The Dance by Garth Brooks – Saturday Song

The Dance by Garth Brooks

I’m always very proud and a bit embarrassed whenever someone comments that one of my poems reminds them of a song. Proud because it feels like I’ve made it. Embarrassed because it feels like I’m not worthy of such comparisons. I’m working hard to do something about that last part.

That being said, my inspiration for this weekend’s song comes from Dwight at Roth poetry, who commented that my poem “When opportunity comes to call” made him think of “The Dance” by Garth Brooks

Listening to it, my pride and embarrassment got replaced by amazement. It is such a beautiful song. And here I want to use a Swedish word without a direct English translation. Finstämd which means sweet, touching, moving the heart and soul. (Finely attuned, finely-tuned, delicate and sensitive according to my dictionary.)

I teared up as I sat listening. Touched by the song and by being able to write something that reminded Dwight of it. 

I relate very much to the refrain. Yes, sometimes foreknowledge would have made it possible to avoid heartache and pain, but inevitably it would have meant missing moments that will forever shine like stars in our memory. And I for one prefer having the memories, having lived and loved. 

Listen and enjoy!

Click here to read about and listen to other Saturday Songs.

The Dance – Lyrics

Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared ‘neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you’d ever say goodbye

And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance

Holding you, I held everything
For a moment wasn’t I the king
If I’d only known how the king would fall
Hey, who’s to say, you know I might have changed it all

And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance

If our lives are better left to chance
Oh, our lives are better left to chance
Oh, our lives are better left to chance

I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance

Källa: Musixmatch

The Dance by Garth Brooks

A Thousand Paper Cranes – April Ekphrastic Challenge

Wishes by Kerfe Roig

If I fold a thousand paper cranes
will my heart be whole again
will I feel the flutter of hopes in my veins

If I fold a thousand paper cranes
will my soul it’s shine regain
will I dare to dream again

If I fold a thousand paper cranes
will my mind cease it’s tear-rain
will I have sun bright wishes again

If I feel hopes flutter again
can I break the trauma chains
that forever all energy drain

If I dare to dream again
can I imagine life without pain
or am I forever stained

If my mind grows light again
can I escape depressions dark bane
stop wondering if I’m sane

If I fold a thousand paper cranes
will I feel free of forced constraints
can I new life purpose gain

If I fold a thousand paper cranes
will it be all in vain
or will I new meaning attain

If I fold a thousand paper cranes
will I understand truths arcane
will I have wishes, dreams and hopes again


When I was in middle school we read Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes after which the class folded a thousand paper cranes (orizuru) that were shipped to Japan to be hung on the Children’s Peace Monument. As a good girl with nimble fingers I folded a whole lot of them, and I remember my wishes as I did so. That there would be peace and no nuclear weapons. But also intensely personal wishes, that I wouldn’t be bullied anymore, that my mother would acknowledge and kick her pill habit. None of the wishes, big or small came true.

I didn’t have any good folding paper, but I had to try. And wow, talk about muscle memory, I didn’t have to look at the instructions more than once before my hands knew what to do by themselves.


I also clearly remember, somewhere around the same time, finding (at the local library) and reading a comic book version of the bombs falling. I will never forget the graphic illustrations of burns and severe radiation damage. Wondering if it could still be found, I googled. And I found it in one search. And yes, I did remember the gruesomeness of the illustrations correctly.

In English it’s titled Barefoot Gen. When I found the picture of the Swedish cover (only the first book in the series got translated) my mind went; Yep, that’s the one! Apparently it’s the first Manga to be translated and released in Sweden.

To see all art and read all poems for today go to The Wombwell Rainbow.

Also shared on Open Link Night- LIVE #292 at dVerse.

“Gen, pojken från Hiroshima” (1985)
cover art by Keiji Nakazawa©Nakazawa/ Projekt Gen/ Bulls presstjänst.

