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More Poetry Please
Poetry by Chantaclair


Balancing Act...

An anthology of Poetry, Prose and Muse
---<-{© 1999 by Marsha Rose Steed (Chantaclair Rose)



Upward and onward they say. I suppose I included this little prologue, because all good and important writers do, correct? Here is where I tell you all the deep insights and the reasoning behind my writing. This, I suppose is so that when you read my flawed but passionate work, you will look with at least some degree of sympathy on it and hopefully overlook my own inadequacies to see the story that should be told. Perhaps someday someone will tell it better, and perhaps someone already has, but this... in all its mercurial glory is my way of telling. It is my heart and soul, my fear and my pain, my hope my pride and my muse.

The more I live, the more 'Balancing Act' forms itself. I remember in college, listening to Barbara B Smith speak of the same thing, of how women were depressed and in search of more than they had and yet.... I still fell into the traps I disavowed. The despair is real, the pain is real, and the rewards of understanding who you are, even imperfectly, are very tangible. Though my children do not sleep with 'two sheets on the bed' nor do I have dinner on the table by 6:00 every night, I still can listen to my teen share what he is struggling with, and my collage-age daughter gets notes from ward members thanking her for her 'silent sermons'. Do I yet drown in guilt occasionally? I do. Still, I have come to the understanding, that while imperfect, I am worthwhile *Now* not merely someday, when I reach some pinnacle of perfection, but now, today.

The author


The Spinning Plates

1 Magician
2 Weight Lifter
3 Perfected Soul
4 Doctor
5 Incubator
6 Mother
7 Angel
8 Disciplinarian
9 Homemaker
10 Nurturer
11 Cook
12 Laundress
13 Seamstress
14 Beautician
15 Den Mother
16 Storyteller
17 Shopper
18 Teacher
19 Decorator
20 Chauffeur
21 Electrician

22 Pharmacist
23 Trainer
24 Fitness Expert
25 Lover
26 Wife
27 Romantic
28 Beloved
29 Friend
30 Child
31 Daughter
32 Sister
33 Student
34 Goal Setter
35 Pack Rat
36 Gardner
37 Political Activist
38 Patriot
39 Barometer
40 Weatherwoman
41 Shelterer
42 Mother Nature
43 Sentinel
44 Servant
45 Firewoman
46 Forester
47 Astronomer
48 Citizen
49 Church-goer
50 Relief Society Sister
51 Neighbor
52 Mormon
53 Memory Expert
54 Birthday-girl
55 Missionary
56 Self
57 Creator
58 Woman
59 Goddess
60 Dreamer
61 A Mirror
62 Sinner
63 Judge
64 Jury
65 Jailer
66 Prisoner
67 Psychologist
68 Observer
69 Peeper
70 Worrier
71 Mourner
72 Writer
73 Author
74 Poet
75 Dances
76 Actress
77 Musician
78 Artist
79 Soldier
80 Mortal

The Perfect Homemaker,

She had all the poles with plates a'spinning on them,
like the jugglers on the late night show.
Yet one fateful day,
while running to and fro
attempting to keep them all
spinning wildly afloat,
she let one slip.
In the attempt to keep that one
from falling completely,
she let go of another,
and another
and another,
till all she had left
was a floor filled
with broken promises,
clattering pedestals
and didactic platitudes.
Company for dinner?
Only if they bring a broom.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose - (Marsha Steed)
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~~ Weight Lifter~
Lifting Weights

I once saw a picture of Atlas,
Holding the earth on his back.
sometimes I feel like that too
when difficulties seem to pile

Do you think I could pause
under the burdening weight
and ask someone else
to shoulder my world for awhile?

Marsha Steed ---<--{© Chantaclair Rose
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~Perfected Soul

Why canít you love me?

"The mirror doesn't lie,Ē they say
"You are what you think" I'm told.
Labels are many
And acceptance is hidden from view.
I don't know whom to believe
What I see, or what I hear from you.

Is it so difficult to look in my eyes?
To see *me* inside of there?
Are my failings so monstrous great
And my efforts so useless, so frail, so poor,
As to render them
Worthless on every score?

I'm struggling too, you see
Trying desperately from day to day.
I know that I fail to be all that I want to
And still, I'm able to love me,
Why can't you?

---<--{© Marsha Rose

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The Surgeon

Niama Williams says
'We cannot move forward
without knowing who we are.
In the viscera,
In the blood."

So, in knowing who I am,
I draw from my own
meager life's experiences.
I suck the blood
from the veins of memories
and the succulent morsels
of my own past.

Sanguine remembrances
flow through vessels
of how I describe 'me'.

Where then to begin?
Do I take the path of the analytical?
See where my life has run
off my desired path
to success and glory?

Do I pause
looking over my shoulder
in fear and loathing
of the difficulties,
and pains
that follow me
like some ghastly disease?

Perhaps I turn outward,
examining surface flesh
well toned and wrinkle free
describing my 'perfectionís'
completely ignoring
flaws and lines
that defines me
different from anyone else alive.

If I have something to contribute,
surely others do.
Perhaps I am not
the wielder of a surgeon's tool
to sculpt and offer
cosmetic alterations
to what's been
life's experience.

Perhaps I would be the X-ray tech,
who looks deep
into the inner workings
and broken pieces
of my most intricate

Whatever I choose to be,
however I choose to present who I am,
I remain... myself.

and inexhaustibly thirsty
for knowledge
and more
of life's experiences. .

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose '99
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On having a child...

It is a near impossible
of a thing to describe.
There is nothing
to liken it to.

The sickness,
the difficulties,
the fears,
oh... the fears...
the inadequacies,
the anger,
the despair...
The elation,
the miracle,
the peace.

The amazement,
the euphoria...
the sense of accomplishment.
The pride,
the unconditional love,
the extension of self.
All things
And yet
the most difficult thing
I have ever, or ever expect to do.
Would I recommend it?


Feeling connected is
a very self-less thing..
a baby loves,
because it does.
A child loves...
because it knows nothing else.
A teen loves, because it is self-gratifying...
a young adult loves,
because is mutually beneficial.
A woman loves...
because she must.
---<--{© Marsha Steed
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A fist filled with dandelions
A face smudged and damp.
A smile beaming with innocence
A body needing a nap.

A mother with much to do
A child with a lazy afternoon
A day's lackluster passing
A moment gone too soon.

