Met him on the way to tomorrow,
pitched a tent on his front lawn,
both ignoring impermanence.
How is it the heart’s drumming
blots out the soundness of mind,
negates former promises to self?
The weather changed and with it
sentiments cooled, tempers heated,
a tempest ensued, she packed up
hitched a ride on a passing train
headed in the wrong direction,
her heart still a discordant drum.
I am exuberance –
frenetic and nippy
I am cuddly, curled
up in warm laps
out of control energy
bundled into a four-foot
floppy-eared mutt,
demanding attention
leave me out and
ask for trouble
accidents do happen –
thankfully, I’m cute.
Winter came early –
seeped into intimate
corners, froze hearts.
Walls papered white,
intending cheer, only
accented bitter cold.
Layers of submission,
hope, denial, ineffectual
in refueling the warmth.
She followed him down
the unavoidable slope
deep into the abyss.
Chilled, shaken she
braced for the arduous
trek ahead, injected
lightness into an
impossible situation,
committed, unaware
that he’d moved on,
abandoned her with his
customary indifference.
Years later, thawed
by the warmth of solitude
she reflected, wondered
how the blatancy of his
oddities has escaped her –
his fixation on antiquated
ideals, how he furnished
her mind with incoherencies,
collected things, not values.
She had merely been
an observer in his life,
yet it had escaped her
that it was the fiery
summer of her soul,
that had melted his ice
her scorching, all –
embracing passion
that had united them
and, as in all things
seasonally inevitable,
their love would die.
(Seasons Of Love originally appeared in February 2016.)
Child of mine,
what rage is this
that sets you against
a younger brother?
What discontent stirs
so deeply within that
you would lash out
at me, your mother?
Let us sit a moment,
and let me, with tenderness
listen, for your anger masks
pain, and I am not so far
removed from childhood
to recognize that tone.
If I have wronged you,
speak, I need to hear it;
if peers are pressuring,
or bullying, or you feel
betrayed, lay it here
in my hands, and I will
comfort you, and offer
what wisdom I have.
Your well-being is sacred
to me; let me hold you –
you’re not too old;Â linger
here in my embrace until
the tears come, and the storm
passes; I will hear your fears,
frustrations, and disappointments,
and together we will figure it out.
Child of mine,
I am here for you,
no matter the reason,
your pain is my pain,
talk to me; I am listening.
(Image: confessionsofanadoptiveparent.com)
She is beauty defined –
the flash of deep brown eyes
a wry smile: suggestive, inviting,
she tilts her head, black tresses
cascading over silken skin, and
men flock, eager to bask in her
sweetness, catch the ray of a smile.
She taunts me, mocks my insecurity –
an easy target for one so self-assured –
ridicules my values, my labour, shreds
any sense of self-respect, and then,
with a the flip of a manicured hand,
shrugs it off, invites me for lunch.
I acquiesce, an unwitting stalker,
mesmerized, angry; she is poison,
recognizes my ambitions –Â I am fish
nibbling at her bait, disregarding
menace – oppressed by feminine
power, born undesirable, will vomit
her rejection and still come back
for more – a willing victim, adverse
to offense, failure certain, hooked.
What will be remembered
when the show is over –
will humour linger
will dreams tarry
will belief matter?
Friends depart sans farewell
lost in the debris of divorce
we pass in shopping malls
serve each other with smiles
avoid lively interaction
new responsibilities develop
we are directors obsessed
with reason, ideals now lapsed
singularly hoping that personal
potential is in tact; mining
an openness that overrides
lost love, tunnelled explanations,
want to act obligingly, are remiss,
we are fetchers, penetrating rows
no enclosure for fails, will accept
encouragement when available –
hard work is polish for the talented;
I am alive but in need of help,
shutting down, what remains
tinged with immediacy, lucky
just to communicate; would mirror
love, not look for exits, but endings
are all I know, have shopped for
balance, an intermediary to dissuade
rejection, I am a puppy, unfailing
loyally holding onto this puzzle,
wonder at all that is unrequited,
how easily we detach, considering
the carrot that is intimacy, how
all of this is such a production.
(Image: www.pd4pic.com)
(Originally posted May of 2014, this poem describes the early days with ME/CFS. This is an edited version of the original.)
Rain pelts against my window,
cheered on by a relentless wind.
Inside, I lie motionless
on my once-yearned-for
now resigned-to
bed.
Target has those things you’re looking for
texts a daughter, pic attached.
Exactly what I’m looking for
but a million miles away
when energy fails me
Instead, I give in to the fingers
of sleep, pulling me in –
blessed unconsciousness,
oblivion.
A door opens below me,
footsteps, a voice:
Do you need anything?
I don’t respond,
too weak for words.
Do I need anything?
The question reverberates
through mind…
emotion…
body…
comes up empty –
what could I need?
too much
nothing
Rain abates, wind subsiding
and a brief ray of sun
brightens the room –
a promise
of spring
of new beginnings,
and I think:
I need clothes
but clothes means shopping
and shopping means energy
and the cycle continues
and still I lay
unmoved
Then you enter,
an offering of tea
and a gentle word
and with renewed momentum,
I shift to make room for you,
and it all comes clear –
You are what I need
You are my must-have.
(Image: heartofwisdom.com)
Have you seen her –
the child we lost,
the one who lost herself?
born to a sister
breasts not yet ripe
for motherhood’s call
a passenger
on a perilous ride,
sweetness eclipsed
by a cacophony
of raised voices
the wails of women
helplessly trapped
a smothering drama;
how easily she escaped
slipped from our clutches
found comfort in the streets
preferred coldness of strangers
to the raging fires at home;
lost her to the lure of parties,
an elixir for the empty places,
found her once amongst
the debris of discarded needles
and the haze of sexual reek
the golden halo of youth
now matted clumps of shame
her beauty sunken in shadows
we’d taught her well, it seems –
the art of submission, how to
betray the self, embrace defeat
tried to pick her up, create
a milieu of normalcy, establish
homelike roots, but shams
do not last and she ran again
the echo of her absence a hole
ringing in our hearts, we are
guilt-ridden, apologetic, fear
the power of our inadequacy;
try to forget, justify, cringe
for the child we lost,
the one that got away,
the one that lost herself.
(Image: alwayslonliness.blogspot.com)
In light of the recent tragedies in the world…
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)
mind regresses
in the aftershock –
tremors of misspent
devotion reverberate
suffocating debris
teenage hearts
caught in the quake –
a marital schism –
plucked unripe
sweetness battered
I, colourless
abandoned, like
a runner-up in
a beauty pageant
forgotten, flailed
failed as a mother
withdrawn, rattled
psyche exploding
survival a slow crawl
challenges weighty
aligned my burden
with that of another
six adolescents, and
a bi-polar man looking
for female direction
craved the laughter
of children, the sanity
of structures unbroken
dust of the aftermath
clouding sensibility
anarchy rejoices
at lack of clarity
loss of control, dreams
of bliss have no home
when depression rules
retrace steps –
ponder the road
that led to destruction
search for light before
darkness took possession
found a trail of
foundations lacking
fortitude, wrought
with cracks, underlying
angst threatening
the earthquake, I see
as inevitability –
my landscape strewn
with fault lines
corrupt under stress
drama follows the weak
an internal compression
and shifting, uncontainable
wildness – destined to
destroy – breakthrough
(Image: dictionary.reference.com)
One Woman's Quest 