Unexpected

Expectations safely stowed
pursed alongside judgment,
I am bent on finding an outlet
for already disgruntled disposition.

Encounter inexperience
fumbling responsibility –
an overwhelmed innocent
lacking in accountability

I offer a suggestion,
to roll up my sleeves
and before I know it
compassion’s employed

This was not my intention –
I am ill-equipped for such
a commitment, surely
I am of no practical use.

Yet, here I am, engaged
expectations tossed
in favour of service –
please don’t judge.

 

 

 

 

Manic Moments

…and some days
we stand up
topple the furnishings
of corporate order
decry politics
and etiquettes
and rage,
rage,
inner light
exploding
in a shattering
ball of fire
blinding
purifying
setting souls free
setting us free

…and then
it’s over –
in a blink
and our desk mate
still sleeps the slumber of automaton
clicks a mouse in rhythm with photocopier

we sigh
and re-conform.

 

 

 

 

Once a Mermaid

Impulse once drove my plunges –
glorious confidence propelling
fortuitous dives – unknown waters
an adventure to be conquered.

Even with onset of anxiety
I’d stalk shorelines, ignore
whispering of  catastrophe,
hold my breath and submerge.

Doubt would follow determination,
but buoyed by adversity, I’d swim,
force commanding adaptation –
I’d find my mermaid’s breath.

Motherhood introduced constraint
called forth sensibility and caution –
whimsy replacing practicality,
a shedding of iridescent tail.

I only dig in dirt now –
ground my offspring to earthly
forays, forbid capriciousness,
convince myself I’m solid.

Absentminded burrowing –
(corners of compulsion)
reveal abandoned passages –
old waterways exhumed.

Proclaimed pragmatism falters,
spontaneity takes hold, transforms
I am nymph again – free floating
Neptune’s daughter resuscitated.

(This poem, originally entitled Chasing Mermaids, first appeared in September, 2015.  It has been edited.  Image is my own.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Displaced in Patriarchy

Long since
dawn’s early
observation,
have witnessed
patriarchy’s
inequalities

first hand
second hand

lack a solution,
short of vengeance –
perpetrate rather
than end the cycle
of crime –

no place
to call home.

(Image from personal collection.)

 

The Standoff

Men prefer a reserved lady,
Mother was quick to admonish,
ashamed of my hot temper,
the tear in mud-soaked stockings
the call that came from the boy’s mother.

But I was born with a fervid passion,
a sense of justice igniting a fire within –

Women need to stand up,
I lectured her, to declare our rights
a concept that fell on closed ears.

She’d continue to take father’s abuse,
apologize for under-salted broth,
or too thick gravy, for lingering
too long in conversation at the market,
or letting us kids dare to raise our voices.

And I’d continue to clock any boy
who dared to say that girls can’t….

Neither of us able to reverse
the inequity we suffered.

(For Ragtag Community’s challenge: fervid; and Fandango’s, reverse.) Image from personal collection.