"I brought you something mom"
"I picked them all myself"
"I thought you would like them mom"
"B'sides I think I saw an elf!"

A busy mother stops her chore
To look closely at her boy
The day transformed suddenly
From dull to a fistful of joy.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose '97
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How do you yell
at a six foot tall boy
who teases and pokes
at his brother and sister
when in the middle of
your well tempered lecture
he holds forefinger and thumb
over his head in a
temporary halo?

---<--{@ Marsha Rose
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Eyes filled with hate
stare back at my face.
Words wield a blade
gashes they place.

What have I asked
that is so terribly tough?
Do I make demands
that are much too rough?

I thought being a mom
would be kisses and light.
I found it can bring
arm loads of spite.

Perhaps I'm a fool
to think Iím able
to nurture and cherish
beyond what I'm capable.

I'm a flawed person
I know it is true
your actions can wound
and silence devalues.

I'm told it is worth
the tears, pain and sorrow
but I'm finding it hard
to hold on till tomorrow.

Chantaclair Rose ---<--{© '97
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Snowed in?

I heard my friend was stuck in the snow
He grumbled and fretted with no place to go
Now I look around at the dishes undone
beneath the window which is lit by the sun.
Living in California gives us a green covered ground
If it is cold, we wear coats, gloves and a scarf all around.
So I sit looking at all I must do
Wondering if by the year 2000 I'll be through.
Scrap books that need to show pictures of myself,
poetry that shouldn't just sit on the shelf.
I've fed three cats, six fish and the dog
Put away Christmas things and taken a jog.
I wonder what peace I would find in a day
Where I could just sit around and work until May.
"Come and get me at three" one child said.
"I need to go there, or else I'll be dead!"
I run to and fro so often it seems
my tires are breaking through at the seams.
I hear about days where my friends must just sit
and forgive me if I simply covet a bit.
So I finish my errands and look at the mess
Hoping tomorrow I'll not just repeat this I guess

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose Marsha Steed ' 1/99
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Too Heavy

A golden haired boy
of just three years
struggling with a load,
he sheds some tears...

Blocks are falling
all over the floor
a castle broken
recognizable no more.
He looks up at me
with those eyes of blue
askin', "Momma,
you can fix it can't you?"

It's too heavy
for the child.
He can't carry
the load he's compiled.

The same little boy
After a few years more
Straining with a heap
of books from the store.
Dropping them all
the jaw is clenched
resolve is set
for his offense.
He carries the load
of philosophy
Business and Law
and a duty or three
But it's too heavy
for the boy...
He can't carry
the load heís employed.
Then time wears on
and the boy faces life.
A man lifting burdens of
the house, job and wife.
The duties pull at him
from all sides it seems,
come crashing down
In broken daydreams

Where's the joy
he was promised would come
Why isn't he good enough?
He grasps for wisdom.

For it's to heavy
For the man
He can't carry
all life demands.
A voice from somewhere
beyond this world's care
settles around him,
Whispers "I'm here"

There is someone there
who's burden is light
Who lifts every weight
who's strong in might.

It's not too heavy
for Him
He alone can carry
the burden.
It's not too heavy
For the Lord
Let go and let him
Lift the load.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose
dedicated to a man ... I love.
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Dinner at six?

"My second lunch," claimed the redheaded boy.
"Just a snack," said the youth with mixing bowl.
"I'll just have a salad" Spoke the teenaged beauty.
"I picked up something," offered the apologetic beau.
I put back the pans, measuring spoons and books,
and called my favorite restaurant. "Table for one".

Marsha Steed --?{@
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Folding Clothes

Some women may complain
about the mounds of soiled clothes.
For washing, drying and putting away
are seldom delightful chores.

Yet as I lift each pair of socks
and fold blouses, white church shirts, and jeans
I remember each childish face
the activities enjoyed while wearing these things.

I can't help but smile
at a tear, a stain or two
Or quietly smell the 'blankie'
though it is shredded through.

One day I'll be left,
with only my things to fold
It will be then, I'm afraid
When tears will fall untold.

Marsha Steed 1999---{--{© Chantaclair Rose
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Word Weavings

Let words take passage on tongues carriage fair
Some vicious, some worn within beauties breast
Rolling forth come they without burden's care.
Sent on a journey poets pen without rest.
Time knows all things, grandfather to wisdom.
Tears are like rain . . . they dry, but come again.
Exacting ransom from our private prisons.
Travel-worn lies, drink the furl of our pain.
Lumbering o'er a pathway gnarled, concealed
what thoughts found the heart their cradle to be?
Visions rushing by with the breathless to yield
Life travelers grasp words from byway's to see.
Opinions of those that matter . . . matter much'
Opinions of those that don't... don't as such.

---<--{© Marsha Rose
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The Shower

Kids calling
phone ringing
dog barking
cat scratching on the floor

Water cascading
warmth flooding
soap soothing
nerves calming once more.

Thank you Lord,
for a shower
scented lotion
and locked door.

---<--{@ Marsha Steed '99

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~Den Mother

The Eagle's Nest

There they sat
the men I admire
faces shining almost like a boy's.
They blushed a little
when their names were called
and yet the reward was within their joy.

I watched carefully
the youthful smiles
that took in everything that was said.
Years of service
Moments of struggle
All for a medal and official letterhead.

A mothers face
with a soft sheen
a son's eyes glittered a forehead kissed.
May my younger teen
one day stand as tall
as the face of the newest eagle dismissed.

If I see him there
I'll know the tomorrows
will be safe within pockets of integrity.
It will be my face then
with misty eyes and a grin
Looking at a boy who personifies decency.

---<--{© Marsha Rose
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The Squeaky Wheel

There was a squeaky little wheel
On the train that moved in place
Other wheels clicked spokes and sighed,
Yet he showed not a bit of grace.

He shimmied and creaked,
whined and bemoaned
the others watched carefully
as their duty they droned.

He quite often received
attention and grease.
Oil was poured liberally
Conductor toiled to appease.

If a little squeak was rewarded
with such abundant care
Would a creak bring more notice
while others worked without fanfare?

So he murmured and wobbled,
groaned and abased
The others watched bemused
as he was finally........ replaced.
---<--{© Chantaclair Rose ' 98

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Robert Fulgrum says
that life is a
The 'Shoulds'
are mixed
with the "should nots',
like groceries on a shelf.
it is our own choice
to do
or to do not.

