Category: just because

Upended

Tomorrow, like yesterday
fell out of step with today –
any gifting involved must
have taken place while I was
not looking –

that which gives me birth
also weakens me, or
perhaps, I should say,
what is taken is beyond us

Oh, such gibberish
that falls from my pen –
it seems the devil cries
when we fail to plan,
or is it that misfortune
avoids the procrastinators?

Seems I’m having trouble
articulating what I mean,
but I’m sure you’ll understand
that failure owes itself
to talons and curses, and
whatever you do, be sure
to fixate on the ass who
dropped this nonsense
in the first place.

(Today’s NaPoWriMo challenge asks us to turn common expressions upside down to see what emerges.)

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No Words

In light of the recent tragedies in the world…

VJ's avatarOne Woman's Quest

I have no words
that will change your plight.

I cannot undo the past
nor change the course of your life.

I am powerless to rescue,
fix, or uplift you in your time of need.

Please know that I see you,
know that in my heart I weep.

Know that while I empathize
I can never fully understand your pain.

There is no judgment here,
only heartfelt compassion.

When I reach out a hand to you,
wordlessly, it is out of respect.

I believe in you.
I believe in your strength and your courage.

In my silence, know that I bear witness
to the potential that lies within and before you.

I believe in the power of your own love to overcome.
There are no words to define what is possible in life.

(Image: imgarcade.com)

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Parents Beware!

Warily watching innocents
parading on the edge of darkness,
portraits of miniature monsters
haunting deserted streets.

Howls from a local asylum
like sirens scream of wizards,
devious deviners hovering
over fresh young blood

Heart beating irrationally,
I pause to calm my breathing,
turn to find my charge gone,
disappeared in the haze.

I retrace my steps – no!
She’s evaporated, snatched –
vomit rises in my throat,
while goblins stalk shadows

frantically I hunt, search
stashes, grasping for clues,
the night closes in, I shiver
at the echoing laughter.

Curiosity caught her –
twilight’s call, visions
enticing –  unaware of her
vulnerability, eager eyed

as any student of fright –
hissing cackles circle
the unsuspecting morsel
of flesh, drooling fangs

connive – bumping into
evil, she tried to run, was
swallowed up, lost, stench
of morbidity closing in –

found her crumpled like
a broken bird – princess
dreams dishevelled, streaks
of tears on muddied face,

tended to her in the shadowy
hours dissuading her fears,
All imaginary, I persuaded,
just costumes like yours –

yet even I felt the lingering
snarl of beasts, the undeniable
chill in the air; I snuggled her
tight, and said an extra prayer

as Night wrapped her in his
ebony cloak and feverish and
afraid she was whisked away
to another mortifying realm.

(Image: hdwallpapers.cat)

 

 

Poet’s Quandary

If
I were
to write
every day
for one
hundred days,
would my soul
be purged of
this malaise;
is it a thing
to be dredged,
dragged up –
twisted
and tied
like tattered
bed sheets
knotted
together;
is there
a remedy
for this
scourge;
or is this
an inherent
restlessness,
a fiery blue
spark of eternal
angst igniting
passion – a call
to write?

She is Ready, God

Ushering the last of the condolences out,
she turns and slowly shuffles her way back
down the grayed barren, institutional halls –
a shock of white hair bent over metal legs.

She pauses at the doorway – hesitates, feels
weight descending – the finality of her loss –
recalling the years of companionship, how
they were the Ma and Pa for staff and alike.

Wondering who she is now, willing herself
to pass, once occupied, now stripped bed,
the abruptness of silence accosting frailty –
at 88 she’s survived three husbands. Alone.

Laboriously, disrobing, hangs her mourning
dress, unrolls stockings past swollen calves,
winces at the pain of bloated feet, stiffens –
wills past the stark emptiness once more.

Routine carries her through nightly rituals,
and numbed with weariness, she slumps –
a bed-for-one poor remedy for what ails –
she turns to the wall – shunning harshness.

Tomorrow, reassurances and guilt-ridden
faces will hover over the arrival of another,
erasing memories, eradicating familiarity –
Too soon! she cries to unheeding darkness.

Take me too, she pleas to her unseen God.
I’ve had enough! But like the dawn she’ll rise,
comply with changes, adapt to new tides –
find her compassion, forgo self-indulgence.

She is awe-inspiring, this mother of mine,
a tireless sentinel of peace, selfless crusader
for love – acceptance her chosen weapon –
having navigated unimaginable adversities.

The buoyancy of her steps, now subdued,
the flames that framed her face – symbiotic
with passion – now extinguished, age spots
disguising freckles – yet her smile remains.

