Fire in The Deep

Fire in The Deep

The red-gold and the copper leaves

Into the River fell,

The nameless River, strong and deep,

Where stars’ reflections dwell.

The countless silent Autumns passed,

How many none can tell;

No mortal walked beneath the trees

Until he fought and fell:

His hair was long and black as Night,

And fair he was of face;

A horn hung by his side, whose gold

His fingers oft would trace.

The warrior made his final stand,

His eyes like stormy seas;

His enemies came hunting him:

Death beneath the trees.

His helm was cleft, his sword was lost,

His armor worn and stained;

But in the auburn shadows dim

His craven foes remained.

He nocked his arrows one by one,

The empty quiver fell

Into the River, sad and deep,

Where stars’ reflections dwell.

A poisoned arrow found his heart,

Around him, all grew pale;

At last grim Death was taking him

Beyond the mortal vale.

The copper trees bled foggy gray,

Dissolving light and dark;

His horn he winded, clear and deep:

A final, echoed spark.

The fiery boughs wept crimson tears;

His foes rough laughter died

The warrior’s body slipped beneath

The River’s solemn tide.

Those copper leaves twined in his hair,

Remember him, they sigh,

He rests forever in the Deep-

Where stars’ reflections lie.

The countless golden autumns pass,

And every bright leaf calls

The warrior’s red-gold Requiem,

Until the Shadow falls.

This is the first ‘real’ poem that I ever wrote; the Warrior and the River have a special place in my heart. 

© Sheila Roberts


Seven Pebbles

A haiku is like a smooth, shiny pebble among a heap of stones: one moment, striking and poignant, standing out among the many humdrum hours and minutes of our days.  The form of the poem (five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables) is very difficult for me because of its brevity, so I made myself write one haiku every day day for a week.



Refracted light and

broken image hurtling toward

dim Eternity.



Reach out, catch dusk. Flash!

Hold glory for an instant:

summer majesty.



Herb stalks: windblown grasses;

salmon flakes: wild coral blooms;

bread cubes: sandstone blocks.



Bright pooling wonder;

a bubble of forever:

mothwing fingers meet.



Clouds wet my lips in

the gray ghosts echoing;

words return empty.



Steam like blessing curls

from crackling crust, creamy crumbs:

Heaven in a bite.



Waves of sound wash in

and out; tides of melody

Carry me away.

© Sheila Roberts

Icicles, a sonnet


The seeping droplets of dead winter flash

And fall like stars on cold and splintered ground:

From icicles to frozen mire, earthbound,

Sharp-frozen splendor drains into warm ash.

Cold swords and frosty daggers melt and slash

Across a tear-washed sky, in silver crowned

With stars – as true and cold as ice they drowned;

Ice melting slowly in a soggy crash.

Night deepens in a solemn storm, a-spray

With inverse towers, blades for freezing hand

Of Winter, who lies damp and dying. Day

And night and earth and heaven stretching stand,

One’s green ascent another’s slow decay:

Drops flash and fall – beads on an endless strand.

(c) Sheila Roberts

An Unexpected Post

In a blog on the web there lived a Wordsmith.  Not a nasty, dirty, unspell-checked blog filled with celebrity gossip and oozy shades of pink, nor yet a dry, bare, dusty blog, with nothing but Arial font and nothing to ponder: it was a Wordsmith’s blog, and that means – well, you shall find out what it means in a post or two.

Hello everyone.  I am here, on the web, with my words, endeavoring to encourage, to challenge and to rekindle. I think I have things worth saying and I hope that you will take the time to listen. 


Apologies to Mr. J. R. R. Tolkien.