I like that. Maybe.
Open doors

It reminds me that I can
do anything
that is up to me alone.

It is merely prices
and rewards.
What we are willing to pay
for whatever it is we think we'll get.

Possibilities in the
checkout line
of our personal
action mall.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose ' 99

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Crying he came into the house,
this child with hair like mine.

I opened my arms and offered him
solace for a time.

"What is it son?" I asked my boy
as I dried the tears of pains.

"The others, they don't like me mom,
they tease and call me names."

"Oh little son, can't you see
that those that point and jeer

are not the ones a boy like you
would wish to be quite near?"

He looked at me, with big brown eyes
the tears now still and dried.

"Do you suppose *their* mamma's forgot
to hold *them* when they cried?"

I kissed him then, this little boy
with guilelessness and grace.

He enlightened me in innocence
about those who would abase.

Happy now he climbed right down
from mamma's nurturing knee.

The lesson learned was not by him
but offered from him to me.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose '98

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-Colors of Age

Pink and Grey upon her breast
Silver in his hair.
Painted rose on time-worn cheek
A bow-tie tucked with care.

Fingers brush over wrinkled flesh
myopic eyes twinkle bright.
Dulled ears still hear his smile.
and faded vision views her light.

Coal black suit on ivory chest.
brown age spots caressed.
decades together sharpen senses
time-robbed of their best.

Nearby a babe, pinkend cheeks
plump and round and new.
reminds the couple of their lives
difficult years passed through.

One envious smile fades away
as his hand cover hers
would they trade a moment of time
for the baby's promised years?

Pink and gray, wrinkled and smooth
Silver and dark black coal
Rosey cheeks and deep brown eyes
entwined in young and old.

Though what remains may only be
a day, a month secure
the culminationís of lifetimes shared
precious as youth's allure

--<--{© Marsha Rose Ď99
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Innocence in the Suicide Lane

I cried a tear today
but probably not why'd you think.
Driving through the hurried morn
with thoughts moving near the brink.

Scurried and flittered they moved along
from one thought to the next,
first of what I had to do, things I'd like to do
then on to what I wished to best.

The traffic was moving at a fine clip,
They probably had places to go
They didn't have a moment to pause
and look at the pedestrian flow.

Do you know that center divide?
Some call it the suicide lane.
It is for turning from one direction
to the next without too much a pain.

There between the bustling throng
of drivers just like me
was a lone figure with a metal lunch pail
I noticed his posture, turned to see.

First I zoomed on by him,
as fast as you may please
but soon my healthy conscience
wouldn't let me continue with ease.

I saw in his eyes,
softly slanted, aware
a boy in a man's body,
who was trying to get somewhere.

I looked back o'er my shoulder
Passing by I didn't get far
before too long I turned around
in my new seven passenger car.

"Good day!" He spoke,
in a sweet childish slur
"Well hello there,
are you trying to get somewhere?"

"Yes'm I am,
across that there street,
though the cars are too many,
and I don't dare move my feet."

I begged him get in,
so I could take him to his stop.
no more than a yard and ten,
a jump, skip and a hop.

He thanked me so kindly,
after telling me his name.
Speaking of his job proudly
like he was someone of great fame.

The tear fell quite unexpectedly
on my cheek as I drove away.
He'd never quite know how his genuine smile
brightened a hurried day.

---<--{© Marsha Steed
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Ruminations on Modern Mail

"Friends are like angels
and Rocks and trees."
Soppy and dripping with
platitudes they tease.

Pen a new rhyme
it doesn't take much
just a few thoughts
and adverbs and such.

Then with a flash
and a click of the mouse
o'er the Internet
it speeds to each house.

Time and again
to my box they come,
little gnats forwarded
with a flick of the thumb.

Send me no promises
of untold wealth,
Paint me no pictures
in ASCII for health.

Don't warn me of
the latest virus threats
or beg through my morality
of my meager assets.

Send me a line
of heartfelt thought
or pages of news
from your own Camelot.

Please spare me the speed
and the ease of the type
So my time saving mailbox
Is more than mere hype.

Write me for sure
yet to my words avail
don't make me rue
that I e'er heard "E-mail."

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose ' 98

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Pinpricks against a darkened scape.
flashes of color, needles of agony.
Tightening nerves diminishing lucidity
gratefulness for acetaminophen.

---<-{© Marsha Steed
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Helpful Male Tale

You would think that a man,
who is his father's son,
would not rush around
when things were undone.

But run he does,
when the telephone rings,
and the party is changed from
June to this Spring.

Up go the sleeves,
and out come the glad bags,
garbage is tossed and
dishes careen.

But tell him it's changed,
and the date is not yet,
back he returns
to the Television set.
---<-{© Marsha Steed

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~Fitness Expert

I often wonder at the capacity of a heart
To draw in a wounded bird or a child, or a sweetheart.
Is it possible that this fist-sized blood pumping muscle
can expand so far as to embrace an ideal?
What happens when it is filled, with things and people and memory?
Does it close and put out a sign that says, 'no more room Henry'?
Through pain and breaks and giving and overflowing
still pulsing and pushing and pumping and beating.
Perhaps after all, I do understand infinity
when I realize how much my heart can embrace,
still take in continually
---<-{© Marsha Steed

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Love Making
Essence and Spirit
Body and Soul

Love without loving
Half without whole.

Choosing a path
Difficult to climb

Standing alone
Choosing is mine
Slick sweet promises
Quiet spoken vows

Pledges unnumbered
Showing me how

Touch and be pained
Remain and wilt
Ask for fulfillment
Leave without guilt

Tell me no more stories
Sing me no more rhymes

Wish me no future
Need me all times
Kiss me quite softly
Speak low and clear

Know without knowing
Flesh pleasures here.

Succulent scents
and sweet rumpled satin

in soft whispered bindings
Night flies like a phantom.

--<--{© Chantaclair Rose Marsha

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Sleeping Beauty

Softly the footsteps caress the carpet.
Tired bones long for a caress..
a sweet peace only one can offer.
Still, night flows over
the busyness of the day,
and her image
alights his mind.

He knows what he shall find,
a sweet brow
beaded with moisture
from sleep.
A tired woman,
his hearts desire.

