Ruth Mattison


The eyes look, eye out
Nothing is visible, present
Can’t breathe
That’s bought a dead end street

I look
My breath earth blue
A wave of being
My death a moment
That’s not only collapse
But time and You.

God looks
at my soul
We touch and speak
That’s the garden where She is

Ruth Mattison 2009

Ruth Mattison

Woman’s Work  (A sonnet)

A woman will lift her head
to soothe and sort out all around
But, she forgets to look within
because her work is never done.
Inside she’s far too messy
to begin the task at hand
Those inward parts of her
that have nowhere to land
never rise above her muted heart
and so do not expand
Echoes of emptiness are never heard
for busyness is her command
Standing on the edge of Life
all jobs are done except her Self

Ruth Mattison


The cute little baby sat in his chair
and porridged his breakfast everywhere
He squished it and squashed it
till it dripped and it dropped
Then he porridged it more
and mixed it with snot
If that doesn’t sicken you
listen to this…
He took his empty breakfast dish
held it out and asked for more
then he began to porridge the floor
The cat came along to watch in disdain
but soon found herself playing this game
She porridged the mess on the floor with her paw
then the dog came along and porridged some more
Soon it was porridged everywhere
All over the baby, all over the chair
All over the cat and all over the dog
All over the floor and even the wall
You might want to ask what happened next
when Mom came in and saw the mess
She got out the broom to clean up the room
but everything slid and sloshed and
Mom found herself porridged all over too
She’d porridged herself from head to shoe
So what did they do, this porridgy bunch?
They went for a bath and stayed there for lunch!

Ruth Mattison

Mountain Memories

I am the peak hidden in the swirling mists
I am the craggy summit on a windy day

The Traveller
I was born upon a mountain top
My feet were nimble
my heart was free
From the summit of my rocky garden
I became curious to see
the unknown places all around

I descended from my mountain world
and followed the tumbling stream
‘til it became a river
that ran through vales and plains
When I met the tumultuous ocean
my Spirit called to me
‘Sail across these mighty waves
to meet your destiny.’

I am dark caves full of old bones from bygone worlds
I am crumbling ledges beckoning desperate fingers seeking lift

The Warrior
I was born in turbulence
The time was dark and drear
Storm clouds gathered overhead
Children cried aloud in fear
My parents kept the windows closed
and played their music loudly
but all the crashing cymbals
could not drown  the weeping
Children’s cries seeped through the cracks
and pierced my ear like an arrow in my heart

As I grew up tales of derring-do
led me to believe that
I could make a difference to
all the children in the world
So I donned my magic cape
and set off to defend
those weeping ones
who had no one
to lend a helping hand.

I am mountain streams bubbling up from source
I am mountain embraced passionately by sky

The Grandmother
It was never my intention
to start a dynasty
I thought that I would travel
and be forever free.

But along the way the children came
and shaped my hips and breasts
to hold and hug and cuddle
for better and for worse

Motherhood has taken me
and made me strong and wise
Now that I’m a grandmother
nothing can disguise
the wisdom and the wrinkles
that came with babies’ cries

I still feel like a girl inside
fresh faced and full of fun
My Spirit soars and giggles
and keeps me on the run!

I am mountain timeless and full of wonder for all that I Am.

Ruth Mattison

A Memory Healed

A dwarf stands at the entrance to the circus tent collecting tickets. His large hands sweat as he holds the greasy stubs.  He is glad that it is nighttime.  During the day the sunlight hurts his eyes and balloons cause an unexplained anxiety.  Now the fairground is beautiful – the darkness hides the grime and the faded elegance.  The fairy lights give everything an air of magic and mystery.

He watches the crowd pass by.  It is noisy and pressing but the odd person catches his eye.  He sees a beautiful young blonde woman, weeping.  His heart contracts in sympathy.  He understands sorrow and wonders what could have upset her.  Part of him considers abandoning his post at the entrance of the tent to follow her.  He feels uneasy – something is not right.  His long experience of watching life from the sidelines has given him a sixth sense when something is wrong.  He vacillates because he knows that he is old and deformed.  She would probably run away from him and call for help. He bites his lip indecisively.

Suddenly the lights go out. The unaccustomed darkness leaves him blinded and he hears the screams of frightened people.  He knows instantly what to do.  There is a generator behind the tent.  Once turned on it will provide some light to the surrounding area.  He slips away from the doorway and edges his way around the tent, stepping carefully over the guy ropes.  His foot stumbles over something soft and unresisting.  He reaches down and feels clammy skin and a slender body.  To his distress he realizes that it is a young child.  As he bends over, searching the darkness for clues the lights suddenly come back on.

He sees the gash in the child’s head and reaches into his back pocket to retrieve the lucky charm he always carries with him.  He wipes the blood from her cheek with a red striped baby grow. It is the only momento he has that proves he too once had a child.  He remembers the horror of losing her and the greater horror of finding her lifeless form still clutching a balloon in her tiny hand. He puts aside his memories and focuses on helping the living.  Gently he lifts the girl from the ground.  She opens her eyes and looks at him with confusion.

She shows no fear only acceptance that he is there to help. He smiles at her and carries her to the first aid caravan around the corner.  A paramedic looks at her with concern and leans forward to take her.  As the dwarf turns away to retreat back into anonymity of the fairground night the beautiful young woman he had noticed earlier runs down the caravan steps and grabbing hold of the child, sobs with relief.  The child, back in her mother’s arms, also starts to cry.

As the dwarf explains what happened the young woman holds him in a three way embrace and kisses his furrowed cheek with gratitude.

“Thanks – you found my child.  I’ll never forget you”.
– April 2009

Ruth Mattison

A Luc Bat to Wind

Come in, my soul breathes
Your living song is creating a
poem of praise to life
I wait for you to end – to break
but still you come.  Your sound
slips sideways through cracks invisible
Your cool breeze lifts me up
I am atom whirling in space
not separate but a
star ready to explode with joy
I am the wind of change
The gift of air blows through me now.