Category: life

Business Venture

Victim, whose season is always Autumn,
bloodied tears like fallen leaves trailing;
and Martyr, for whom worship and self-
sacrifice is a dietary requirement; propose
to venture into retail ownership – recreating

a former failed attempt; believing that if
you build it (again) they will come, as Ego
has promised.  “Well, it worked for that
Kevin guy,” Victim agrees; Martyr’s eyes
shine with adoration and eager anticipation.

Spirit says:  Let it rest.  Leave the past
where it belongs; there is a time for
everything and with patience your
future will reveal itself.  No need to
grasp; learn from failure and move on.

But Victim is headstrong, has something
to prove, believes her finest moments
are in the past, is certain she can change
it all if given another a chance, and Martyr
well, she goes along willingly, has faith…

They’ll serve the public, create a niche
that no one can ignore, save the world
with each item they sell, market health
and cure-alls, and invite miracles to
grace their square footage and forget

about reality, and bills, and licenses –
refuse to let overheads dictate downfalls,
convinced they are divinely guided,see
evidence in the motley crowds drawn
to their recycled vision, scheme to find

a new location, mooch off the unsuspecting;
Victim swearing not to repeat old patterns,
Martyr offering up her life, her family, to save
the dream – It will be okay, Ego says; It will be
okay, Victim echoes; It will be okay, Martyr beams.

Spirit emits a silent sigh, has watched this
carousel ride for some time now, has a strong
inclination as to where this road will end, yet
knows that lessons can only be offered, and
perspective only gained through release.

 

 

Breaking Free

Seems we are singularly obsessed –
we two, one story – driven to acquire,
invested in finding comfort, facing
tumultuous conditions, as if property
like a fortress will cloak our insecurity.

Look at us, disheveled, gambling on life,
average citizens, likely to fail – choosing
to recreate, question our destiny – the
dilemma: having been disgraced once
can we rise now to release, reset the dial?

What if we cut the ties; free ourselves
from disappointments – no longer feeling
like we’re coming in last – let’s ponder
intuitive moves, fun – we have been beaten
up enough by life, what is there to lose?

Have you noticed our lives have become
prisons: strategies tied to ancient agendas?
We are more twins than lovers, dwelling,
existing, double collateral damage – time
to quit this sham, fragment to find peace.

Let’s leave this house together, dress
our residence with wheels, aged as we are,
(on the other side of the lie), unclothe our
regimens, puzzle over serenity, expand;
urgency calls us to repossess our lives.

This is no lottery: lightheartedness a choice,
we make the openings for understanding,
are destined through our surrender to succumb
to a new definition of love, shed our culture,
our burdens, and formally declare a rebirth

 

Wayward Daughter

Back and forth I travel searching
for her – retrace every bend, curve,
detour – back to the water, the sand,
the beach where I lost her; haunted by

those velvet brown eyes – bedroom eyes,
they told her, men with greedy loins,
calculating – I lost her to the lure of
alcohol, to the pounding beat of drums,

in those smoky corners so far removed
from the purity of her dreams….
it’s been an arduous journey, some days
so lost in the daze of forgetting; I cycle

back, memories of manhood exposed,
egos craving stroking, how she learned
what men wanted, learned to numb
the disappointment with fast-talk

and all-nighters, suppressed tears,
discovered that words hold no promise,
and water is deep, and going within
is a dark, foreboding place, and worth

is shrouded by the shame of discovering
that even the father she adored was not
as she’d thought, and that this primal
urge she felt for mating was a trap

designed to eradicate her beauty, not
enhance it…I need to find her, hold
her afloat in sacred waters, help her feel
the healing light of a thousand women’s

hearts all bleeding as one, all warped
by the same convoluted messages
about womanhood – that lust is sinful
and copulation a man’s domain, and

that in order to be espoused she must
forego her own nature, tame the wild,
settle for loss of control…but as much
as I travel these lonely roads, I cannot

find her, the traces of her innocence
washed away by the tides, lines now
on my aged face…if you see her, please
hold her close, protect her from beasts,

hold her until the beauty of her being
is a solid knowing, and the shame has
been vanquished; and that being a vessel
for man’s release is not her only purpose.

 

 

Distance

Even in togetherness there is distance.

I am alone.

A central figure, distracted,
aiming for contact  –
unable to eviscerate control –
repeatedly producing a singular confusion.

Define success…
Is it the one on top,
the know-it-all,
or are these the mechanisms
of estrangement?

I am unable to discern –
stability never more than a dalliance.

The pavement ahead whispers
promises of a sense of belonging,
can I tolerate the quest?

Unfulfilled, I am protective,
fear off-shoots of depression,
shield tender inner places…

bring on change, there are others
watching, looking to me
as an example.

I can do it, on their behalf.

Never alone.

Always distances to cross.

 

 

Enrolment

If life was an English class
I’d enroll again for high school,
concentrate on the editing,
hope to gain something
the second time through

I’d excel at the assignments –
experience adds so much maturity
to the written word – and teachers
would deliberate and decide
that I don’t belong, and where

would that leave me?
Both the rigidity of self-judgment
and my softer, creative side
lecture me on the futility
of repeating past success or failure,

but; what else is there in life
to desire; what options lie ahead
for this diseased self: imposed
rest feeds my reflective side,
my mind regresses unwittingly.

