Category: culture

Roadmap for Change

Everywhere collisions:

Mindless consumerism
tripping up ambitions
defeating progress

Social networking
mutilating communication
disrupting movement

Consciousness obliterated
by blind compliance
intrinsic motivation extinct

Victims splayed,
flayed, bloody,
numb

Values – not possessions – endure
understanding eliminates dominance
integrity ensures power for all.

Mindfulness calms chaos
quenches grasping urgency
restores hope, direction

Purpose harmonized
with communal focus
realizes potential
releases greatness

(Image my own)

Fame’s Lament

Wrestle me from the spotlight
there is comfort in the dark

Shadowed corners are fertile
where nimble imagination feeds

Weary of the light; I beg of you,
drag this scorched ego

Where edges softly disintegrate
and oblivion refills lost bliss

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Birthmark

Shunned for her sin
a young figure
rubs her swelling belly
compulsion driven by fear

Tremors from within
stunt her movement
uncertainty paralyzing
her words…

She is unwed,
repulsive to a society
reeking with ineptitude –
righteousness negating action

Unsuspecting, the baby arrives
emits a scratchy cry –
filling her lungs with hope
and anticipation, trusting

Does not know
in her stark nakedness
that her tragedy is set,
life will not embrace and provide

Poverty has marked her
for a life of hardship –
the pious turn their backs
she is, after all, born of sin.

(Image my own)

Wounded Feminine

On entering the tunnel, I see her –
pallor a notable shade of ghostly

Tattered, her dress hangs in billowing
folds of transparency; she beckons

No words pass between us, but
her haunting gaze begs audience

So, I bear witness to her tale –
a gruesome re-enactment of her death

Slow and agonizing, her femininity
scalded and tortured till flesh festered

and infection drove her to madness –
no solace offered, no medicine rendered

No more than a child, I now see –
a tragic retelling of innocence turned victim

Do not look away, her spirit commands,
the suffering continues, and I will haunt

Till justice recognizes the crime
and restitution restores balance.

(Reena’s Xploration offered the opening line, and Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – notable– added to the narrative. This apparition appeared to me in that tunnel between waking and sleep, begging that I share her story. Image my own)

The Cook

She’s in the kitchen
cleaning, prepping
sweetness, wishes

to nurture childlike
longings – sugar laden
gifts, honeyed chops

hooks her men with
culinary preciseness –
as legend prescribes

wants a strong, reliable
type to stir her ovaries
keep her dishing up love

Disappointment, like raw egg
drips off china plates –
shame of misadventures
she cannot scrub away

only serves tea now –
the smell of liquor
mingled with cigarettes
in lecherous calloused
hands turns her stomach

avoids the coffee maker
in the same way, despises
the way the bitter brew
makes her head spin –
wits need to be in order

has settled now as hostess
caters to near strangers
whose attention, riveted
by television screens, are

lulled by the rhythmic
sounds of her sanitizing
while stew simmers in pot,
dreams of romance shelved.

(Originally titled “Hatched”, this poem first appeared here in July, 2017. I am submitting an edited version for Reena’s Xploration challenge: Stranger in a strange land. Image my own)