Cigarette butts
no longer linger
concrete, but
I swear the cloud
of smoke lingers,
the sweat of adolescent
anxiety – the suffocating
pressure to comply –
Names escape,
but I remember
smugness and
rivalry, and
the spine-crawling fear
of confrontation,
and indisputable
in my mind
are the scars
of being so alone.
(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday prompt. Â Image supplied by Deb Whittam.)
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.)
Rock solid,
biding time,
fixated on
a future
born of
movement.
Frozen –
iced snapshots
of possibility,
immobilized by
misperceptions
Role-playing
expectations
carved from
generations
of staging.
One falters
all tumble,
lives shatter,
sink, lies
bottom out
sediment
disintegrates,
settles –
strength emerges
resurrecting
rock by rock,
precarious at first,
then gradually
re-building,
balance restored.
(Submitted for Willow Poetry’s challenge: Â What Do You See, based on featured image.)
(Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge is breath & unite.)
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.)
Even as we harvest
the fruits of our endeavors,
as the leaves of summer
give over to golden dreams
and light reaches through
gathering clouds, illuminating,
celebrating; we must not forget
that we are a part of this living
miracle, that our lives, in harmony
with Nature, deserve reverence.
Timid starts beget
longevity, peace – beware
infatuation,
whose coals, burning too brightly,
blind and scald its victims.
(Written for Ronovan Writes Haiku Challenge: peace/love. Â I stretched it to a tanka.)
School days meant up-before-dawn,
carpools across town,
tuna-sandwiches and rotting
bananas shoved in brown
paper sacks.
Then home by bus – exhaust,
the stench of old men, stale
lunchbags, gym shoes and
pre-adolescent sweat.
Four blocks to home
by foot, the locals taunting,
the inevitable tussle –
blood mixing with moldy
leaves and mud.
I’d burst through the front door,
anger peaked, hunger havoc, and
the waft of cinnamon and cloves,
warm apple pie, or the sugary syrup
of cherry – after dinner promises –
and gooey chocolate melting
into sweet chewy dough –
mom’s recipe for calm.
(Gina is hosting tonight at the dVerse Pub, and she challenges to write about comfort smells.)
A familial gathering – rock balanced upon rock – stands at the Rideau’s edge, one amongst several such groupings, each a masterpiece unto itself, and yet one small, insignificant creation begs attention: a small duck-like figure, turned away from the rest, facing north rather than south, as if it hears a different call. Â Even its companion, hesitant, looks back towards the family, for reassurance. Â Body of fossil, head carved by erosion – he ponders other horizons. Even the artist – albeit working with spartan tools – could not bend the will of this little being, could not mold him into conformity. Â He is childlike innocence and brash determination, and I imagine that as the sun goes down and the tourists disappear, he glides through the water, travels against the current and revels in the freedom.
At the river’s edge
figures rise, stoic families
hailing passersby.
(Written for dVerse pub, and for Ragtag Communities prompt: spartan. Â The balanced rock sculptures are the work of John Felice Ceprano and can be found at the Remic Rapids in Ottawa, Ontario.)
