Impulse would take me back –
resurrect lost passions –
a grave robber taking counsel
from the dead – volatility
a public declaration of extent
of bad choices – no exaggeration –
stench of unburied dreams burn
the eyes when exposed to open air,
the politeness of civil society.
(Image:Â mongolschinaandthesilkroad.blogspot.com)
Orlando, Paris, Columbine –
horrific stains on social
conscience – no room for
bystanders – our house is
divided, projecting fear into
sunsets, volatility illuminating,
initiating paralysis – terror
cannot be contained by
a single story –
Suburbia is on fire
minorities in the street
witnessing targeted
violence, neighbourhoods
torn apart, darkening clouds
hovering – losing sight of
the richness of our resources
need to shelter, reorganize
fight this fragmentation
of values, together…
Maybe comfort is the enemy
pockets of turmoil exploding
alerting, shaking our complacency
shining light on the faithlessness
of our priorities, encouraging
breakthrough — the world
grows smaller
and none of us
is alone.
(Image:Â www.theepochtimes.com)
Breaking through loss –
alone without independence –
reach out for former lover,
wanting to renegotiate the terms
of our disruption,
am permanently horizontal, restless,
in this unexpected life.
Reckless youth
torturing me – I am vulnerability
landed, past mistakes rippling through –
need to find a private place away
from myself where reassurance is
a dinner mate, and fear
otherwise engaged.
But the past cannot be
retrieved, and there is support
in the present, if I let down
this guard, I’ll feel
the security
of love.
(Image:Â parisapartment.wordpress.com)
Accessible living –
exercise of uncertainty –
parking lot nightmares,
doorway barricades,
shopping intolerable.
Separate sleeping
quarters – no access
to slumber; more mishaps
than a puppy; broken,
despicable, disconnected.
Inherently wise hover over
disclosure of disease,
claim proprietorship,
push acceptance of
causal theories.
We are innocents,
tender-hearted,
veil our hurt, refuse
to be driven down,
wholeness buried.
Doors open –
build a career,
strive for a postion
with authority, discover
new possibility, relocate,
be unique, spontaneous;
conned by
administration,
lack of status verified,
excluded by internal
friendships, soulless
searching for
personal wealth.
Opportunity to earn –
engage business space –
have the big reveal,
believe boisterous
sales pitch, advertise
ineffectively, wait on
authority; bottomline –
not as previously thought
Who’s in charge?
Where’s the value?
Need to feel useful –
corporately accepted,
recognized, social needs
addressed, maybe visited
by a president; supported
by others, a someone –
a personal worker’s
heaven.
(image:Â www.bizepic.com)
Split commitments:
One is ambitious,
the other a wanderer;
one labours while
the other lingers.
Yet alike:
Polished political performers,
once knew how to party,
now regressed,
searching for youth –
His a flop,
hers nourished by weed,
each hiding
desperately attempting
to clean up the misery.
He overindulges,
she tries to steer,
both losing their edge
nothing new to offer
former lovers
now fading away,
only thoughtfulness
and a craving for
each others’ support
to bind them.
(Image:Â truefactsonlife.blogspot.com)
Uplifted by invitations,
cherish the extended
kindness – crushed by
the inevitable no that
follows – limitations
a sad reality – energy
restricted to one or
two tasks, no more;
just thinking about it
exhausting enough.
What road lies ahead
for those of us cut down
too early – abandoned by
our bodies, left out of
life – while others veer
towards celebration,
vitality, shall we just
drift aimlessly, blood
and flesh dissolving
into the cosmic river
of being, imperceptible,
undefinable, forgotten?
(image:Â hdblackwallpaper.com)
Ground is shifting
below my feet
solid mass
swirling,
dissolving
into gritty
eddies of sand.
Would be a desert
storm if I were not
standing at
water’s edge;
nothing for it
but to leap
take a risk
and fly.
(Interest from pinterest.com)
I’m the kind of hound that sniffs
out trouble;Â waddles through
roses to bury my nose
in excrement and roll in it.
Or is it that betrayal hounds me,
lures me with puppy dog eyes
tail wagging promises of loyalty
tricking my sentimental heart?
More like I’m the mutt begging
for scraps, ear scratching, or
belly rubbings, a canine whore
slutting for any attention.
Failure is a four-legged mangy
beast that caught my scent
long ago, trailed me, whining;
why did I agree to feed it?
No show dog here, just mixed
breed, scrap yard variety mongrel,
digging through the garbage heap
trying to find a dang old bone.
I see it in their eyes –
the fear for my safety –
have not been able to paddle
my own boat for some time,
and here I am contemplating
going against the current,
taking a leap, seeking out
new sheltered places.
Survival is risky, they say –
risk is necessary if we’re ever
going to shake this malaise –
no explanation will appease them,
cannot understand the empowerment
that comes from discovering other realities –
promise to stay away from danger –
there are waterways, lands, mountains
to explore – this is not betrayal.
It is moving on, effective collaboration,
we will get along, disclose our differences,
have found willing transport, please
understand, children, we will work
this out, need to create a new reality –
one that allows for relaxation,
celebration – there is nothing left here
but a legacy of suffering, our absence
doesn’t mean our hearts are missing –
our love will be forever present.
(Image:Â artimagesfrom.com)
One Woman's Quest 