The covers are pulled back,
dare he waken her?
Is his need as great as her own?
Selfishness makes him brave,
and yet he pauses,
so tired is she...

So sweetly and peacefully
does she sleep...
can he take what solace
the night has brought?
Quietly he slips in beside her,
his fingertips brushing
the sweet flesh
of her uncovered belly...
There will be other nights...
his desires will be filled,
but tonight, he wishes...
to be noble.

: .... he lets her sleep
as his thoughts carry him
into her dreams.

---<--{© ChantaclairRose ' 99

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The Perfect Date

"It's my first date mom, do you think I look alright?

Will I know what to say, will my company delight?

He looks so handsome Mommy,

What? Roses... just for me?

I can't believe there is a limo outside!

How wonderful he looks, how dignified.

Martinelli too? Dinner by candlelight?

Is my skirt too short, is my smile nice and bright?

Can you possibly think of a better date Mother dear?"

"Of course not sweet one, I married him, to keep him near."

---<--{© Marsha Steed ' 99 Daughter's first date - with her Dad

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Once, I thought love was an idea
until I heard you speak to my heart.

Then, I thought love was a word
until you touched me softly apart.

Then, I thought love was a touch
until your lips met mine.

Then, I thought love was a kiss
until you held me close divine.

Then, I thought love was an embrace
until we became one flesh.

Then I thought love was holding all night
until I awakened afresh.

Then I thought love was forever
until I realized what is true...

I never knew love at all
until, I knew it through you.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose 4/23/96

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Another's Hands

Like a child
seeks help from a parent
my fingers extend.
Reaching, hoping
that my life will be more
than the little I can be

Other hands,
some wrinkled
some soft
extend to me
as I go about my days

What joys have they known?
What child have they touched?
What pains have they born?

Like Michelangelo's Adam
reached for his Father's hand
I reach tentatively
for another's grasp.

Can I share something?
Can I feel as another does?
Can I learn to find joy?

Hands are the tools
sent with loving purpose
offering us heaven
from our mother above.

---<--{© 'Marsha Rose '99


The Misunderstanding

Mud was slung upon her face
and the pink apron dripping with lace
bespattered and forlorn now
from a companion misguided somehow.

Yet standing quietly,
her hand was outstretched still.

A moment before they had played with smiles
giggles and sharing lifestyles
A word mistaken, an action bared
turned a friend to an enemy declared.

But confused and forlorn,
her hand was outstretched still.

Forgiven as quickly as the mess was made
the tiny smile curved out unafraid.
A streak of brown on pale peach cheek
tear glistening eyes play hide and seek

Still silent and forgiving,
her hand was outstretched still.

The companion's anger dissipated then
memories flooded once again.
A pristine hanky given in peace
to daub at the soil covering pink fleece.

Now reaching to meet,
Their hands were outstretched still.

--<--{© Marsha Steed

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~I noticed
To my Parents

I don't think you know I noticed, when you read me stories late at night,
teaching me about imagination, calming childish frights.
I don't think you know I noticed you hung my pictures in the hallway,
that made me feel talented and important every day.
I don't think you know I noticed, that the table was set for company,
showing me how to entertain in culinary symphony.
I don't think you know I noticed, that at every performance, you were there,
and I knew I was loved far beyond compare.
I don't think you know I noticed how you struggled trying best you could
teaching me that though life can be hard, itĎs possible to smile at the good.
I don't think you know I noticed that you sometimes cried into a tissue.
and I knew that it was sometimes ok for me to cry too.
I don't think you know I noticed when you sang,
giving me the love for music that within me swelled and rang.
I don't think you know I noticed when you prayed,
that you blessed all your brothers and sisters,
and I knew family was more than just people with whom you stayed.
I don't think you know I noticed
that everything I am, everything I've become...
had its genesis in your arms, your smile,
your tears, your prayers. and youíre welcome.
I don't think you know I noticed,
but... I did.
---<--{©©Marsha Steed ' 98 Chantaclair Rose

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Parallel Intersection

When I was playing Barbies
Playskool was your fare.
Then I moved to flirting
For Barbies did you care.

So when I was through with boys
and only one man and home would do.
You were giggling and dating
I didn't relate to you.

My babies came one by one
you met your dream man too.
It took a fair amount of years
for us to wear each other's shoe.

Now that we are walking
a path that is close as our pedigree
I find not only a sister
but a companion with whom I agree.

The years have passed as we paralleled
in our own singular interests and plane
Now finally we intersect
and the blessings pour like rain..

---<--{© M Steed '99

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Library Gourmet

There, books sit helplessly,
with dust covered surfaces,
all the sustenance that I could wish
silent and untouched
as I wait to be fed
by Osmosis.

---<-{© Marsha Rose

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~Goal Setter


Too soon
the moon
bleeds into
Too slow
October's show
fades to

So still
the will
submits to
How tacit
The Spirit
loses to

flushed moon
by January
so soon.

---<--{© Marsha Rose Steed

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~Pack- Rat

Giving to Charity
(For I was an hungered...)

I have a pretty purple dress
it's my favorite one of all,
I tried it on and much to my despair
it had grown a bit too small.

It is difficult to put away
the things that brought us joy.
To fold it up, send it away
like another worn out toy.

Perhaps there is someplace
that could bring fresh new life
to my cherished dress, my teddy bear
my extra kitchen knife.

To feed the hungry is our charge
to clothe the naked too
visit the sick, comfort the blind
the charges aren't a few.

I've felt the guilt of neglecting
the words the teachings tell.
Yet if I offer my purple dress
could that count as well?

I'll fold it neatly and tuck it in
a singular box to give away.
I'll send it on a journey
to another who can not pay.

She'll see my dress and smile
I can see it as I think.
My dress will serve another
my hands will form the link.

I've then clothed the naked
my heart is opened wide.
I'll offer her what brings me joy
and be comforted inside

---<--{© Marsha Steed - 1998

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~Political Activist

Walking together,
my son pointed to an empty nest.
"Mommy, where's the babies?",
his cherubic face questioned.

I walked here as a girl.
What could I tell him?
I looked around,
where once were miles of fields,
and a pond for skating,
now were only roads, cars
and telephone poles?

"Maybe the mommies
took the babies to a better place."

He seemed satisfied,
but I was not.
Perhaps this mommy
can find ways
to make a better place
for her babies?

