
of time lying still
beneath Mother Nature’s soiled covers.

The language of trees
is felt
rising up through crenellated bark
and rugged trunks
standing tall
against the wind 
hurling obscenities
at their unwillingness
to give up ground
to its demands.

The language of trees
is heard deep
within the sibilant whispers
of its leaves
telling stories
to the birds and bees
and scampering squirrels
who clamber along its branches
in search of a place to hide
through winter’s storms.


The language of trees
is written
everywhere.

We must listen
before it’s too late
to hear
their roots calling us
to help them 
stay grounded.

To read more about this poem and painting, please visit me on my daily blog, Dare Boldly. I’d love to see you there!