by Orna Ross | May 26, 2016 | Poetry |
Love hurts, they say. I say, no way. The only thing that never hurts is love. Lust festers, envy bites. Loss skewers, rejection spikes. Passion burns, craving seethes. Romance dazzles, lonesome bleeds. Well yes, indeed. But none of the above is love. Love helps, love...
by Orna Ross | Feb 14, 2016 | Poetry
I’m writing this on Valentine’s Day 2016, at a sunny table outside Cole St cafe in The Haight, 6000 miles away from The Hub. He is in London, I am in San Francisco. But love is what the scientists call non-local and no problem for it to leap continent and ocean. He...
by Orna Ross | Oct 25, 2015 | Poetry
For Wang Wei. And Fiona. Here, autumn has not yet plucked the last of the leaves. Evening mist has nothing to hold but the trees. It’s that time of day, that time of year, when poems come. That ache to be here, to be heard. Surely, soon? You relieve it with love,...
by Orna Ross | Jun 27, 2015 | Poetry |
Up beside yon ancient castle, where a knight stands in the hall. crumbling bricks square off a garden, the old chapel, under pall. Crooked graves all moss and lichen, brambled weeds now gate its wall. While the knight, once thought a warden, armour empty, holds the...
by Orna Ross | Sep 16, 2014 | Poetry |
Life said to the wanderer: wait without waiting. Kneel yourself down there, on stone- hearted stone. Set down your hope too. It could be mistaken. And fold up that map. It may also be wrong. Though it be dark here beyond all believing, with no place for faith, no,...