Kerfe Roig

A resident of New York City, Kerfe Roig enjoys transforming words and images into something new.  Her poetry and art have been featured online by Right Hand PointingSilver Birch PressYellow Chair ReviewThe song is…Pure HaikuVisual VerseThe Light EkphrasticScribe BaseThe Zen Space, and The Wild Word, and published in Ella@100Incandescent MindPea River JournalFiction International: Fool, Noctua Review, The Raw Art Review, and several Nature Inspired anthologies. Follow her explorations on her blogs,  (which she does with her friend Nina), and, and see more of her work on her website

April Ekphrastic Challenge – GloPoWriMo 2021

Scarborough Fair/Canticle by Simon & Garfunkel – Saturday Song

Scarborough Fair/Canticle by Simon & Garfunkel

Again I forgot about my Saturday Song, maybe I should rename it weekend songs, or try to write and schedule them in advance…?

Anyhow. This week I had Scarborough Fair on my mind. Because one of the art pieces for the 13th in April Ekphrastic Challenge (GloPoWriMo for me this year) was a painting of Scarborough Harbour

I have loved this song since I was little. And I got delighted when I found a webpage who details the history of this folk song. Or more correctly the song family, dating back 300 years, that it belongs to.

So I’ll end the week and say good night with this song.


Scarborough Harbour by John Law
Scarborough Fair/Canticle by Simon & Garfunkel

Cat Searching High and Low


I opened the chest with spare linens today
In it was the old blanket Puck the cat loved
I must not have washed it after he passed away
Because directly came Pika to sniff and purr
As if drawn by years old scent
Her body language telling me she wouldn’t be deterred

Later she searched all over the house and yard
As if wondering where he were
Demanding entry to places she’s normally barred
I let her into both closet and storage shed
Letting her do her futile search
Knowing the longing singing in her head

It’s like when I come upon traces of my father
A photo, his name in a book
His old faded shirt I still have in a drawer
And my heart instantly fills with that old sorrow
Prompting me to search to make sense of the loss
Knowing whatever I do, he won’t be there tomorrow

Now Pika and I sit gazing through the window
I scratch her ear, she settles on my lap as the sun fades
We both know however much the wind blows
Our longing for a lost one will still be there tomorrow
Ready to awaken at a sight or whiff
Piercing our hearts anew like an arrow


I read the Poetics: The Print the Whales Make prompt at dVerse. And knew directly about what I would write. Even so the sorrow still hurts. But it also feels good to share it, something I was never allowed to do as a child. I first wrote “strangely feels good”, until I realized grief is something that’s supposed to be alleviated by sharing. 

So instead, let me say how intensely grateful I am to finally found a way to share it, and people who don’t shy away because I do.

Puck lying in the book I’m reading.

Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My HeadLåt by B.J. Thomas – Saturday Song

Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My HeadLåt by B.J. Thomas

This week’s Saturday Song is an oldie but goodie, from 1969. That for some reason only the earworm knows started to play in my head as I took an evening walk.


Raindrops keep falling on my head

But that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turning red

Crying’s not for me

‘Cause I’m never gonna stop the rain by complaining

Because I’m free

Nothing’s worrying me

It won’t be long till happiness steps up to greet me

From Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My HeadLåt by B.J. Thomas
Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric on

Dark Stairwell – A Haibun

Photo by Francesco Ungaro from Pexels

A dark stairwell. My cat meowing and howling in his box. The grownups swearing over the scratches they got when forcing him in. My mothers volatile mood. Grief flashing to rage, flashing to confused numbness flashing back to grief.

My aunts and uncles have strange whispering voices. Walking on eggshells. Afraid to do or say anything that reminds us. Like it’s possible to forget.
Like it’s possible to step out of the endless loop of grief and confusion.

I did not understand. How could daddy just be gone forever? And who is that stranger looking out of my mother’s eyes?

Like a plucked flower
A rootless child drifts astray
Unseen and unloved


Written for Walk with me down Memory Lane… today’s Haibun prompt over at dVerse.

I’m one of those that might have opted out of this one, knowing the punch in some of my memories. Also knowing I do not have them all. Nearly everything before my fathers death, two months before my sixth birthday. And two months before my younger siblings birth. Are built up by photo albums and my mother’s stories. And those stories tended to shift over the years. Even today, if one of her children mentions a story she told us over, and over, and over again – only to be met with a blank stare and a totally new story.

