Aim for the sublime –
defy mediocracy;
let passion hunger.
(For Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: Â hunger/strike; and Ragtag Community’s sublime)
Reposting this for my weekly challenge with the theme of river.
There’s a river runs between us,
you and I; our thoughts, like tears,
are liquid carried by the current.
But you, and I,
we stand on the banks, oblivious,
ignoring the connection,
proudly touting our individualism.
Still the river flows
and all you’ve suffered
and all I’ve suffered
or dreamed, or imagined, or hoped
flows with it.
Step into the water with me,
feel our connection;
do not be afraid
for it is sacred –
wade deeper and know
you are not alone
for I am here
in this river
that runs between us.
(Originally posted in October, 2014. Edited here.)
Like fisherman throwing their lines,
she casts her spells…imagines
the universe as an ocean,
conceives of elementals, hungry
for bait, waiting to nibble at her intentions –
as if words hold sway –
thinks patience is her key,
believes that with just the right lure,
she can reel in destiny,
determine fate.
(This piece is inspired by the combined prompts of Willow Poetry’s What Do You See? and Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday – image below.)
Inhale – chest rises –
exhale – chest falls – summon new,
expel old; repeat.
(Haiku written for Ronovan Writes Haiku challenge: Â rise/fall)
Intuition and compassion
combined with knowledge
an effective healer make,
yet, historically, women
applying such skills – labelled
witches – burnt at the stake.
The injustice of such trials
now commonly accepted – still
the title reeks of something sinister.
And if a man raises his voice
in ire, driven to protest, he
is righteous – to be heeded,
but let a woman speak out
against lack of fairness – she
is a witch by another name.
I say we banish the verbal putdowns,
condemn the ignorance inspired by fear,
listen to one another, and invite progress.
(Written for Manic Mondays 3 Way prompt: witch, witchy, bewitched.)
A wounded creature, I circle the pack;
A laggard seeking inroads, missing cues;
A social wanna be without the smack –
This fogged state a waning of my hues.
My path a heartless road through blinding snow,
And I without a map or coat, alone –
To ask for help, a degradation – No!
Tis arrogance and stubbornness I own.
I’ll bide my time on sidelines crying ill,
Bemoan this wretched fate and limp along;
Til self-indulgence wears thin, then I will
By humble act, declare I do belong.
And in the end no consequence is worse:
Than mulish woman bearing no self-worth.
(This modest attempt at iambic pentameter is brought to you by the promptings of Frank at dVerse. Â Hope it wasn’t too painful.)
Descended from fire,
I am earth, and spring,
and graciousness –
Oh, that it were so –
fiery yes, with a love
of nature, but grace?
Truth is I am 5th born,
not supposed to be –
naming left to father
who fumbled in the act,
named me incorrectly
and thus my identity
was born of confusion –
rushed and flustered –
a woman with no name.
(dVerse challenge today is write a poem based on our full names. Â Even though I have three given names, thanks to my father, I’ve only been known by initials. Â Photo is of a granddaughter.)
Warily watching innocents
parading on the edge of darkness,
portraits of miniature monsters,
haunting deserted streets.
Howls from a  local asylum,
like sirens, scream of wizards,
devious deviners hovering
over fresh young blood.
Heart beating irrationally,
I pause to calm my breath –
turn to find my charge gone
disappeared into the haze.
I retrace my steps – No!
She’s evaporated, snatched –
vomit rises in my throat,
while goblins stalk shadows.
Frantically, I hunt, search
stashes, grasping for clues,
night closing in; I shiver
at the ominous laughter.
Curiosity caught her –
twilight’s call, visions
enticing – unaware of
vulnerability, eager-eyed
as any student of fright –
hissing cackles circle
the unsuspecting morsel
of flesh, drooling fangs
connive – bumping into
evil, she tries to run, is
swallowed up, lost, stench
of morbidity closing in –
find her, crumpled –
a broken bird – princess
dreams dishevelled, streaks
of tears on muddied face.
Tend to her in the shadowy
hours, dissuading fears –
All imaginary, I persuade,
just costumes like yours..
Yet, even I feel the lingering
snarl of beasts, the undeniable
chill in the air; I snuggle her
tight, and say an extra prayer
as Night wraps her in his
ebony cloak and feverish and
afraid, she is whisked away
to another mortifying realm.
(A ghoulish tale, written a few years back and submitted here for Manic Mondays 3 Way prompt: Â ominous.)
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 authority, 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.
(Tonight is Open Link Night at dVerse. Â I am also linking this up with One Woman’s Quest II weekly challenge: attention. Â “It’s Not That I Don’t See” first appeared September 2016.)
One Woman's Quest 