We picked up the remains
of another creatures home,
walked to ours
to make phone calls.

"Hello, Mayor's office. . ."

Marsha Rose Steed ---<--{©

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"You know what a ĎBlastois' worth donít you?
Did you see I traded my Pikachu?
Please mom please can't you see
how important all of this is to me? "

Trading cards is a childish pursuit
that takes up our youths time and thought
is it worthless entertainment
or insidious brainwashing for future battlement?

From Marbles to Baseball cards
to Pogs and more by the yards.
Each generation isnít so bad
And has had its fad.

Trading up and battling
capturing and surrendering
we toy at war and conquerings
from our earliest beginnings.

What is it that is inherent in each heart and soul
that keeps us determined to better a foe?
Is it our heartbeat against the indescribable odds
that motivates us to conquer our gods?

From a little child to a soldier in gear
each of us has that gene planted in fear
That somehow if we do not come out on top...
we'll succumb to the oblivion and be forgot.

---<--{© Marsha Rose ' 99

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Leaf Pile

Childish smile
impish intent.
Newly raked pile.
Running start
momís mouth agape
Leaves fly. New harvest. Joy wins.

---<--{© M Steed '99

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Season's Warmth

Seasons are determined
we are certainly told
by the warmth of the weather
or the outside cold.

The warmth inside,
Sometimes I believe
is directly in opposition
to what the thermometer reads.

Summer's are selfish
seasons of pleasure
spending money for
tans, Popsicle and treasure.

Spring is a bit warmer,
with bustling here and there 
feeding the seeds
to the earth's muddy care.

Autumn bring smiles
and thoughts of families
gathering food for
Holiday necessities.

But winter is the season
where hearts turn outward
leaving selfish desires
to charity unmeasured.

I like the differences
and the contrast without
giving of the soul
is what warmth is about.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose 12/12/98© Marsha Steed

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Intimacy and Rain

Thirsting blossoms turning painfully upwards
hoping that the moisture will soon be granted.
Burdened hearts opening hungrily
for the intimacy that only another can impart.

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©

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God's Umbrella

Poised on a precipice, her hand outstretched
Storm clouds gathering the downpour began.

Flood waters rise, wind flails the cloth
bone chilled and shuddering flesh accepting fate.

An up turned cheek and hollow searching eyes
Star fires still warm for only awhile more.

Water turns to ice, raindrops to hail
Discontent to rage, longing screams release.

Head bows with finality shoulders droop without hope
Suddenly and without expectation His umbrella shields the squall.

---<-[© Marsha Steed

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~Mother Nature
Perfect Season

Seasons are numbered one through four
It seems that you blink and they are out the door.
Winter and Summer are too extreme
Autumn too short, so perfection must be Spring.

Marsha Rose ---<--{©


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~On boundaries. . .

Reaching out,
sometimes allows us to touch.

Is another able,
willing to reach in
and touch a soul
beneath the physicality?

Do we.... dare?

Marsha Steed ---<--{©

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On acting without being compelled

The Lord tells us,
we neednít be compelled
our willingness to follow,
our instructions not to be spelled.

We search the treasures of knowledge
and willingly impart
a pearl of wisdom
to a hungering heart.

Look to the words,
but linger near
and the spirit will welcome
an open ear.
Offer your obedience
to the gospelís command
Seek not for bonds
or compelling demand.

Reach ever upward,
with heart then act
Deny not the gifts
for scurrilous fact.
Open a palm, a spirit a mind
Act with integrity before youíre told
Take pearls of knowledge
to decorate your soul
---<--[© Marsha Steed > 1999

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Eternal Tongue

Licking voraciously at the sky
Reds and yellows tip the flames
Deep in the violent heart and soul
White hot madness consumes and claims.

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©

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On Personal Defeat

Tiny seedlings shooting forth
from the damaged fire-scorched forest.
I reassess and like the seed,
Unconquerable, move forward.

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©

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The Box

I thought it would be difficult
to imagine what forever was like.
So I closed my eyes and squeezed real tight
Pretending to see into infinity.
I found it impossible until I reversed my thought
and gathered up all I could see into a box.
Even in my small and finite mind,
I could not conceive a box with _nothing_ outside.
So perhaps the now, is merely the box
and forever, what lies outside the walls of my experience.

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©

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Someone opened the door for me
He didn't have a clue
He saw the smile on my face
but not what that gift would accrue.

I passed a woman with a cart
dirty, despondent, weather tanned.
I remembered the door and offered in turn
a bill to an outstretched hand.

I walked into a busy florist shop
and allowed a mother within
to go right ahead in front of me
gratitude replaced her chagrin.

A child at home was careless and rash
dropping an antique vase
because of the man who opened my door
the accident was met with grace.

A man opened my door today
and heedless of the consequence rare
He lightened the loads of so many more
and the days of some in despair.
Today I will offer what little I can
though unthanked I may be perceived.
I know that experiences offer much more
Than one thoughtful act can conceive.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose

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~Church Goer
Silent offering

The tiny church gleamed
and shown its sparkling best
for those who'd come.
Time was near
its excitement grew.
Then softly sounded
a footstep or two
inside the parquet floor,
while hundreds passed
right by its open door.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose Marsha Steed

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~Relief Society Sister

Sunday or Sun day
The fourth commandment

Shoes in place
and ironed 'Sunday best'.
Children fed and coiffured,
looking longingly out the door
to the sun raining beams upon the floor.
Frazzled mother in a soiled dress
sets out to glean the promised rest
of the busy-est day of the week.
Why doesn't it ever rain...
on Sunday?
Marsha Steed

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~Neighbor Needs
Large soulful eyes
in a body covered in rags.
the little match girl incarnate
waited while I gave her mother
a beggar's portion of my goods.
My chubby youngster in her wisdom
offered more than that,
she gave the girl a hug.
---<--{© Marsha Steed

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Sacrament Meeting

I thought Sunday was for being taught
by the talks prepared with care
I found that the teaching was not as sweet
As the sight of loving families there.

A mother's hand on a teen's arm
A father's fingers entwined with his bride.
A tiny sister quieted by brother's smile
and a child shown where the piggies hide.

Each small touch taught me more,
than all the words polished and shared
the families living and loving here
Gave understanding how the Savior cared.

