(I came across this poem, and was stricken by how applicable it is to our world today. Hope my reading does it justice.)
I am so tired of waiting,
Aren’t you,
For the world to become good
And beautiful and kind?
Let us take a knife
And cut the world in two –
And see what worms are eating
at the rind.
(Image my own)
There, beyond the fence lines
amid the birch and firs
I find my breath
Does graze, and fawns skip
as if they are children
chasing butterflies
An abundance of harmony,
ego leads me to believe,
but it is only denial
The bulldozer snorts
and rumbles into view,
deer and I lifting heads
Tails raised, the four-legged scatter,
hide themselves within the brush –
Is such shelter adequate? I wonder
Human demand eroding the green –
We talk about living minimally –
fail to consider God’s creatures
Whose very existence shrinks
within the confines
of expanding fences.
(Image my own)
A wrapping paper remnant
glimmers beside sofa leg
Uneaten chocolates and
sugar cookie delights tempt
The chorus of voices
fades into mind’s recesses
The fullness of the day
tucked warmly within
The advantage of age
is the ability to imbibe
in the post-celebration pause.
(Wishing everyone the warmest of pauses this holiday season.)
What is the fallout of oppression –
misinformation ignoring collective needs?
Focus on we, as if we is me, and
they are the reason our attempts fail
Assertiveness has no hold
when obligations are cheapened
And time/ history is ignored
for a feel-good moment now.
How does one decipher the nonsense
weed through the flimsy constructs
And realign with a vision –
powered by love for all?
(Image my own)
Remember how we fought
at four and five –
over whose turn it was
to push the baby buggy?
Your Campbell soup baby face
locks curlier than mine;
eyes a brighter sparkle
How you withdrew from me with age
ashamed your mother was an alcoholic –
I did not care, carried my own secrets
How you chose drugs to cope,
while I went straight – the line
too wide to cross, it seemed.
You were my roots, dear friend
the rock I needed to ground me
Life, back then, never easy
Secrets tore us apart – projections
of judgments never actualized
somehow, I never measured up
I see you now, shrouded in the mist
of my own grief, understand that your turmoil
ran deeper than I had known, and one day
when we meet in Heaven,
I will embrace the whole you
and we will laugh at how secrets
whose very disclosure would have solidified us
kept us more and more distant – so little
did we know of love at the time.
(Lorraine died at the age of 26 – complications from drug use. After her death, I learned that she was a lesbian, a secret that she thought she could not share with me at the time. She had not known that I would not have judged her. Sadly, we never had the chance. I loved her so.)
Connections, like bridges,
run between us –
no matter how subtle –
nations and individuals;
there is no divide
Imagine if we acted
on this knowledge –
mindful and kind –
not subtle the outcome,
I should think.
(Image my own. Imagine Bridges first appeared here September 2019)
War forgets
the accoutrements of peace –
in one quick blast
tranquility is banished
And if it is ever to return
it will be adorned
in the somber vestments
of displaced lives.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from the app formerly called Twitter. Image my own)
Wolves no longer hide in the woods
spurred on by the scent of bloodlust,
whiteness of their fangs sharpened
on the righteousness of iconic fear
No, they find no need for subterfuge
emboldened by this weakened state
society’s heartbeat erratic, signalling
a collective rot…the wolves circle.
(Image my own)
Discharge the gun –
protection a vessel
through which our depths
are undefined…adrift
Fear is a burrower
wears a false crown
births loss
trusts danger
Hearts beg,
amid this trigger-readiness
for a guardian – unafraid
to court this meaningless
Futility unchecked –
to study productive options
unimaginable in the current
state of chaos on repeat.
(Art my own)
Whose Earth is this?
ask the trees reaching
to kiss mountainous sky.
Who cares for her?
ask the creatures all,
grateful for her bounty.
Machines rumble
forests fall – a stand
for progress answers none.
(Image my own. Poem first appeared here May of 2021)
One Woman's Quest 