Fear, like a tarantula,
descends on me, lands
on my sense of responsibility
I am unhinged, panicked
think only of casting it off
repulsed by its ugliness
its unbearable horror
its unnatural weight
and then I remember
that terror can be illusory
and tarantulas are fragile too
and I control my impulse
recognize that it is threat
that activates attack,
relax into the situation and
let the intrusion crawl away.
Be done short patience,
chores! I need libation
(preferably organic) –
not that I’m dependent
I’m just a bit anxious,
could use a boost of fun,
imbibing makes me less
mechanical, loosens edges
none of that hard stuff,
a little nip will do, keep
the dream alive – feeling
a little lame here, seems
my supply, having waned,
needs replenishing, and since
I’m semi-aware with spirit,
and my driver has left me
I’m making social calls –
won’t be repeating any
dangerous family patterns –
this outage’s unscheduled
seems no one is home –
surely, I am capable, I mean
this need is understandable,
allowances can be made, right?
Maybe if I just go quietly,
without causing a scene –
I really need a shot of patience
just to get through this day.
(Image: www.boldrugs.com)
At what point does insecurity subside,
shift into confidence, or are we destined
to infinite life lessons, half-hearted attempts
at moving on, convinced that the past holds
the answers, not willing to admit there is no
going back, and what does that even mean?
We elevate the educated to positions of power,
never questioning the depth of their experience,
nor whether wisdom gained is part of the equation;
what qualifications should someone have to critique
our capabilities, and why let the expectation of other
carve our performances, dictate circumstances that
may or may not couple with our aspirations?
We are creators in our own right: our ideas,
our dreams, all valid testament to our right to be;
we need to speak up when conditions don’t meet
our needs, when obligations exploit or humiliate,
take ourselves seriously, overlook insecurity and
step into the righteousness of our personal path.
(Image: tinybuddha.com)
This is pen is far too vociferous,
illuminates the disabled rage,
dismissing my concerns, as if
outgoing messages are company
for its dispassionate agenda.
No privacy for ailing, sleeping,
I would physically eject the offending
appendage, but cannot bear reopening
of wounds, recognizing the sins are
mine, no matter how unintentional.
Words can be a trap, take on a beat
of their own, history rearing on page,
leaving me raw-nerved, reeling, their
thoughtlessness a venomous refusal
to remain a victim – I am inflamed.
How to banish the thoughts smouldering
like a cigarette, daring me to inhale,
choke on my own toxicity; I must expunge
the intrusion, recall this maddening vow
to create; withdraw to the safety of illness
shuttered away from the crowd, a blue
silence warming this frozen heart –
maybe, I’ll write a note and leave it
on the dashboard, command the pen
and its itinerary to leave me alone.
(Image: hellenmasido.wordpress.com)
MARTYR’S LAMENT
I woke before dawn and drove
through blinding snowstorms for you.
I was lost, but without faltering,
I altered course, and when
I could drive no further, I set out
on foot, navigating treacherous
snow and ice, risking my life,
pushing forward against all odds
for you.
So that you could get where you
need to be; so that you
can succeed: I risk
it all for you.
And all the while,
I keep you by my side,
so that you will be safe,
so that I can ensure
your arrival.
But I grow weary,
and my body just will not go on,
and all I ask is that we rest for a while,
so that I can catch my breath.
But you, you walk away –
no hesitation in your step,
no looking back –
and when you do stop to wait
it is too late
a barrier has grown between us:
an eight-foot, chain-link fence
separating me from protecting you,
and you look at me with that gaze
of exasperation as if to say:
I should have done it on my own.
Wait! I say, Wait!
This wall may seem insurmountable,
but I can do it! I can do it;
just give me time. I’ll climb
to the top; it’ll be easy –
you’ll see…
Don’t walk away.
Give me one more chance
to prove my love for you
I do it all for you.
SUPERWOMAN’S DARK SIDE
fine-cut crystal, silver and gold
sparkle and entice –
the table is laid
for guest aplenty
savory aromas conjure visions
of sumptuous gravy,
delectable roast,
crisp-cooked vegetables,
and decadent desserts
she’d stop to admire her handiwork
but the children, tired and hungry
bored with the waiting,
tug at her hem
Waiting.
It is her strength.
Prepare, prepare –
then wait.
invitees will arrive shortly,
noisily – full of their days,
faintly aware of the backdrop,
happy to have left their babies
and they’ll sit and be served
and remark on the deliciousness
and gobble up seconds
then push back chairs
and wander off for a kip
or a smoke
and she’ll linger a moment
picking at her congealed gravy-covered mash
unconsciously dabbing at a red wine stain
marvelling that she’d accomplished it all
once again
without bitching
without protesting
a trooper till the end
What’s that you say?
She’s sounding a bit like the martyr?
Oh no, you’ve found her out;
Superwoman has a dark side.
(Martyr’s Lament and Superwoman’s Dark Side were originally posted in December of 2014, and have been edited here. They are personal favourites as they emerged from my dreams and marked an aha moment in my own journey. Hope they made you smile.)
Mom said she was going to leave Dad
couldn’t take it anymore
we moved.
Relocate. Reset.
Bullying at school was out of control
I couldn’t take it anymore
we moved.
Relocate. Reset.
Truancy became a problem
then there was the rape
school said I had to go
Relocate. Reset.
Sisters moved back home
one unhinged, the other battered
Mom said it’d be better if I left
Relocate. Reset.
Shuffled boxes from one relationship
to another, changed careers
like hairstyles – bored?
Relocate. Reset.
Never did grow roots
too good at packing up
trouble comes
Relocate. Reset.
Tell you more, but we’re about
to pull out, the road is calling –
you know how it goes.
(Written in response to The Daily Post prompt: relocate)
Sleeping alone –
so intrusive –
a child born of
so many intentions
awash in a trail
of barricades
I cope, cook up
breezes, strike
wet ground,
stuff myself
to satiate
the onslaught
ground rapidly
shifting –
Earth Mother
exerting presence –
too stubborn,
I turn away
Look for
God, but my
cup keeps moving –
I am unreachable,
charmed by
a broken tale
aimless,
oppositional,
overwhelmed –
cry out but
absence holds
no listeners
need adhesive
to fix this urgency –
a peerless torrent –
if only I could simplify
these wounds
find a stopgap
emotion
bubbles up
overflows
manifests
external turmoil
replaying sorrow
sleep offers
no repair
alone
tormented
by the issue
at hand.
(Image: blogs.voanews.com)
Don’t take out the garbage
during a black out – alligators
prowl in blackened streets,
lurk curbside waiting
for the unsuspecting –
I’ve seen them,
chasing the pedestrian,
my screams ineffective;
witnessed the brave
returning from the night
disheveled and shaken
Was it the alligator? I ask
with all the compassion
of I-told-you-so.
No, comes the reply,
it’s the tiger
out back.
So much danger
in the dark, please
wait till the lights
come on before
dealing with trash.
(Inspired by a dream and dedicated to my husband who never takes out the garbage the night before pick up.)
Photo from Trip Advisor
One Woman's Quest 