Re-Cycling

Age, a rocky torbegs attitudinal shiftmore wonderthan fortitude Cyclical, actuallywisdom allottingchildish valoura dash of mellow. (For RDP’s prompt: mellow. Image my own.)

Read More

Untamed

Too young to understandethos of beauty regimesshe rejects girlish ritualssees beauty in naturein glitter of make-believe This abnegation of groomingnot rebellion, but appreciationa nuance that escapesMother’s frustrated efforts. (My granddaughters balk at having their hair done, something that drove me crazy as a parent, but now reminds me of myself as a child. One generation […]

Read More

Secret Keepers

(Disclaimer: I am submitting this poem for Reena’s Exploration challenge: horror. The poem arose from a nightmare, and my be triggering for some readers.) They always take the back roads,virginal snow-covered laneslined with trees: pastoral views Unmarked routes, out of sight,use the innocence of landscapeto blot out their dark intentions Pristine picture perfect sceneslull the […]

Read More

Still Digging

Father, as immoveable as a mountain taught us to orchestrate submontane routes Circumnavigating his rocky moods bestowed upon us a fear of masculinity Resilience instilled the necessity of mining gold from darkness: still digging. (Sketch mine)

Read More

Right of Passage

Teeth they are a-dropping grins prideful palms itching Hope the Tooth Fairy is on her game purse full of toonies. (for Eugi’s Causerie Weekly prompt: fairy .  Photo from personal collection.  Note:  a toonie is a $2 coin in Canada.)

Read More

Love Lessons

Had a weird sort of lexicon the man who professed to be my dad – Clamped in his chokehold he’d demand words of devotion Became inured to this dichotomy – spent a lifetime searching for love – Just the right balance of cruelty and kind. (Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.  Sketch mine.)

Read More

A Convertible Summer

Summer of ’67 British invasion Canada claiming 100 – Dad arrives home in a powder puff blue convertible. Back seat sisters long hair flapping bellowing along with 8-track tunes: Loving Spoonful “Do you believe in magic?” I, barely nine idolizing a sister sixteen – a model with go-go boots and hippie style Cottaged at Sauble […]

Read More

Childhood Home

The place remains in my dreams like a movie set preserved… Have assigned each room a critique – disclosed the crimes Yet, it remains, like a beacon draws me to it, begs reflection What if I could go back now that I can breathe Now that I’ve laid claim to maturity would I discover a […]

Read More

Child Remembers

Not yet double digits when the sting of rejection punctured my ego – “We can’t play with you,” peers gloated; “our mothers said.” What did I know of reasons or replies, just felt a part of me die. Still trying to win approval, heal my nine-year-old heart.

Read More