---<--{© Marsha Rose '98

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~Birthday girl

I know what it is,
about falling leaves
that makes me smile.
They are prettier when they are older.
---<--{© Marsha Steed

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I have a friend
who knows that he's right
with undying conviction he strives
for me to see his light.
I appreciate his view
Yet we struggle and fight,
and our debates
don't always end alright.
Can't I believe something
without him being contrite?
Must we agree
in order to be forthright?
He thinks of himself
as some white Knight.
Showing me the way
from my "cultist' plight.
He knows the trinity
I believe in Nephites
He teaches of first sin
and I explain Lamanites.
Perhaps I'm no better
when my words reignigth
the smoldering embers
of our talks till midnight.
Let me be humble
and offer the widow's mite
of my knowledge
without needing to proselyte.
All are worthwhile
Whether a Levite or Mennonite
'Christian' or Taoist
an Israelite or Semite.
Walking as through a cavern
unclear is our dim sight,
yet our ideas come achingly close
as a stalactite reaching for a stalagmite.
When at last the obscurity lifts
and we see each other right
Will arguments dissipate as
we immerge into the hazy starlight
covered in obscure moonlight
Until finally a dazzling searchlight
Shows us how to unite.
bathed in the Son-light
with our scarlet sins washed bright
and our souls finally Lilly-white?

---,--{@ Marsha Rose

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~Memory Expert


"I'll do it in a minute"
"I'm busy right now"
"I'll not forget"
"I'll get to it somehow"

Promises fly like fireworks
spreading sparks of hope
but in the end flitter out
empty embers left to grope.

"I forgot"
"I didn't hear you ask"
"I was quite busy"
"I can not do the task."

Remembering isn't difficult
it is simply efficient.
It only takes motivation
to do what is important.

We only forget
unattractive labor
because we fail in our efforts
to _remember_.

---<--{@ Marsha Steed

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Black wells are useful I do suppose for
discovering water, or perhaps oil?
Deep, unyielding are they, pulling
down into the depths of darkness.

When I descend into my own
well of distress and despair,
the sides seem to smother
and encase my spirit.

I hold tightly to a
glimmer of hope
that when I
reach the
I'll find
of valued oil
pushing upward
returning to the top.

Ever remind me please,
while I descend once more
there is not a well deep enough
from which I can not rise back again.

Chantaclair Rose - Marsha Steed '99

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The sweat hung tenaciously on her brow
The soft murmured groans spoke her pain.
"Harder", the voice whispered, "itís worth it you know,
Endure 'till the end, work, don't complain."

On she struggled to bring forth the child
Agonies of spirit at each shudder cried.
The birthing of a creation anew
The process as ancient as maternity's bedside.

"Just a bit more, and its finished you see
Clutch on tightly, a last effort exiled."
With a sigh of relief, the last breath exhaled.
She pushed away pen, parchment and brainchild..

---<--{© Marsha Steed

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The Lump

Funny how a lump
barely the size of a marble
can make blue skies bluer
and oranges sweeter
and birds sing clearer.

Funny how a bump
the size of a pebble
can make a kiss more precious
a child smarter
a friend more gracious.

Funny how a hump
the size of a stone
can make ambitions disappear
To do lists fade away
and quarrels insignificant.

Funny how a lump
the size of a quarter
can define who you are
and where you've been
and where you'll never go.

When that hump,
that lump, That bump
is nestled just under your arm
and snuggled against your
Left breast.
---<--{© Marsha Steed ' 99

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Listen, listen
to a story, a story that is true...
my story, I have written it
I've written it for you...

I was born of goodly parents
who are kind and just and true
they taught me truth, guided me
let me choose what I would do.

"My daughter, we love you, you have learned the way...
you know the path to follow...walk ye in it today...
My daughter, we love you, you have learned the way
You know the path to follow... walk ye in it... we say."

I learned as a child
the ways of the Lord
I believed as a child
gospel lessons were stored.

As I pressed forward through life
steadfast true and sure
I grew in simple wisdom's
the world for me... held no lure.

There came a time,
I remember it clear
Questions challenged me to prove...
what I'd learned from year to year...

In each of our lives
there comes a day
standing alone
we must determine the way

The day came for me...
the desire was so great
I could give up everything...
I would no longer wait.

I had to be sure
Beyond question or doubt
I had to know for myself
what life was all about

I had asked before
as the scriptures say
but was never so willing
to listen and obey...

Can I tell you I say angels?
Can I say I was shown the way?
Is it a miracle
that happened to me that day?

I didn't see angels
No vision occurred...
But my life was changed forever
Because of what I HEARD...

"My daughter, I love you, you have learned the way....
"you know the path to follow.. walk ye in it today...
"My daughter, I love you, you have learned the way
"you know the path to follow...walk ye in it I say..."

My soul was filled, I looked around.
had any others heard?
did I alone know the miracle
that had just occurred?

My heart raced within
the tears fell without
My questions were answered
there could no longer be doubt...

So may I again tell you
and witness with the truth
one day you will question...
maybe now, or later youth..

When that day comes
you lay life on the line
I know you'll receive an answer...
for I'll forever cherish mine...

"My daughter, I love you, ...you have learned the truth...
you know the path to follow you have walked in it since birth
"My daughter, I love you, you have learned the way...
You know the path to follow... walk ye in it today."

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©1996

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Extraordinary colors flashing by
Rainbows of gills and fins gratify
How less imaginative am I
than the creator whose crayola box never runs dry.

Marsha Rose ---<--{©

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~A Mirror
Seeing beyond.

In our pain we see only ourselves
in our anger we see our pain
In our guilt we find our anger
In our inadequacies we find our guilt.

Reaching inside inadequacies
Touch the hard prickly face of my guilt.
Soothing guilt with fiery anger
Reveal the soft pliable center of pain
cradling the heart's core of pain, finally,
is the true revelation of self.

Marsha Steed '99

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Consider the Child

When I fail. . .

Consider the Child inside of me
Consider her fears and her pains
Consider the playfulness when I am silly
Consider the innocence in every deed.

Consider the little girl hiding behind
a grown up face and cosmetic smiles.
Consider the shyness waiting to please
when everything may not be as it should.

Consider this when I disappoint
Consider my heart walled and wary.
Consider my actions may not be all told,
Consider me a child needing your love.
---<--{© Marsha Steed

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Mirrors have always intrigued me
Those with the flat unforgiving surface.
Turning to gaze into their images
we often begin to create
and recreate what is seen.

