Obnoxious, I’ve been called
and overly exuberant, and
“no-one-will-ever-love-you”
usually by spurned lovers
or morose types too afraid
to speak for themselves,
dependent on, but loathing
my social ease – I wore it,
of course, the shame, that is
self-chastised, tried to tone
down, dim my hue, but
yellow is yellow, shines,
finds joy in darkness,
laughter in hard times,
even upside-down, radiates.
Turn away, if you must,
wear shades – I’m done
apologizing for standing out.
early morning mist lingers
draws a blanket around us
outside the birds chatter
make plans for the day
children’s soft snores
a moment of stolen bliss
I sip my tea and ponder
the sanctity of silence
(The Daily Post prompt: bliss.)
This is pen is far too vociferous,
illuminates the disabled rage,
dismissing my concerns, as if
outgoing messages are company
for its dispassionate agenda.
No privacy for ailing, sleeping,
I would physically eject the offending
appendage, but cannot bear reopening
of wounds, recognizing the sins are
mine, no matter how unintentional.
Words can be a trap, take on a beat
of their own, history rearing on page,
leaving me raw-nerved, reeling, their
thoughtlessness a venomous refusal
to remain a victim – I am inflamed.
How to banish the thoughts smouldering
like a cigarette, daring me to inhale,
choke on my own toxicity; I must expunge
the intrusion, recall this maddening vow
to create; withdraw to the safety of illness
shuttered away from the crowd, a blue
silence warming this frozen heart –
maybe, I’ll write a note and leave it
on the dashboard, command the pen
and its itinerary to leave me alone.
(Image: hellenmasido.wordpress.com)
Mom said she was going to leave Dad
couldn’t take it anymore
we moved.
Relocate. Reset.
Bullying at school was out of control
I couldn’t take it anymore
we moved.
Relocate. Reset.
Truancy became a problem
then there was the rape
school said I had to go
Relocate. Reset.
Sisters moved back home
one unhinged, the other battered
Mom said it’d be better if I left
Relocate. Reset.
Shuffled boxes from one relationship
to another, changed careers
like hairstyles – bored?
Relocate. Reset.
Never did grow roots
too good at packing up
trouble comes
Relocate. Reset.
Tell you more, but we’re about
to pull out, the road is calling –
you know how it goes.
(Written in response to The Daily Post prompt: relocate)
Change
is happening,
feel the stirring
root deep,
hunger churning
excitement builds
heart expanding
breathe the thrill
open to possibility
spirit revealing
receive the blessing
clarity of vision
will engaged
trust the process
believe in self
creativity soaring
grounded in reality
change
is happening
(Image: idolza.com)
While babes slumber,
calm, unconscious,
dreamers manifest
Goddess power –
pray for their ill,
harness a creator
an ancient dwelling
(ignore the presence
of trios – ascension
a slow plod) – choose
to honour the arrival
of beauty’s essence
the light of healing,
creativity expressed,
illuminators, artists
Grace encompassing
compassion, nocturnal
inspiration honouring
the aged, the ailing,
all beloveds, respect
for this blessed life.
(Image: Pinterest)
Glue, she mutters, massive locks
of blonde hair, piled atop her head
mysteriously held in place despite
the breeziness of her top-down sports.
Not even the wind can undo her,
I marvel at the glint of gold
at her neck, the sparkle of a rock
as she waves, free-wheeling by
What does this woman know that
I don’t; how has she kept it all
together – the years refusing to
drag her down, always riding high?
Glue, echoes the young mother,
from the doorway of her two-story
mansion, children running amuck,
her life, like her bright red sweater
ostentatious, showy – no amount
of material possessions, no career
or besotted husband can blot out
the turmoil churning within.
Glue? I question the dubious advice;
caught off guard by the bluntness,
unprepared to accept guidance
from those I’ve judged so harshly.
What can these women, so far
removed my disabled existence,
know of my plight, understand
about my needs – my failings?
Glue, mumbles a forlorn figure
once a mighty director, a mentor
a man who saved me from myself
his shadow self weak and distraught
Down and out, proclaims the mother,
shaking her head in disapproval,
Sold out, quips the blonde snapping
her bejeweled fingers; I am stunned
had not anticipated such a source
of strength to have fallen so deeply –
disillusioned are we both, broken
by heartlessness, lost in apathy.
Glue, I’ll run it by my doctor, maybe
there is something to it – can’t be
worse than the molasses coursing
through my veins – is adhesive
enough to bond together fragments
cease the rattling of this mind –
give me the backbone to recognize
myself in all and apply forgiveness?
(Ever in pursuit of new understanding of my dreams, this poem is a companion to the change of perspective piece written on One Woman’s Quest II.)
Road behind is collapsing
remain upbeat, continue
a trail of childhood tears
practice giving, don’t falter
the past a faulty messenger
focus on beauty, facing forward
memories storm, threaten
Keep travelling, let go of concern
fears, like locusts, plague
work hard, be positive
anger rumbles, grows wings
be at peace, future brings promise
pain, ignorant of time, persists
rest awhile, open to possibility
the path is burning, consuming
passion seeks an outlet, a voice
broken parts craving protection
surrender to catharsis of creativity
(Image: Â cafepress.com)
Pummelling the roof
hardened droplets
drown out my thoughts
deafening, ridiculing
Nature’s curious
declaration of power
threatens, instructs
humility; a discordant
roar stifling creativity.
(Image: images.yourdictionary.com)
Favourite colour?
Black, says she
without hesitation;
I falter, stumble
mind reaching –
who likes black?
Is that a colour?
It’s all colours,
she’s nonchalant
intent on task –
carefully keeping
within the lines
Of course it is,
ill equipped am I
to disagree, images
of dark somber
corners, sorrow
and death crows –
Why black? ask I –
composure forced –
had anticipated pink
equate childhood
with primary shades
splotches of yellow
and rainbow skies
candy red apples
on lollipop trees
but black? no –
black obliterates,
negates, destroys
It holds the colour
inside, she explains;
It’s the outline.
Not annihilation –
order; her mind
conceives of order
so much to learn
from innocence
have long forgotten
the art of staying,
within lines, finding
good in all things.
(Image: www.siparent.com)
One Woman's Quest 