It’s Time, Women

It’s time to resurrect
our confidence,
recapture the sensitivity
of intuitive knowing,
acknowledge the power
of our resiliency;
we are women
merciful companions
healers attending
Divinity’s passage,
peace-seekers
directing life’s journey.

Too long have we equated
self-esteem with
patriarchal agendas,
disappointed with
our inability to meet
media standards,
blamed ourselves
for divorce,
disease,
staying home
to raise the children.

It’s time to honour
our strength, restore
feminine worth,
align our resources,
we are iron grace,
mindful caregivers,
mate with intention,
our vulnerability,
our sensuality,
aspects of intrinsic
wisdom, we are
keepers of the dream
beings steeped
in mystery:
it is time.
(Image artist: Shikha Agnihotri Pandey )

 

 

Is Progress This?

Is this progress,
this decision to uproot,
caste possessions aside,
free ourselves of ties?

Can his dependency,
my dependency, endure
the transition, released
from former justifications?

We are companions
embarking on adventure,
companions retiring past
lies, redefining possibility

or is this more of the same,
artfully camouflaged –
a continuance of flight
from tyrannical origins?

The paths behind are jagged,
wrought with rocks and crevices
and scarred riddles, and yet,
have we not survived, thrived?

The road ahead is expansive
our home an ever-changing
landscape as wide as a continent
our minds eager to absorb…

this is progress,
we are unburdened,
free-spirited, submitting
to new tests of truth.

(Image: www.ebookers.com)

 

A Plea for Awareness

There is anger in dis-ease,
an impotent railing against
the injustice of biological
systems bent on breaking

souls; this relentless drag,
this mournful existence,
it is not pity that we seek,
nor charity that appeases

but answers, pragmatic
protocols, procedures to
dissuade the onslaught
of symptoms, unburden

our suffering – none of us
weak, yet disheartened by
medical abandonment,
many confined in isolation

our embers, seething
beneath bedclothes,
burning behind eyes
that have lost focus

forgive us if we rant,
if our conduct reeks of
self-righteousness, but we
are missing, millions missing

plagued by a condition
long ignored, misconstrued,
dismissed, we are angry
unapologetically maddened

have been blighted by
an illness without definable
diagnosis, pronounced only
by elimination, overlooked

by insurance providers,
disability claims, as if we
have construed an alibi
for opting out of society

if we lash out, speak out
express our discomfort
in uncomely ways, well
then listen, reasoning

guides our hands, our
voices, our rampages –
we are disappointed,
frustrated, unheeded

and very much alive
and individually, and
collectively we wield
our ire as a cry for help.

See us, feel us, find
the resources to seek
for a cure, reinstate
the lives of the missing.

 

 

 

Lost Directions

Partnered once with compassion,
believed in the power of human
touch, dedicated myself to caring,
certain I’d found my body of work

time and circumstance intervened
I drifted, lost in an eddy of confusion
my partner and I separated in the fray
but life moves in circular cycles, and

I revisit that work now, wonder if
parts of it are salvageable, viable –
fragments of that former time now
seem so outdated, irrelevant, what

if I let compassion drive, put ego
in the passenger seat, would she
not steer us down one way streets
against the flow of traffic, rattle

my elusive confidence, jeopardize
this vulnerability; I have no trust
in processes, lack the assurance
of youth’s glory, would not survive

the scramble; time and circumstance
have intervened, circular lines bypass
in spirals; we are not meant to go back,
I need to breathe and stop this grasping.

(Image: scorpyorising.blogspot.com)

 

 

Flawed

Why do I try to please
those whose motivation
is only self-serving, material
gain more important than
intrinsic rewards?

How is that I’ve tied
myself to the downtrodden,
dependent upon the nay-sayers –
those lacking imagination
incapable of celebration

settling for the mundane,
as if choices are limited?
I want to embrace each day,
dignify each moment,
regale the glory

life is miracles
and mystery, passages
and opportunity; and I yearn
to break through the walls
of limitation and rejoice

yet I am subjected
to the whims of others,
passion overridden by
disappointment, convinced
I am never enough.