Do not mourn my passing, she instructs,
know that I have lived fully.  I do, I respond,
wishing her an effortless transition, silently
commanding courage, offering up a prayer:

May the angels that receive her wear red shoes,
and may they whisk her away in the flourish of
a big band chorus, inviting her to join the dance –
sprinkling the essence of her beauty as they go.

May she behold – clarity of ecstatic revelation –
the light that she has spread in this lifetime,
witnessing the masterpiece of her existence,
understanding for eternity, that she is love.

 

 

Souls Are Crossing Over

The night stars glitter over a city asleep,
while a dim light glows from a hospital bedside,
and a woman watches vigil over her dying husband.

Across town in a different medical center,
a thirty-something man squeezes his wife’s hand,
as she labours with the product of their love.

I lie awake, conscious of the irony of life,
anxiously awaiting news of passages:
one life ending while another begins.

I find myself wondering what lies beyond,
and whether they are not both experiencing
the loss of one life and the beginning of another.

What I do know for certain is this:
Lives, at this very moment, are changing,
irrevocably, for the better or the worse.

And that as my mother mourns her loss,
my daughter will be celebrating her gain –
grief and bliss will coexist within these walls.

No Words

I have no words
that will change your plight.

I cannot undo the past
nor change the course of your life.

I am powerless to rescue,
fix, or uplift you in your time of need.

Please know that I see you,
know that in my heart I weep.

Know that while I empathize
I can never fully understand your pain.

There is no judgment here,
only heartfelt compassion.

When I reach out a hand to you,
wordlessly, it is out of respect.

I believe in you.
I believe in your strength and your courage.

In my silence, know that I bear witness
to the potential that lies within and before you.

I believe in the power of your own love to overcome.
There are no words to define what is possible in life.

(Image: imgarcade.com)

Laughter: Mother’s Medicine

“I’m so mad!”  My nine-year-old self slammed the front door and stomped down the hallway to the kitchen, where my mother was constantly positioned.  My little sister sat at the table, her legs swinging contentedly as she finished off a fresh baked cookie and glass of milk.

“Well, hello!” my mother responded.  “Not a good day?”

“That Chet Tesney makes me so mad, I want to kill him.”

Mom looked me up and down.  “Looks like you already did.”

“Not today.  I got in a scuffle with some kids at the bus stop.”

My mother sighed.  “There are cookies or muffins, but you are not to touch the pie until after dinner.  I’d wash up first if I were you.”

Catching myself in the mirror, I saw that I was a real sight.  I pulled a twig and a piece of leaf out of my matted hair, and washed the muddy scrape on my cheek.  Both hands, caked brown, were red beneath.  Looking down, I saw the stockings I had put on this morning now had a big hole in one knee, and mud was caking on more than one place on my clothes.  Stripping off the dirty clothes, I ran upstairs to change.

“How was school today?” My mother asked cheerfully as I helped myself to a warm cookie and pulled up a chair.  My sister had wandered off.

“Okay, I guess.  We were picking parts for the class play and that Lesley Mann got the main role again.  I hate her, it’s not fair!  Mom!  Jane has my favourite Barbie!  Put that down you little brat!”

“Girls!  Play nice.”  Mom seldom skipped a beat from her dinner prep.  She wouldn’t intervene.  I sighed.

“School is so unfair!  Miss P. said we’d be able to pick our topics for the history project, but Michael and David picked the same as me, so now I have to choose something else.  I hate school!  Now, she has my Barbie car, too!  Moooommm!  She’s going to break it!”

“Shreeeeeeaaaakkkkk! my sister screamed as I tried to retrieve my treasures.

“She won’t hurt it.  Let her play.  Why don’t you play with her?”

“It’s not fair!  You always take her side.  Why don’t you support me for once?!”  I could feel the rage inside me boiling over.  I wanted to hit someone and fast.

“Tee hee.  Ha ha.  Ho ho.”

“Don’t you start, Mother!”

“Ha ha, ho ho, he he, ha ha ha.”

“Mom, I mean it!”

“Ho, ho, ho, ho, ha ha ha ha ha ha, he he he he he he, ho, ho.”

Giggle.  “Mom, don’t make me!  He, he.”

“Heeee, heeee, hoooo, hoooo”  The laughter was so contagious I couldn’t help but join in.  Soon we were laughing so hard we could hardly catch our breath.

“What’s so sunny?” my four-year-old sister couldn’t say her ‘f’s, sending us into another howl, until the tears rolled down our cheeks.

“It’s not sunny!”  But it was!

“Oh, I’m going to pee my pants!”  Doubled over, my mother ran for the bathroom.

We laughed some more.  By the time the laughter subsided, I couldn’t remember what I had been angry about.

This is the gift of my mother.