Both of us have long ago lost the sense that we will ever know the truth. We have our own memories, as far back as they go. Beyond that we will never know.

And I, again, ended up with fragments so small I don’t know what the memory is about. And this memory, of the dark stairwell, in the house we’re moving out of just weeks after my father passed away.

I have no pictures of that time. But I do have this from what seems a happier time then I can remember.

Photo by Ravi Kant from Pexels

Memories of Labor – 25 December

Photo by Tobias Bjørkli from Pexels

Night before Christmas
Memories of labor rise
Giving birth on stable straw
Beneath clear starry skies

Guarded by Mars and Orion
Attended by the Moon
Hidden by a veil of mist
Grass sparkling with frost strewn

The mother struggle, the baby scream
Dawn, bright sunlight on ice
Tears and joy intertwine
Pain and blood, children’s birth price

Milk flows, the starchild grows
Beneath flurries of snow
Warm in the embrace of Love
A new Mother’s heart aglow


A Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Happy solstice season!
Happy whatever suits you this season!

I just want you all to be happy, healthy, safe and loved!

Photo by Frank Cone from Pexels

1 December – Advent Calendar 2020
Waiting a Long December Night – 2 December 2020
Glow – 3 December (2019 Re-Post)
Birth Echoes Through Time – 4 December
Golden Dawn Of A New Year – 5 December
Night Walks – 6 December (2019 Re-post)
Spirit of the season – 7 December (2019 Re-post)
Searching For A Way – 8 December
Surrender Sky-clad to the Moon – 9 December
Tomten Wonders – A Golden Shovel Poem Inspired by Viktor Rydberg, 10 December
Midwinter Love – A Landay Poem, 11 December (2019 Re-post)
Cold Moon – 12 December (2019 Re-post)
Saint Lucia – 13 December (2019 Re-post)
Inglenook Dreams – 14 December
Dark moon of the crone – 15 December (2019 Re-post)
Gothic Christmas Carol – 16 December
Love Me, Accept Me, Hold Me – Affirmation poem, 17 December
Mnemosyne visits – 18 December (2019 Re-post)
Yule Angst – A Villanelle Song by Kmt47 feat RedCat, 19 December
Girl Blue – A Love Song, 20 December
Solstice prayer – 21 December (2019 Re-post)
Longing by the Moon – 22 December
Moon Madness – A Acrostic Poem, 23 December
Gift Rhymes – 24 December (2019 Re-post)

Mnemosyne visits – 18 December (2019 Re-post)

Remembering the passion we shared so boundless.
How the kiss of your lips left me breathless.
The way you read every need, wordless.
Orgasms that left me floating, weightless.
Encounters that made me emboldened, fearless.
Memory is eternal, ageless.

Recalling this fantasy was real,
fulfilling many a need.
Restores in my heart,
though the truth can be tart.
Faith that even a lonely heart, homeless,
will one day fine love, hopefulness.


18th December 2020
Re-post note

Right now I’m working on a poem set to music, I had hoped it would be done tonight,
but apparently not so. So instead I’ll treat you to this re-post from last year.

Written for the dVerse ~ Tuesday Poetics: Less is More, more or less.
” The suffix ‘less’ has both negative and positive connotations and even neutral ones. The challenge is to choose one or more from the list of words BELOW and include it/them in the body and/or title of your poem. If possible, add a soupçon of hopefulness for Hope is the message in this first advent week!”

ageless ~ boundless ~ breathless ~ careless ~ cloudless ~ colourless ~ faceless ~ fearless ~ feckless ~ flawless ~ formless ~ harmless ~ heedless ~ helpless ~ homeless ~ listless ~ needless ~ restless ~ rootless ~ senseless ~ tasteless ~ weightless ~ windowless ~ wordless

Since I was all serious about advent yesterday, I decided to have some fun with this one. Which apparently meant my naughty side came out… ;-)

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