The Car Crash

That time, playing in the muck,
foot emerging without a boot,
hopping and laughing
all the way home…

Then, later, on the bus
the impact of the car
the windshield cracking
like a giant spider
blood all over
the dead lady’s face

All in the past –
sunroof open
kids riding along,
music blaring

But trauma is a spider
Arachne reaching into happy places
and as much as I speed up
to avoid her,
fight to disable
her attack;
she weaves herself new limbs,
begins the onslaught anew

And I am stuck in the mud again
no longer limber enough
to dance my way home in the rain.

(The Car Crash first appeared here in March of 2020. Edited for this version. Image my own.)

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Empty Surges

Measured in spoonfuls
progress imperceptible

Still feel the angst of
no-time-to-breathe lifestyle

pressured from within
to get-it-done

spend unavailable resources
ruminating solutions

push against the walls
with little to show

surrender to impotency
and wait for the next surge.

Snapdragons

Snapdragons transport me
back to Father’s gardens –
the pleasure of pinching
delicate floral lips

Forbidden, was I
tiny feet banished from
tiers of ordered colours –
how he worshipped those rows

Hours spent on knees,
as if in prayer… attention
lavished on nurturing growth
while I shrivelled on sidelines

Longed to dig beside him,
sully my hands and share
his passion, ignorant of
an inner drive to weed

Felt only walls of separation
the coldness of perfection,
so in my wilful way,
I rebelled against taboos

On tiptoe, stepped between
the bobbing arrangements
marred the well-tended soil
and pinched the snapdragons.

(Snapdragons first appeared here in March, 2018. Edited for this edition. Art my own)

Who Will Stop The Onslaught?

A nine-year-old skips
along the centre line
of an abandoned street
imagination empowered
by sunshine blue skies

Till the low rumble
of aircraft startles her
and she runs for cover
praying to an absent God
to take her now, young
heart too bruised to carry on.

A fifteen-year-old huddles
in a dank underground corner
already violated by a war
she did not ask for,
shamed by her body’s betrayal
praying for a death more forgiving

A mother holds her baby close
tremors such an indelible part of life now
grasps for a God she once believed in
sees the vacancy in adolescent eyes
the joylessness of her weeping child
prays for a way out of this hell.



Fences

Look at us building fences
pretending we have differences

Do we not hunger the same
hunt in the same places?

Do we not strive with equal intent
build our nests with the same ferocity?

Forgo passion for survival?
Let us stop pretending

Let down these walls
admit to our vulnerabilities

align our purposes, and
fight a more fearsome foe.

(Fences first appeared here in March, 2018. Image my own)

Responsibility vs Love

Like Atlas, I bear
the world’s weight
call it responsibility –
a painful delusion
requiring walls

Life has its own rhythm –
light and dark,
joyous and sorrowful –
orchestration outside
of my domain

Love, however,
is limitless
in its capacity –
open-hearted acceptance
protection in itself.

Trading one focus
for another
permits appreciation –
I vow to assert love
and forgo control.

Grateful Pause (Paws)

I’ve been a grumpy lion
lashing out in pain –
punctured shell smarting
by an objectionable barb.

I am a prideful feline,
with a formidable roar –
an offensive defence
intended to intimidate.

Even so, you ventured near
and in a single act of good,
disarmed my furious outrage,
calmed this bellowing beast.

Like a mouse, you quietly –
with understated grace –
gestured with such kindness,
I withdrew all complaint.

You restored my faith in beauty,
revived a nostalgic sense of bliss,
offered possibilities: sweet and
unexpected; soothed my soul

An not, I have noted, without
self-sacrifice on your part –
I am not so egocentric
to have missed the cross you bear.

Your gentle demeanour prevailing
over my abhorrent rant,
is a worth a million thank you’s
to a wounded-heart cat, like me.

(Image my own. This poem first appeared here February, 2015)