Adolescence holds lessons,
I failed to absorb, the leap
into adulthood premature.
Have a son of my own now,
wish to guide him to solace,
help him to settle into a place
where the sky is prominent,
teach him to live without
walls, proud and confident
but I fear the price is too steep
that he will not manage the cost,
recognize that the legacy lives on
that he too has been thrust into
adulthood, a product of his mother’s
failure – an example poorly set.
We are builders –
constructing isolation
with fortified walls
imagining security
in separation.
We are battlers –
projecting foes
in outer forces
ignoring the dangers
of faulty foundations.
How warped are the stories
on which we lay our floors;
how misguided our efforts?
We need level ground
on which to erect stability,
a balanced understanding
cemented in commitment,
a universal, master plan
motivated by communal
accessibility, developed
with careful consideration.
Alas, we are consumers –
trusting the blueprints
of those whose architectural
designs are self-serving.
What price will we pay
for residing in a house
dangerously slanted
towards destruction?
The past is a narcissist,
Assumes forgiveness
encourages participation
makes promises to restore
harmony, but the walls
of his imprisoning nature
seldom change – stay away
I seek a place, nestled
in the present, where
I can dwell in simplicity –
nothing too taxing on mind
or pocketbook, a modest
abode with room for a pen
and an outdoor kitchen
Burdened by sensitivity
life becomes deplorable,
I can abide the presence
of dog, but never cat –
allergies create restrictions
makes finding the perfect
place for respite difficult
The numerology of 8
would be preferable
a figure demonstrating
balance – as above, so
below – could settle into
eight with confidence
reassure my partner
that I’ve found peace.
Look at us building fences
pretending we have differences
do we not hunger the same
hunt in the same places
do we not strive with equal intent
build our nests with the same ferocity
forgo passion to survive
let us stop pretending
let down these walls
admit to our vulnerabilities
align our purposes
fight a more fearsome foe
Unity of thought fleeting,
overpowering potential –
adaptation never-ending.
Possibility articulated,
ridicule attached –
an irrelevant couple.
External/ societal motivators
destroy heart, fuel panic –
authority wrongly positioned.
Take hold of intent, mend
what lingers, forego paranoia
improvement is achievable.
Test urgency, measure reluctance,
stand firm mid-breakdown –
abandon doubt, calm thoughts
Like the sun and the moon,
life cycles; there is promise,
sanity will return, renewed.
We are peacemakers,
declaring commitment;
celebrating life, diversity.
We stand at the water’s edge,
contemplate forever, pray for
serenity, believe in harmony.
Watch as past dalliances,
like old lovers, drift away,
become memories forgotten.
We are supporters, lift up
the down trodden, extend
hearts and hands in aid.
Rescuers, fearless vessels
surfing the ocean of tears
saving lives for the cause.
Withdrawal is preferential
to conflict, introspective
in our peace-loving stance.
We are hosts, expecting
hospitality, unprepared
for hostility, taken aback
Submission lost to fear;
partnering with revenge
spoon out poison, turn
the tables, defend sanctity,
reposition selves as victims
flee our former stance; attack.
Alarmists engage in paranoia,
see only turbulent skies at
the water’s edge, disbelieve
We must hold fast to ideals,
embrace humanity’s potential
be responders, not reactors
Recover our sanctity, reunite
in a vision of peace, remember
that celebration trumps strife.
(Originally published in July of 2106, Conflict of Peace was a favourite of readers for sometime, now ousted by more recent work.)
Light fades, as do I –
with age comes redundancy,
moving with shadows,
safety in darkness –
wisdom in obscurity.
A kettle over boiled
will put him in a snit
Leaving a light on,
a sin I often commit.
He forgets the garbage
leaves it in public sight
likes clutter around him
causes me such fright.
Annoyances are doubled
when living in tiny space
yet never will they overtake
the magic of this chase…
For everyday is adventure
when life is on the road
imagine all the memories
and stories yet to be told.
Remember when lines meant challenge
and colouring was not confined to
parameters, but an invitation
to explore, and days spent
contemplating invited
song, and nothing
really mattered
except the
moment?
There is a place
balanced between
the bustle of doing and
the edge of non-existence
where fantasy beckons,
where aged minds, content
with past accomplishments
come to rest, to ponder –
who once again recognize
that lines hold no significance,
that colours know no limits,
that music uplifts the mind,
and that memories are places of
exploration, and the moment
is all we ever have.
Father told me I had no problems –
didn’t even know what problems were,
so I tucked away grief, pretended,
mastered the art of suppression –
what did I matter, after all?
Failed to grasp the underlying message –
ignored the extent of his personal pain,
translated indifference into selfish agendas,
set up walls to protect myself, against him,
projecting rejection onto others.
Too late now, I understand, hurt for the
distance created by misunderstandings,
recognize with deep sorrow that our timing
was out of rhythm – society unable to fathom
the secrets that we held – unnecessary burdens
Wonder if I will ever unravel the deceit,
unwrap the loss of self, the shame, recover
a sense of self-worth that allows for acceptance
of problems without self-reproach, or guilt;
will gain the capacity for far-reaching forgiveness.
