In The Country

In the Country, by Becki Alfrey ©2018

I like living in the country where big trucks don’t rumble by
At four o’clock in the morning
I like seeing the evening sky where the stars are free to shine
And be themselves
I like seeing the sunrise from my ridge top home so high
Shining its honest light down on me
I like hearing the birds sing
Watch them flit from tree to tree
Listen to them herald in the spring
And remind me of why
I live in the country
I like living next to people who make good friends, who’ll lend a helping hand
When you’ve done all you can
Who’ll sit and share a sip of something cold and share
While laughing at life itself so fair
I like watching my flowers grow until winters fury shows and they hide their heads once more in the shelter of their glory
Life is so sweet, it surely can’t be beat, taking it slow and sweet
In the country. 


The Dream

It was late that night, the bar almost closed,
Last call was soon to be near,
I packed up my baggage to take back home,
When he sat next to me, in the chair

No pick-up lines from this sad looking man,
Worry clearly had a hold on him,
He called for a shot, straight, not on the rocks,
Said to leave the bottle of gin

He offered me a sip of mother’s ruin,
Knocked back a shot or two,
Sighed real hard and wiped tears from his eyes,
My heart nearly broke in two

As much as I hated to, I asked how he was,
Knowing this could be a long night,
He said he’d had a bad dream and when he awoke,
He’d killed his true love with a knife

My first reaction was to bolt for the door,
Shocked, I was to the bone,
I reached for the bottle he’d left in front of me,
And drained it of a little bit more

I wanted to reach out, I wanted to run,
Not sure what I was to do,
I put myself in the place of this man,
And asked him a question or two

Turns out he’d loved her since he was nine,
Gave his heart to her back then,
They became sweethearts and married in time,
She was the one he believed in

He worked every day, from nine to five,
Sometimes a few hours more,
To give her the best that this world could offer,
And all that he could afford

One night last week, he came home late,
Dinner was still warm on the stove,
She wasn’t there, or so he thought,
Until he heard a moan

It seems that his true love wanted more,
Than he could give her each day,
Told him she was leaving and took all that he had,
And went on her merry way

Musing, Poetry

Is that You, God?

You gave me quite the scare, standing there, on the corner with your sign, Will Work For Food
Raggedy pup at your feet, needs a bath, something to eat, but I drove on like I was too good, for you

Man missing a limb, leans on his crutches thin, beard has seen better days
Sign says, Help, God bless you, please
I feel my irritation grow, impatient for him to know, that I don’t like what I see
I turn in fear, can’t let him near, won’t let my conscience win

Is that You, God, hiding in that dog, begging for food?
Is that You, standing there with unwashed hair, seeing if I’m doing what I’m supposed to do?
Is that You, across the way who makes me feel afraid, because I don’t know the answers that You need?

God, is that You?

It’s the young mom that I see, with her kids of three, making ends meet-the only way she knows how
The monthly check is gone, food is no more
Yet I won’t give a dollar for her plight, anger fills my soul, as I’m selfish all the more-
In sharing what I have in life

Little hands reach out, begging for anything
I cross the street to avoid them, don’t want to soil my hands,
Ignore them if I can,
Keep my eyes trained at my feet


©2016, Becki Alfrey


The Mirror

With scorn and malice I pull back the shroud that covers the silver-lined reflection of my soul
I see confusion, blurred lines; marbled realities unfold in this chamber of torture

As a woman, I am taught to judge incessantly, to strive for perfection, to be a number, not myself
To fit in Cinderella’s tiny shoe

I see every pit, curve, dimple, mark, spot, darkness, wrinkle, fear;
I see them all
I strain to re-create this beautiful creation that I cannot see-to somehow morph it to others standards

I lean in and look closer, careful not to lose myself in this dark pool of hatred

I focus. I refuse to see what others see; I look deep into the sad, haunted eyes staring back at me and recognize love.
Hidden, but peeking from beneath hooded lids, finding a crack and shining-straining for all the world to see, to be noticed; to be shared.

Daring- to bare the truth, the beauty, the ugliness, the pain, sorrow and humanity kept in this bottle of confusion.
Out it flows, creating a deformed meme of what should be, inking up my vision, muddying my mind.

I push-push away, I fight, I scream. The agony of being held back so long is released in a mournful wail. I must break free.
Refusing to bend or bow to a cruel, cold world, or break under the strain of another’s load.

Standing tall, in peace, in acceptance and in grace- I live.


© 2014, Becki Alfrey



Layers, pools of mystery and luxuriousness
Softness with hard edges
Deep, dark sadness tinged with the brightest sunshine
Moans and sighs and shouts of hallelujah
Unafraid of the world, pushing through waves of
Disappointments to find the greatest triumphs
Passion that seeps from every cell until the world
Is awash with her presence
Her gentle touch soothes both babes and man
Tenderness and fervor, balanced in kinship, forward and ever moving
I am she and she is I, who are we and who is you.
Our oneness is infinite, invisible strings bind us
Across oceans and sands of time, we are serial and intangible
Unyielding and lenient
Yet your reach for us is eternal, unable to resist the chaos and wonder
That you feel when we are yours, but never yours,
For we are there and gone again, seeking, searching for perpetual happiness
In dreams yet discovered and in faith of things to come.

© 2015 Becki Alfrey