Category: adversity

Eagle Speaks

Eagle walks amongst us,
wings and chest puffed out
exhibiting wounded pride.

He is parched, dry-throated;
fear has clouded his vision,
grounded his glorious flight.

He shudders at indifference,
sidesteps throngs busily rapt
in personal agenda, forgetful.

Once regal, once revered, he
is reeling from the fall, seeks
a compassionate ear, finds me

in the Dreamtime, moulting
feathers clinging to ebony
legs; I try to brush him away

detach from his misery, but
cannot shake the power of
his symbolism, the promise

of his majesty; disconcerted,
through the veil of sleep, I
try to find reason, connect

push through the crowd of
disillusionment, and seek the
refreshment he craves, what

little I have to offer this
golden representative of
a nation momentarily lost.

It’s Not That I Don’t See…

Somewhere, searchers are combing through rubble
to find signs of life, or remains, while I fret over the
size of my belly, bloated by excess, filled by gluttony.

Somewhere, a mother pleas for the return of her child,
a daughter stolen, held by soldiers, while another cries
because her toddler’s coiffed appearance fails to win.

Somewhere, their village destroyed by war, families
flee to find peace, encounter rejection, and worse,
while a son murders his sister to honour family pride.

Somewhere, parents wait with terror-seized hearts
as a gun-wielding lunatic holds their children hostage,
while businessman fatten their wallets over arms sales.

Perspective tells me that I am unjustified to complain
over my first world problems, am selfish to bemoan
the trivialities of my self-centered existence, that I just

need to shift my viewpoint, look outside myself, and see
that inequalities and hardships beg for my compassion,
alter my focus and become a beacon for the world; and,

yet, I am overwhelmed by the tragedy that floods my
large screen tv, desensitized by the staged and unstaged
images of brutality, tired of the unsubstantiated claims

of terrorism, and the political garnering for votes; cannot
bear to hear of one more gun attack in a country where
the right to bear arms is confused with personal security;

feel out of control when I listen to stories of great loss,
am compelled to shut off the media, turn my attention to
self-criticism, and find a manageable issue close to home.

(Image: dict.space.4goo.net)

Dawn’s Promise

The mountain before me
blocks out the rising of the sun
and if I focus only on its enormity
and the challenges it presents
I miss what is happening beyond.

A tree at the peak stands barren,
stark naked against the grey of the sky;
it is the dead of winter and nature sleeps.

But I do not.

The turmoil inside me continues to churn
and while nature reflects my dying spirit,
still I am unable to slow the inner mechanism.

Light begins to streak the sky,
beyond the tree,
beyond the mountain;
colours take hold -A new day is dawning.

Inside, there is celebration
A new day is dawning in here as well –
New hope, new joy, new possibility –
For I am yet alive.

(Penned January, 2002, edited 2016)

Image from:  allposters.com.au

House of Horrors

If life is an amusement park,
then I, the wary visitor, purse
clutched to body, peer about
anxiously, rattled by crowds;

an overprotective parent,
herding my delighted flock,
reigning in wandering feet,
responsibility a stern cloud.

Childlike minds thrive under
blinding lights, the violence
of sounds, smells of cotton
candy sweetness: promises

of thrills, will lead me into
House of Horrors, where I,
lungs burning, heart dying
will plead for escape, run,

abandoning my charges
unable to separate fiction
from lived terror, reveal
my weakness, collapse

while the children, bent
on adventure will thrive
unphased by implications
of real life carnival rides.

Conflict of Peace

We are peacemakers,
declaring commitment;
celebrating life, diversity.

We stand at the water’s edge,
contemplate forever, pray for
serenity, believe in harmony.

Watch as past dalliances,
like old lovers, drift away,
become memories forgotten.

We are supporters, lift up
the down trodden, extend
hearts and hands in aid.

Rescuers, fearless vessels
surfing the ocean of tears
saving lives for the cause.

Withdrawal is preferential
to conflict, introspective
in our peace-loving stance.

We are hosts, expecting
hospitality, unprepared
for hostility, taken aback

Submission lost to fear;
partnering with revenge
spoon out poison, turn

the tables, defend sanctity,
reposition selves as victims
flee our former stance; attack.

Alarmists engage in paranoia,
see only turbulent skies at
the water’s edge, disbelieve

We must hold fast to ideals,
embrace humanity’s potential
be responders, not reactors

Recover our sanctity, reunite
in a vision of peace, remember
that celebration trumps strife.

(Image: marketplace.secondlife.com)

Isolation’s Hold

Disability covets isolation, this
stripped-back, box-like state.

Rustic serenity, with breathing
room would be preferable, but

nostalgia creeps in and lack of
self-worth leaves the door open

to unwanted visitors, phantoms
of former torments, nondescript

invaders targeting the lonely,
misconstruing lack of health

for neediness, preying on weak-
hearted, presuming incapability.

I am unwell, not unwanted, effort
to protest ignored, I grow wary of

fellow travelers, am vandalized by
nightly attacks, attempt to reach

out, aim for strength, logic, clarity,
dial-up past abuse instead, cannot

fathom the purpose of unsolicited
persecution, grasping at isolation.

Branded Loser

I feel like an underdeveloped,
socially awkward adolescent,
delegated to the sidelines,
measuring esteem against
athleticism of those who
made the grade – a failure.

I feel like in my ineptitude,
I have hosted a party, bent
on celebrating the prowess
of others – created the perfect
environ to appear the team
player – oozed congeniality.

I feel as if it’s free food
that attracts the guests,
and my malaise that repels,
esteem trampled beneath
the feet of hasty retreats,
and unappreciative takers.

I feel perpetually locked
in other-ness, an oddball
whose best efforts barely
penetrate the self-assured
wall of social acceptability,
self-branded an outcast.

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Not Dead Yet

There is safety in apart-ment living;
would corral the little ones, declare
responsibility, obligations as a mask
for this self-banishing compulsion.

Except that I am lying prone, exposed
brain spilling onto concrete, shadows
revealing the darkness of my condition
hopelessly locked in physical inertia.

I am an unwitting contributor to
scientific (and pseudo) probing,
audacious autopsies pronouncing
conclusive evidence of motives.

Too polite (and weakened) to deflect,
I submit, demonstrating complacency,
sacrificing autonomy, fail to assert
that it is I who is taking this life test.

And, by the way, am passing quite
adequately, which defies all rational
diagnosis and prognosis and serves
to reassure me of ultimate success.

Ready, Set, Go

Ready?
I scan the agenda,
anxiety clouding interpretation,
false sense of security driving.Ready.

Set?
Have miscalculated expectations,
face adolescent attitudes –
impatience, hunger, angst –
too late to turn back,
I’m engaged.
Set.

Go!
Dive in, creativity flowing,
inner resources my well,
no time for hesitation,
this is life.
Go!

Shadows Echo

Reminds me of home –
Dad’s drinking,
dressing up,
keeping up appearances;
a woman without a voice,
public persona
all important:
must disguise
private hell.

Daddy was driven
by money
and compulsions;
could not see
desperation in our eyes,
we were running away,
seeking our own solace
in forbidden places,
hell’s legacy.

An overboard existence
too many extravagances
none of them sticking
to the wounded places,
only pretense
mocking reality.
Keep a positive attitude,
Daddy like to say,
Good Lord will provide.

But hell casts
a long shadow,
bony fingers taunt
present scenarios
confuse past
with present,
cloud the future,
cannot erase
warped beginnings.