By Debbie Richard


Exuding brilliance, you step into a room
as an actor steps onto a stage,
heads turn, instantly drawn to your smile,
the tilt of your head, the graceful
way you carry yourself –
an illumination of something deeper,
a mirror into your soul, the evidence
of the abode of something divine.

To My Mother
I went to the sea
And the waves, sensing your presence,
Hurled against me.
I floated in the current
And reached for your hand
As I’d done so many times before.
I caught your gentle fingertips,
No – it was only a small piece of debris,
Soft, brown with short tentacles,
Churned up by the changing tide.
I looked skyward,
Felt the warmth on my face,
And knew you were there, somewhere.
I walked along the shore,
And picked up a shell, holding it to my ear,
To hear its message.
Instead of the ocean’s roar,
I heard your whisper, I miss you too.
But, perhaps it was just the wind…

Day at the Beach

Multicolored chute soaring o’er the waves,
Wind directed, yet anchored.
Children frolic along the shore
With sand buckets and shovels,
Knightly castles under construction.

The wind shifts, and we nearly kiss the crest,
A sudden stir, and we’re drawn up again,
Free as a waterfowl –
All cares and worries lost,
In the froth, beneath our parasail.

About the Author:

debbie richard

Debbie Richard is listed in the Directory of Poets & Writers as both a poet and creative nonfiction writer. Her poems have appeared in Halcyon, Torrid Literature Journal, WestWard Quarterly and others. “Resiliency,” a chapbook of poetry, was published in 2012 by Finishing Line Press. “Hills of Home,” a memoir about growing up in Appalachia, in the hills of West Virginia, was released in 2014 by eLectio Publishing. Visit her website at