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Roslyn Williams Poem
This walk
is my only escape.
My feet—
the concrete—
a closeness so sweet.
Soon the bell will ring,
and the ridicule will begin.
But for now—
the concrete and me,
the rhythm,
my thoughts.
A sweet escape,
wrapped up in a steady pace.
Where will I hide today,
my grey friend,
when away from your steady strength?
The library?
The canteen?
The willow tree?
Oh, pavement,
I ponder and long—
let me melt into you.
Another day
will surely break me.
But if I somehow
make it back to you
as the leaves fall in the afternoon,
it will be you and me once again—
and a steady beat
of heart and feet.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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Roslyn Williams Poem
"Unfit mother."
"You have too many kids."
"Just grow up and be a mum."
"I wouldn't want you
to be my mum."
"How can I expect you
to love me?
You can't even love
your own daughter."
Identity.
Identity.
Identity.
"So you're the one
being irresponsible—
not using contraception."
"You don't deserve
to be a mother."
"Mum, Dad—
I'm pregnant."
"You're joking."
"Mum—
I'm so happy."
"I've always wanted
seven children."
"Well, now you have
to raise them."
You tried
to break me down
with your words—
dismantle me,
fit me into
a neat little package
so I would be
easier to understand.
So I would be
more like you.
More quiet.
More sensible.
More acceptable.
More…
But you never stopped
to ask me why.
Why did I want
to be a mother
so badly?
Why was it
my dream?
Why did having seven
make me so happy?
You never took
the time
to sit with me
and ask
why.
Instead
you looked
and criticised.
And my identity
fell to pieces.
From
Mother:
Kind.
Sweet.
Gentle.
Patient.
To
Overwhelmed.
Hurt.
Frustrated.
Angry.
Broken.
Identity shattered.
So…
You win.
I have no strength left.
No confidence left.
I'm no good at this.
I failed.
You were right.
I should never have
been a mum.
Identity.
Identity.
Identity.
I'll go away now
like you asked.
But please be careful
what you say
to the next mum.
She just wants
one thing:
to raise her children
in love and peace.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2026
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Roslyn Williams Poem
Each one of us
is taken up to the devil’s hill,
where he lays a smorgasbord before us.
“What would you like,
my son,
my daughter?
Money?
Fame?
Power?
Control?
Sex?”
You start to walk away—
but fall
on your very next step.
“What’s the matter, my child?
No angels here to save you?”
He smiles.
“Come now—choose.
It’s easier this way.
No mountain to climb,
no blisters,
no scraped knees.
Just fun.
Excitement.
No rules.
Everything you’ve ever longed for.”
And if you’re not careful,
he’ll trap you—
wrap his offer in charm
and pleasure
until you spend a lifetime
untangling his grip.
So when the call comes
to climb the mountain,
ask:
Whose voice is this?
Whose plan is this path?
God does have a roadmap—
but He only reveals it
one step at a time.
He never promises
riches, fame, or ease—
but He does promise
love,
joy,
peace—
if not immediately,
then just beyond
the next door.
So take His hand.
Walk down the mountain.
He will steady your footing.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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Roslyn Williams Poem
That night you left,
the rain came with a pelt—
an abyss in my heart,
a curse you placed from the start.
Hurt words, hurt heart, hurt soul—
an emotional toll
I buried deep
in hope our marriage to keep.
And with courage sparked,
I kicked you out in the dark
on a night wild with anger,
for the two of you to tangle.
And yet as soon as I did,
my heart bid
a return—
Has the lesson been learned?
The pelting turned to a cyclone warning,
heaven and earth aligning.
The whole world erupts to send me a message:
going back was not the right passage?
I woke in the morning to a daughter exclaiming,
“The cyclone was pushed back—
no longer on track.”
To a reframing of my life...
Until next time.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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Roslyn Williams Poem
I am not who I was,
but not yet who I will be.
I am clay that breathes,
still soft in His hands.
Moulded, patted, pressed—
a dance,
not forced,
but gently guided.
Shaping my steps forward,
sweeping the ones left behind,
holding me upright
in the moment that is now.
I am not who I was,
but not yet who I will be.
I am still becoming—
everything You see me as,
and everything I want to be.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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Roslyn Williams Poem
I say sad;
you say hug.
Not fix,
not question,
not compare.
Just arms.
Just presence.
Just you.
I say tired;
you don’t list your own exhaustion.
You breathe,
you nod,
you touch my shoulder and stay.
I say angry,
and you don’t brace or blame—
you lean in
and ask
what matters most to me underneath it all.
This is love, now.
Not a war of who's right,
but a peace that says,
we're on the same side.
Not silent treatments and scorecards,
but needs spoken,
feelings named,
compassion offered like morning light.
We no longer fight to be heard.
We listen to understand.
We speak not to wound,
but to reveal.
And then,
in the quiet, after a long day,
you whisper,
“What do you need right now?”
And I say,
“Just a hug.”
And you say,
“Always.”
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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Roslyn Williams Poem
Her breath caught the moment her feet hit the driveway.
The door snapped shut behind her.
The bite of winter gnawed at her neck.
Skeleton trees hung in the dusk sky,
stripped completely raw—
not a leaf left to cover their delicate frames.
Down the long driveway,
he leaned against his orange-and-white streaked motorbike,
ridden together on countless summer nights—
air, speed, and warmth knitting them together
like sea sewn to sand.
The sound of her steps,
as she padded the pavement,
lifted his head.
His blue-crystal eyes met her winter-grey
and pierced her heart like shards of ice.
Shore-gold hair framed his face.
His gaze held hers—
like that night they first met,
when he glued her back to the girl she'd been,
in those tender summer years.
His laughter had been as luscious as the sun kissing the shore,
calling her nautilus heart from its shell
to run free and dance on the bank
in the safety of his love.
But frost had come creeping up her back,
and the black of night smothered the light,
whispering in her ear—
“You’re not worthy.”
Summer slowly frosted over.
The brittle voices froze her solid.
Mistakes were made—
her soul too broken for a love that glowed like the sun,
that tried to halo her unhaloable heart.
So he came to her on this cold, silent night,
to deliver a message on a silver dish,
cracked with broken dreams.
As they stood facing each other,
a slice of frost-crisp concrete jutted between them.
“This isn’t working anymore.”
His voice cracked through the air like an avalanche.
“We can’t be together,”
he nailed his words to the sky.
And the sun blacked out.
He left soon after,
the smoke of his bike cutting through the night.
She watched until the taillight vanished into the dark,
until the wind swallowed him whole,
and the night closed over the road.
Frost gathered beneath her feet.
The skeleton trees stared down—
“You belong to us,” they whispered.
She wrapped her coat around her shivering body,
but the cold crept through the cotton,
and winter curled around her bones.
She stood alone beneath the naked branches,
and knew—
in her broken frosted heart—
that she had been the one,
not him,
who let the winter in.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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Roslyn Williams Poem
We’re planting an orchard of trees,
with shade we may never sit beneath,
yet the fruit of our hands will bless future lands,
with a harvest that grows underneath.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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Roslyn Williams Poem
The glowing day of green and gold
sliced through my windowpane,
drawing me out of my nest
and into its warmth.
The kids are asleep.
The husband is home.
It’s a morning all for me and God.
I walk the path—
the breeze massages my face,
the earth cradles my feet,
and the birds’ calls
steady my soul.
I hear You say my name.
I see Your love for me
written in the quiet slate of sky.
I send a letter back:
I love You too,
My Holy One.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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Roslyn Williams Poem
True Inspiration is the breath of God—
adorning dust.
Copyright © Roslyn Williams | Year Posted 2025
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