Plant me in the country
under city lights I melt
I need open skies
where nature thrives
I am tourmaline
un-mined
urban blight
danger beyond repair
plant me in the country
my soul is buried there.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
Corporations claim to be green
bent as they are on profitability
Contrived, the marketing schemes
colour added to mask the perils
No amount of dye can alter
the truth for our world faces
the midnight hour, time
for preservation waning.
(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge: featured image. Also for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: midnight.)
Curious by nature
and driven by hope
we push forward
Spring ourselves
from mud-mired traps
of psychological undoings
Focus on a horizon
where sunrises
and sunsets
offer glimpses of glory
Optimist and pessimist
alike, daring to believe
that the beckoning future
bears equal promise.
(Image my own)
Tectonic, the force
required to move
this wall of shame
Erasable, the missives
I write to defend my worth –
pencil strokes that only mock
Unsustainable, the hope
that life should ever receive
my efforts as more than folly.
(Art my own)
How long the soil
housed tiny souls, pleas ignored –
crimes leave footprints
Plant a rose for each child
blood red to mark evil’s path.
(Image my own. Poem borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson)
Whoa now!
Don’t settle too quickly
Opportunity is about to knock
What’s that you say?
You’re not ready.
All this work you’ve been doing
all these seeds you’ve been planting
Really? You’re not ready.
Too late
the door is open
and you will have to contend
with possibility, and I warn you,
it will not arrive alone
For success is certain
to stir adolescent reaction –
inappropriate entitlement
Oh, you say you’ll keep it simple
but emotions are organic
and the tea is spilling –
complexity a given
So, stop with the excuses
Breathe and pace yourself
This is your moment
Embrace it accordingly.
(Image my own)
New perspective sorely needed
current one rubbing raw
How can I cope with change
when life fields me no support?
The Hangman leers
his upside-down frown
mocking self- pity
I sense a barrage
of platitudes
headed my way.
(Image my own)
Islands define us –
attempts to stave off
a ruthless invader
Heritage dictates
reclusive behaviour
shame driving pain
Finding comfort
in solitude, uncertain
if I’ll ever vacate again.
(Tuesday I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
Open to healing –
create a space for inspiration
delve into the subconscious
Enter with pure intentions
ignore limited capabilities –
no offerings are meager –
Embrace new starts
with faith in ability –
be spurred into action
Self holds the answers
creative expression is key –
no expertise required.
(Open to Healing first appeared here in August, 2015.
Edited for this post. Art my own)
Burn the love letters
watch as each quaint lie curls
sham interrupted –
betrayal’s intricacy
scatters amongst the embers.
(Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 