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)
So much I want to say,
yet the oppression of opposition
stomps heavily on my airways
cutting off the flow
Daughter of a trans father
mother contemplating MAiD –
embroiled in controversy,
I see only injustice
Cannot fathom the hatred
the railing against books
and glamour, and science,
misappropriation of christianity
How am I supposed to grieve;
take up arms for those I love,
when I am silenced before I speak
judgments cast without a thought?
If I could have a word,
if anyone would listen
I would share, perhaps insight
into the lives of secrets held
Describe how hearts wilt
beneath cruelty of suppression
how torn apart we become
ignorance voiding authenticity
I would tell you of the horrors
that dwelt within our homes
the fear of discovery, of rejection
how ugly it all felt….until
Education offered explanation
and in that opening
we saw potential to climb out
from our shadowy existence
embrace a life in which our love
is neither tainted nor deviant
and tell me please, as I try to listen
how such hopefulness is sin, after all.
(Image my own)
Endless turmoil
Mother’s tears
crusting over
Focus on children
strength to carry on
future a hopeful light
Who can measure loss
justify the tragedy?
Generations will toil
Damage always outweighs
rationale for war…
A nine-year-old skips
along the centre line
of an abandoned street
imagination empowered
by sunshine blue skies
Till the low rumble
of aircraft startles her
and she runs for cover
praying to an absent God
to take her now, young
heart too bruised to carry on.
A fifteen-year-old huddles
in a dank underground corner
already violated by a war
she did not ask for,
shamed by her body’s betrayal
praying for a death more forgiving
A mother holds her baby close
tremors such an indelible part of life now
grasps for a God she once believed in
sees the vacancy in adolescent eyes
the joylessness of her weeping child
prays for a way out of this hell.