(Image from pinterest)

 

 

Missing

Have you seen her –
the child we lost,
the one who lost herself?

born to a sister
breasts not yet ripe
for motherhood’s call

a passenger
on a perilous ride,
sweetness eclipsed

by a cacophony
of raised voices
the wails of women

helplessly trapped
a smothering drama;
how easily she escaped

slipped from our clutches
found comfort in the streets
preferred coldness of strangers

to the raging fires at home;
lost her to the lure of parties,
an elixir for the empty places,

found her once amongst
the debris of discarded needles
and the haze of sexual reek

the golden halo of youth
now matted clumps of shame
her beauty sunken in shadows

we’d taught her well, it seems –
the art of submission, how to
betray the self, embrace defeat

tried to pick her up, create
a milieu of normalcy, establish
homelike roots, but shams

do not last and she ran again
the echo of her absence a hole
ringing in our hearts, we are

guilt-ridden, apologetic, fear
the power of our inadequacy;
try to forget, justify, cringe

for the child we lost,
the one that got away,
the one that lost herself.

(Image: alwayslonliness.blogspot.com)

Could It Be?

Walking away is the only solution
I’ve ever excelled at, and yet
absence does not obliterate that
which dwells within – I can pretend
that I have nothing further to offer,
but life and circumstance require
more of me, a challenge to exhume
the remains of my potential – will
I be up to the task?  There is flattery
in being looked up to, the feeling
that someone needs me, but is that
not akin to temptation – an ego play –
could it be that the knowledge I’ve
acquired has merit only when shared;
that we are all here to do our piece;
that by releasing what I’ve learned
I will find flow, feel in sync with life
again, restore my abilities and reignite
a passion for teaching?  Dare I hope.

(Image: http://www.thebalance.com)

 

Dear Legs

May have been remiss
in expressing appreciation
how you carried me
all these years – stride
confident, pace swift,
head turning grace –

we wobble now, you and I,
uncertainty in our strength
stilted soldiers forging against
a tide of contrary currents
tentative, yet determined

visions of better days amuse
memories of nights spent dancing
getting down with disco, and
days spent swimming laps
prepping for provincial meets

we were champions, you and I
beauties taking on the world
by leaps, participants in a race
against an indefinable foe
believers in a destiny that
was not defined by limitations

I may have been remiss
in expressing my appreciation
hope you now know that
each step to me is precious,
that every time you hold me
upright my gratitude is sincere

there is world yet to discover
and time at hand, and you and I,
dreams intact, still burn with a passion,
hear the beating of an inner drum
rhythms calling us to dance –
should life give us another chance.

(Image:  bareuk.co.uk)

 

No Words

In light of the recent tragedies in the world…

One Woman's Quest

I have no words
that will change your plight.

I cannot undo the past
nor change the course of your life.

I am powerless to rescue,
fix, or uplift you in your time of need.

Please know that I see you,
know that in my heart I weep.

Know that while I empathize
I can never fully understand your pain.

There is no judgment here,
only heartfelt compassion.

When I reach out a hand to you,
wordlessly, it is out of respect.

I believe in you.
I believe in your strength and your courage.

In my silence, know that I bear witness
to the potential that lies within and before you.

I believe in the power of your own love to overcome.
There are no words to define what is possible in life.

(Image: imgarcade.com)

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Preposterous Business of Balance

I have tried to be pragmatic,
to adopt a religious perspective,
even found potential in support,
driven myself to make peace
be a model for my family,
a yet, no amount of contriving
can help me get over
the incest thing.

Dirty secrets
define our family
support ugly cliques
fearful of helpful outsiders
questioning probability
of untainted providers
dubious of alliances –
a sense of humour,
our only strategy –
we united psychologically
divorced ourselves from evils
projected into outer circles
confined to chaos

If I married my paranoia
to a more thoughtful version
of self, would that create
a calming union?
could it be that we are born
with checks and balances,
and is it even legit
to presuppose that balance
is achievable, and what about
partners – don’t they bring
their own amount of excitable
energy to the mix, and
how then is equilibrium
supported?

(Image: smashinghub.com)