Would that there was a mirror
that we could turn on our insides too
looking instead of our outward result
to the flaws and what makes us divine.
Remembering who we are here to reflect.
~~<~© Marsha Steed '99

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Forgive me Father for I have sinned,
Said the voice in the dark.
I watched Billy balance tall
and never moved
when I saw him fall.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned,
Tommy shot a rubber band.
It hit Johnny in the face,
but I never spoke a
word to abase.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned,
Susan spit on little Jim.
He laughed and watched
her as she lied
but I never told her
how he cried.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned,
All the children standing there
Pointing fingers, calling names
all the while bearing
empty shames.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned,
I've sat and watched in silence here
all the posturing and vapid words
vanities expressed like mockingbirds.
---<--{© M Rose Steed ' 6/98

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Obey he said, and my thoughts bristled
Obey? Do what I must and be bound?
Obey he said, and I sat in wonder
Obey? Leave my will undiscovered, unbound?

Many are the things I wish to experience
I am being kept from my pleasure!
No, said He, with a loving embrace
You are only given your greatest measure.

Marsha Steed 1999

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Dark Side

Pink Floyd sings,
"If I show you my dark side,
will you still hold me tonight,
if I open my heart to you. . .
what would you do. . ."

Sometimes my fears
echo his refrain
I wonder if I'm not perfect
will I be left in the rain?

If I open up my core
and display my inner self
will you walk away
and leave me on a shelf?

How do I learn to trust
once I've been betrayed?
If I leap into the darkness
should I be afraid?

Trembling still
I am unable to retreat
anxiously I place myself
expectantly at your feet.

Offering good and dark
and parts of my soul
Praying for your acceptance
to let me be whole.

M Steed '99

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When Pinocchio becomes 'real'
the story is over.

People don't want 'real'.
They want fantasy,
mystery and aloofness

When they get flawed humans
they don't mean to,
often they don't even realize
that is the reason they do it
but they leave.
They search for another
fairytale to cling to.

The wooden wishes
get lost in the flawed flesh
and the long noses
become too hard to overlook.

With only few exceptions,
every person
I have shown my vulnerabilities to,
my flaws or my imperfections,
have left me.
They will give you other 'reasons',
but it is documented well
in my experiences.
When I remain aloof and mysterious,
people retain their interest
and continue to enjoy
my company,
whatever I choose to offer,
but as soon as I have needs,
suddenly it isn't fun anymore.
The fantasy doesn't look as good
with morning breath and
tear-rimmed eyes.

Can I find someone
who will hold me when I cry
and forget that I am not perfect
and sometimes still
made of wood?

---<--{@ Marsha Steed ' 99

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Magdna child

Today I met appreciation in a tiny child's hands.
A book of shiny leather offered to occupy her mind.
Fingers caressed the outside for minutes or maybe more.
She wondered at the softness, marveled how it shined.

Long moments of enjoyed repose she took,
before ever venturing to look inside.

Her precious little companion a palm-sized pink stuffed pig,
Nudged with his snout, the cover opens smooth.
Each precious page shared in whispers with her fluffy friend
Every new joy discovered, rich imagination soothed.

The pictures studied painstakingly
each nuance critically absorbed.

A witness to such innocent pleasure
Reveling in the simplicities of a sighted heart.
Turn haggard and age weary thoughts
to a time when reverence was a counterpart,

To a hasty philosopher
with a leather book.

Chantaclair Rose - Marsha Steed '99

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Just one look

I stole a look today
I know I shouldn't be that way.
I peeked, I did, and I'm not even sorry
I relished the experience fully.

So if you see me peeking
Round a corner I found,
Remember itís not my fault
You are the best scenery around.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose 4/97

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The falling tears,
healed from fears
taught by a word.... Perspective.

The aching heart
regaining a start
urged forward, by..... Perspective.

A friend in need
another in deed
discovery found in....... Perspective.

A lesson learned
wisdom discerned
captured and held by. . . Perspective

--<--{© Rose 08/01/96 Time: 6:54 PM

Monday Muses

Monday Muses after
Sunday's Inspiration
Like the first of February
After New Years resolutions.
Sunday I am so excited
to turn over a new leaf
that my fingers itch
to follow my belief.
I listen to words
that all but forces me
to my feet
to See, to Share. to BE
Then I go home
and somewhere in the night
the inspiration turns
to exhaustion's blight.
The morning breaks
to the usual duties
the stains on the new carpet
the broken window casualties
The neighbor who says
our cat is in his yard
and the kids...
Itís all too hard.
Somehow the inspiration
gets put on the back burner
to slow cook
with the pot of beans for dinner
till I find a moment or two
to live, instead of do.
---<--{@ Marsha Steed.

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Sometimes, there are no words

I thought to write,
but found my fingers numb.
I tried to call,
but the numbers wouldn't come.

I sat stilled
quietly hurting
silently pondering
gently remembering.

Then, something occurred to me
in the solitude of the grief,
there is only cause to mourn
when there is no more belief.

A smile slowly gained advantage
over the tears so freely shed
beginning somewhere in remembrance
'cross puckered lips it spread.

Something can not be over
that has breath and heart and soul
not distance, time, forgetting
can erase a piece of the whole.

You have become a part of me
at times I am unwilling to share
even in the leaving,
your love permits me to bare.

Then let us not cry
for the changes that must come.
Life without changes,
keep us deaf, blind and dumb.

As always in our communion
you have left me better by far
than the woman you found
too fearful to reach for stars.

Tears seem my lot,
for again they fall
but the rivers that come
have a joyous call.

In each drop of emotion,
a thought, a word, a deed.
is brought again to remembrance
by a tender need.

Goodbye is not something
that I shall even try,
there is no finality
when we reach and touch the sky.

In tender farewells
falling as they may
know that I found joy
to last forever and a day.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose 9/96

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Have you ever regretted
a word or a thought
that pierced the silence
more than it ought?

Have you touched a lip
and prayed for the word
that was not spoken
would have been heard?

Can time ever erase, the ache in the heart
That closes like a vice, now you are apart?

Come then with me
and let us reason sure
To speak with abandon
is not either the cure

Words taken too lightly
Words discarded too soon
Words that speak rightly
Or words out of tune
Feelings call up memories, Speaking cements them.
Whispers bring emotions, words oft prevent them.

