British roots define
particular brand of
peculiarity – shared
claustrophobia –
fear of closeness;
need to lie down,
separate myself,
am married now
childless dreams
dust; I am cook,
cleaner – project
sparkle where dirt
still lingers, losing
rationality, not quite
catching on; want
to send flowers,
honour passings
but soul wounds,
unbandaged, gape –
hunger to be free.
(Image:Â www.apa.org)
Impulse would take me back –
resurrect lost passions –
a grave robber taking counsel
from the dead – volatility
a public declaration of extent
of bad choices – no exaggeration –
stench of unburied dreams burn
the eyes when exposed to open air,
the politeness of civil society.
(Image:Â mongolschinaandthesilkroad.blogspot.com)
Keep distance!
Inner child
intimate with abuse;
a sad comedian
spontaneity ploy
masking deadness –
major screwup –
God’s grace
unscathed
minus mishaps
hip movement
frozen scream
roads collide
life on periphery
repercussions
cognitive gears
breaking ice
encountering foes
reflexes delayed
safety intangible
borrowing time
health a trial
defeat conceded
relinquished control
Keep distance!
Inner child
driving the show.
I’m the kind of hound that sniffs
out trouble;Â waddles through
roses to bury my nose
in excrement and roll in it.
Or is it that betrayal hounds me,
lures me with puppy dog eyes
tail wagging promises of loyalty
tricking my sentimental heart?
More like I’m the mutt begging
for scraps, ear scratching, or
belly rubbings, a canine whore
slutting for any attention.
Failure is a four-legged mangy
beast that caught my scent
long ago, trailed me, whining;
why did I agree to feed it?
No show dog here, just mixed
breed, scrap yard variety mongrel,
digging through the garbage heap
trying to find a dang old bone.
Taking ownership of this mess
I call life, creates a priority of
care – a surrogate for the inner
sapling, not too motherly, just
accepting; to lead her past the
overpopulated vines of despair,
root out evil, restore the good –
a kindred spirit to ease her little
soul – no officious, insecure, put-
me-down parent, but dedicated,
motivational re-schooling, able
to fulfill needs, entertain, assist
in uncovering substance, insure
she has meaning to latch onto.
To help you find direction, Child,
I will tend to your needs, honour
the artistry of your growing mind –
a brilliance to nurture – encourage
flights of fancy: never fear pushing
boundaries of conventional thought  –
offer you strength of connection,
value your courage, prod hard work,
allow for wildness, questioning;
teach you not to quit before miracle
happens, demonstrate that life is
opportunity, Â that character will be
tested, and that  comfort can be
found in the spiritual – deliverance
is possible – above all to know that
you are loved, nurtured, valued and
together, through it all, we will prevail.
(Image from private collection)
Weighted down – I eat rocks
to anchor this restlessness –
unable to exit through any door,
trying to relocate self-assessment
to a sunnier place, contemplating
where I’d like to be; have checked
in, but no room is ready – shove it
all back underground – darkness
defining my horizons, my sister and I
meet here at the edge of denial, both
seeking calmer waters – she swims,
I crave a shower – we are haunted
in our sleep – shadows clouding our
dreams – projections of mermaid
possibilities, and electric blue skies;
I am gaining some ground, sifting
through basements, tossing old
ideals, cynically reminiscing, she
strokes through the debris of family
storms, ignores the rubbish polluting
her pool, maintains motion, while I
remain submerged, try to work out
a relationship with our father, long
since deceased, still present, find
solid ground – have opened the contents
of our stored horror, no choice but to carry
on, have been an actor in our staged
drama, no fame though to add acclaim,
only misguided endings, fragile audiences
and a sister who follows a different light.
(Image: Â wallpapersblogspot.com)
Sticks and stones may be inert
at causing pain, but names catch,
travel, complicate the defenceless,
incubate, invite curiosity, remain.
So much dirt involved in building
dreams, to stretch imaginations,
span across crevices of despair,
progress threatened by storms,
emotional waters turning hope
to mud, supports lost at crucial
intervals, silenced by the depth
of loss, crashing in the slime.
What was precious, now lost,
enveloped in layers of excess
compulsion to claw apart vile
skin, tear away the grossness.
Yet, all is not lost, a garden
grows best when planted
in soil, watered, as long as
the sun is allowed to shine.
I cannot bear the responsibility
for my brother’s pain, separated
as he was from my mother, raised
in his own kind of hell, estranged;
could not save him from himself
even if I tied him to me, carried
him by my side, bore his shame,
supported him by finding work.
I would just be trying to resurrect
old dreams, choosing to follow
already trodden paths, repeating
patterns of partnering with failure;
stir up memories of abuse, relive
the discomfort, castigate myself
anew for not asserting propriety,
contemplate revisiting the old.
No, I am not my brother’s keeper;
cannot right what has been lost;
only in looking forward can we
hope to bridge our familial ties.
(Image: Â quotesgram.com)
Sudden clarity rocks
my inner landscape;
breakthrough under –
standing that what has
formed my foundation,
as woman, as human,
has been marred by
mixed messages, lack
of healthy boundaries;
sheer absence of self-
preserving beliefs has
contributed to a legacy
of abuse and translated
into guilt, shame and
intolerable self-loathing.
(Image from paddle8.com)
Pardon the mess, but currently
renovating the psyche, moving
rape to a separate apartment,
trying to make room for God.
Heart is the crux of my home,
space for recreation essential,
my family is growing, roots
spreading outwards, Muslims
now amongst our beloveds.
I need to be present – useful
to communicate without
appearing challenged – hope
the elephant in the room
does not describe me, signs
of burning startling – smoking
is not permitted here – breath
is a requirement; I live here!
Dare I reveal, make a scene?
I’ve made my bed, better to
stay conservative, constrict
airways; don’t need much to
get by: a modest income,
marriage insurance, quiet
appliances, easy navigation.
Post overhaul, I’m hoping for
less complications, more flow,
compartmentalized sanity so
that God will stop questioning.
(Image:Â http://watersofnoah.blogspot.ca/2012/03/big-rock.html)
One Woman's Quest 