Roanne Legg’s latest book, “Beautifully Torn” is available on amazon.

Beautifully Torn

is a raw and poignant

collection of poems

for anyone who has

experienced struggle,

sacrifice, and pure joy

through the love and care

of another human being.

It is about that deep

connection between a

mother and daughter,

yet these words are not

solely for mothers.

copyright Roanne Legg 2018

Roanne Legg lives a dual life, torn between thought and action, and the one constant has been poetry. She draws from her experiences as a world traveler, singer/songwriter, performance poet, professional chef, cooking instructor, mother, and extensive study and work in alternative health,

to express the joy and frustration of . . . life.

Her work appears in many literary journals and anthologies.

Beautifully Torn

Folding into waves and onto

sand, fog cushions the town,

words circle round, smooth edges down into rumpled masses of old ruin. Indifference leaves you drawn.

Crows caw, scratch, and poke. They penetrate cold dark stabs that ache; life is sad and glorified, even more redundant.

Tired, concerned, possibly hopeful, imposing scorn,

you piece and place shards – beautifully torn – of this love, this indecent saturation where you overstep and

Escher-connect devils and flowers that oppose synchronistic events. Ah life, tragically moves. Tears blot and dangle like moths.

Freedom succumbs your soul in loud, raucous patterns, edgy, bold, even bored then

wrings it out, and ragged, you are torn, beautifully torn, left to clean, to take up the moment where discernment is entrenched and the upheaval is etched – tithed given – your abandoned cheeks are wet, wild and steadfast. Oh woman, stand up amidst the broken signs and loveless misgivings. Raise your bloody shield whose jagged end pierces the unfair and costly ones.

Lost, you say, a portal you see, but shadowed, it slips, tossed like a dream, or a mistake.

Darkness embodies art. Transforms unrest into night, and form opens, out of hand, a thorn persistent, like sand before glass, you cannot hold light descending.

Copyright Roanne Legg 2018