Take my advice
and listen intently
Bide your tongues powers
or live ever regretfully.

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©

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To be given a word
and asked
to describe an emotion
seems as cruel
as telling me to refrain
from offering teeming emotions
in letters and spaces.
A writers muse
is as unbound
as captured infinity.

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©
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A child stepped in a puddle
Heedless of his shoes
Perhaps the drops that filled it
will gain forgiveness by sunbeams muse.

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©

Nature's Moms

Twitchin' whiskers give a smile
Does a squirrel think like me?
When her children drive her crazy...
She can send them up a tree! Marsha Rose ---<--{©


Preparation is
discounted by the hurried
what if spring followed fall?

---<--{© Marsha Steed

Rush buy, wrap tape
bring smile, hope fate
tentative frown, teasing wink
enormous hug, Success.

---<--{© Marsha Steed

Lovely thoughts

Short sermons
in short statements
shorten communication
in most cases.

Marsha Steed

A boyish hand offers
what a mother's heart desires
A lifetime of sacrifices
Rewarded In a childish gift.

Marsha Rose Steed ---<--{©

Time's measurement

My grandfather clock has a magic ring
the chiming strikes each hour
If I could be as faithful as he,
Life could not ever be dour.

Marsha Rose ---<--{©
Summer to Autumn

Candid pictures of the night
Sending fancy into flight
Doppler readings of the sky
Whispered mummers of goodbye.

Marsha Rose ---<--{©

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Danced Prayer

Movement happens
I can not stop it.
music begins and my body obeys.
I've often wondered,
if a dance can be a prayer.
A thankful oblation
for this perfectly working body of mine.
Moving others in line and rhythm
in unison or a cacophony
of motion
and stillness
is as great of an offering
as words whispered
at the side of a cold bed.
Hear my thankfulness
watch ballets
move with me in worship
weep as I dance my prayer of praise.
---{--<8 Marsha Rose Steed

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Stage writing

Images flow, as warriors
across the scattered screens
Black and white in opposition
with everything it seems.

Lift a corner of the mind
to see what's hidden there
Let me touch a secret place,
warn others to beware.

Turn about and dance a rhyme,
gaze into a time worn thought.
Stop and rest and sit a spell,
gathering notion where you ought.

Sit in judgement
Stand in stone
Kneel in humility
Lie alone.
Whisper gossip
Shout a praise
Speak derision
Cry hoorayís

When the words no longer wail
and images flatten in empty shell
Gaping holes seeking a fill
screaming ends that never still

Slowly setting down a pen
vowing never lift again
still it cries in tattered brow
Hear me loud, hear me now.

Images pirouetting in the dark
never landing where they start.
Cavorting gaily across the page
laughing while we walk offstage

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose 03/97

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The Theory of Everything

Did you know there was such a thing?
With atoms and quarks
not enough for us
now there are superstrings
and the Unified Theory of Existence.

Movement and energy
is what holds together the world.

Like a fiddler's strings
pulls the orchestra from individualists
to a body of one mind,
one soul
and music is created
in the universe
just like my world
when I sing.

Marsha Steed

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I awaken and I hunger
Ravenous for the day
Breath is taken voraciously
the insatiable passion's play.

Paint on thirsty canvass
Color bleeds into the din
Living moments captured
with oil on animal skin.

Marsha (Chantaclair Rose) Steed ---<--{©


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~Lifeís Battles

The time was here
and I lingered nigh
a moment more
by my Parents side.

"Your battle
my child
will not require spears,
the enemies
you'll find
will walk along as peers."

I looked at him,
my Father wise
a question on
my lips with fear.

"I will walk with enemies?
Tell why this is so?"

"Because my child,
your greatest fight
will be not with others
but your own self-doubts."

Never have words,
like criticism, confusion,
failure, darkness, evil
ridicule, envy or pride
been known to me.

I can't comprehend
the hard reality
of what he says will be there.

Trusting I take his words
and go down to heed
knowing he would not
let me go
without knowing
I could succeed.

Armed with His confidence
I go into battle
with, myself.
---<-{© Marsha Steed ' 99 & Kathy Murray


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(On Coming to Earth)

Why can I still see a face, beneath the holy lid
of a fractured eye, and a last kiss, holding ever nigh.

Why does the touch linger still, and the warmth refuse to go
Is it now or is it a dream, was it all that long ago?

Only words you say? Only a farewell. Look in the eyes
of one so close, and tell me that a heart shouldn't swell.

Tears that have fallen, seen by strangers alone.
Longing that is calling from deep in sinew and bone.

So tell me the reasons, that fantasy is plain
That shadows escape, and truth found in the pain.

Discount emotion, forage through the masks.
Leaving us open, vulnerable at last.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose 01/17/97
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The Purpose

Love Making

Love Making
Essence and Spirit
Body and Soul

Love without loving
Half without whole.

Choosing a path
Difficult to climb
Standing alone
Choosing is mine
Slick sweet promises
Quiet spoken vows
Pledges unnumbered
Showing me how

Touch and be pained
Remain and wilt

ask for fulfillment
Leave without guilt

Tell me no more stories
Sing me no more
Wish me no future
Need me all times

Kiss me quite softly
Speak low and clear

Know without knowing
Flesh pleasures are here.

Succulent scents
and sweet rumpled satin

soft whispered bindings
Night flies like a phantom.

---<--{© Chantaclair Rose Marsha
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Life's Battles

The time was here
and I lingered nigh
a moment more
by my Parents side.

"Your battle
my child
will not require spears,
the enemies
you'll find
will walk alonside you."

I looked at him,
my Father wise
a question on
my lips with fear.

"I will walk
with enemies?
Tell why this is so?"

"Because my child,
your greatest fight
will be not with others
but your own self-doubts."

Never have words,
like criticism, confusion,
failure, darkness, evil
ridicule, envy or pride
been known to me.

I can't comprehend
the hard reality
of what he says.

Trusting I take his words
and go down
knowing he would not
let me go
without knowing
I could succeed.

Armed with His confidance
I go into battle
with, myself.

---<-{@ Marsha Steed ' 99
Part of Kathy's Murray's muse... about coming to earth and having not enemies of others but of ourself to fight and conqure.

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