I could study psychology, finish
a program once started, then
abandoned (a pattern I loathe),
but what merit lies there –
another backwards movement.

And what is this damnable urge
to perfect what has been, rewrite
the past, excel in the literature
of my own story?  I am destined
play a secondary role, foibles

contributing to the charm of
my character – maybe I should
enroll in a course on acceptance
learn to embrace the folly of
my youth, point myself forward.

(Image: www.bbc.co.uk)

 

Resort

If only life were a resort –
catered to meals, bed maids
who shuffle out of sight so as
to not disturb the illusion

that life is magical, comfort
a finger snap away; I’d refrain
from interaction, recognizing
celebrity amidst the guests –

imagine the surprise if one
should notice me: this fragile
ego pressured by the praise
would gush volumes, convince

me of genuine interest, ignore
glazed eyes, fail to appreciate
the bombs of emotion spewing
from my war-tattered mouth –

insights always come too late
to save me: my words, like drugs,
an excessive expense; my soul,
undervalued, strewn across

computer screens; I am Paris Hilton
regretting the exposure, trying to
keep afloat in a sea of superstitious
idiosyncrasies – an artist’s bane –

an acrobat, needing to balance
performance with observation,
resorting to bouts of self-
deprivation – no vacation here.

(Image: www.extravaganzi.com)

Can’t Help But Wonder

What chief is this,
whose repetitive adolescent antics
labour over inconsequential details
whilst, as novice, he plies elimination
strategies, slashing former goals;
this non-monk of a man, inciting
global waves of dissention, padding
his ego with kin, lining up officials
disinclined to disrupt his pillage?

What nation is this
who believes social standing
equates with compassion,
who overlooks subterfuge,
projects ideals into commerce,
trusts debits and credits to
a host, whose obese pockets
are lined with the sweat of others
sacrificed for golden coffers?

What consequences lie
beyond the current distractions,
when tools of manipulation are
revealed and citizens, mired in the
waste of executive orders, rise
against oppression, upstanders
demanding a difference that
promotes, indeed ignites, a more
palatable future for all?

(Image: www.sandiegouniontribune.com)

 

 

 

Water Tales

Bring the children to the waters’ edge,
let spirits that dwell there enchant,
sun glistening on star-filled eyes…..

teach the essence of dolphin breathing,
the presence of manna, how to question
roots and behold miracles of fish that fly

and colours that shimmer below the surface,
and sons that walk on water – there are stories
to be told by tides, whose rhythmic waves

follow a primal chant; the ocean’s whispers
reminders that survival is a game for the living
and that in death all return to its vast depths.

(Image: www.shallowwaterexpeditions.com)

Lights and Shadows

City lights used to draw her,
unafraid of seedy corners,
she’d dress her sexuality
in understated costumes,
a long-legged confidence.

Strutted with the best, cat
eyes – a tigress prowling,
stalking a prey she could
not define, no man could
tame her, no women grasp

the coldness of her heart.
Travelled with an entourage,
first on the dance floor, last
to leave, she was desirable,
a temptress, her vibrancy

an unwavering beacon for
the dispossessed, wore her
independence like a medal,
vowed never to be trapped,
a promise she’d never keep –

Her spark is only legend now,
crowds having all dispersed,
she dwells in shadows, a bent
figure whose glow has faded,
movement stilted, she creeps

avoids bright lights and city’s
core, dislikes gatherings of
three of more, finds strength
on the arm of another, frailty
condemning her as a burden.

Dismissed now, she is society’s
disposable, unremarkable to
behold, the trail of her history
all but lost, save for the occasional
flash of wildness in clouded eyes.

(Image: grammywritesblog.wordpress.com)

Let Failures Lie

Pampered, socially supported
education would have been preferable
but I don’t belong to the elite,
and this malaise disrupts
any hope for success.

Learn best in the trenches,
dragged-out combat over hobnobbing
– can relate to the broken,
other-abled, survivors who thrive
despite challenges.

Know a man, who without
speech or behavioural norms,
moves others – inspires
(trapped as he is) love
and forgiveness.

Have loved others, projected
goodness into selfishness, been
betrayed,  watched friendships grow
where mine was cut off –
bore the burden of blame,

still I will share myself –
adverse to saying no –
in restlessness, seeking others,
when I should be nurturing self –
Who’s really at fault here?

A mother, once faced with immeasurable
tribulations, never giving up –
is not to be found, cut down
by illness, misfortune having culled
her optimism, her enthusiasm –

What is there to do now?
I kick aside the ashes of former
identities, contemplate the meaning
of failure, the loss of ambition
this locked out alienation:

Is it hurt, I feel…
abandonment…guilt…shame?
Absence of former friends
echoes in the empty cliffs of
rejection…questioning

all that has been –
do they feel it too, or
is it merely personal mire?
What choice is there
but to embrace this solo journey?

miscalculated distances,
energy deficit, and yet,
I continue…until straight
and narrow meets clover leafs
and learning dawns –

paths cross over, crisscross;
life is about movement
and choices, and change
and endless possibilities –
there is no going back.

(Image: alone-alone-alone.blogspot.com)