How can I capture
the essence of loss?
Sunshine scant
darkness falling
No image/words
stark enough
to serve as allegory
for evil taking lives.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
How can I capture
the essence of loss?
Sunshine scant
darkness falling
No image/words
stark enough
to serve as allegory
for evil taking lives.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Prevarication
the new hegemony
Lawlessness mocks
governing principles
Body of democracy
faltering beneath weight
archaic ideologies –
dangerous take on leadership.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Ignore the dead
the ocean of grief
capsizing humanity
Keep bailing on reality
conspiracy lacks an oar
we drown without compassion
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Does resolution follow inquisition?
History suggests otherwise…
Yet, here we are
seeking enlightenment,
counting on understanding
to amend the unresolved
Wrestling with denial
praying that research
will unravel falsities,
berate the inappropriate
Good and evil vying
for omnipotence
each of us personally engaged
Righteousness
such a vile possession.
(Image my own)
The divide between
emotional stagnation
and old structures
now crumbling,
is fraught with peril
We are called to rebuild;
re-solidify our foundations
and regenerate a flow
that sustains and harbours
growth through peace.
(Poem first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, September 2018. Image my own)
It’s time to resurrect
our confidence,
recapture the sensitivity
of intuitive knowing,
acknowledge the power
of our resiliency
We are women –
merciful companions,
healers attending
Divinity’s passage,
peace-seekers
directing life’s journey.
Too long have we equated
self-esteem with
patriarchal agendas,
disappointed with
our inability to meet
media standards,
blamed ourselves
for divorce,
disease,
staying home
to raise the children.
It’s time to honour
our strength, restore
feminine worth,
align our resources
We are iron grace,
mindful caregivers,
mate with intention,
our vulnerability,
our sensuality,
aspects of intrinisic
wisdom; we are
keepers of the dream,
beings steeped
in mystery –
It is time!
(Originally penned in 2017, It’s Time, Women deserved another look. Image my own)
Who can measure
the cost of war?
How deep destruction
scars the human soul?
I see the trench lines
carved on fathers’ faces
the ghostly pallor
of mothers’ fear –
only the children sing
unaware, bending to fate
with graciousness;
grief’s shrapnel well buried
(Image my own. Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson)
Words have lost clarity
definitions slipping
societal fog
One cries freedom
while another gasps
for breath…
Is destiny a one-manned
sailboat navigating
ambiguous waters?
Or have we fallen,
poked the beast
of destruction?
(Image my own)
Rainbows and wishes
wings we give daughters
Little girl dreams destined
to hit walls – shortsighted
these laws of oppression –
for sweetness of youth
does not equate with folly
Women are warriors,
our rage underestimated.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
The Great Blue heron declares me an annoyance
to which the Blue Jays rasp accordance –
I know I am akin to predator
but I come here with need
to this bug-infested
weed-ridden
riverbed
To be
Torn
as I am
by an undefinable
rustle, an inner bleed
that craves patterns, or signs
naturally occurring rhythms to define
my place within this current worldly disorder
(Image my own)