
Category: poetry
An Escape Plan
An incorrigible hag
engages my loneliness –
like an assassin sniffing out
any scent of vulnerability
I am lowering standards
this history of imprisonment
enabling inappropriate openings
I cry for new perspective
ponder after boundaries
intending to defend
Like an unwanted bullseye
I am pursued on repeat
malice considering me
a problem to be solved
Who is this old woman
whose thoughts are daggers
who calls upon predators
to devour my freedom?
And what ancestral legacy
sets me on such tenuous ground
entrusts the key to my soul
to such devilish factions?
I strike out and miss
am twice thwarted
but refuse to submit
Have espied the resources within
will defeat the infernal voices
and confront the witch
Wits calculating
confidence a repellent
teetering on the edge of victimhood
not a path I care to repeat.
(Ink sketch my own)
Making of a Woman
I know that abyss –
swallowed up as I was
punch-drunk on darkness
Bled as I emerged,
each reach a scrape –
there was release too
Revived now, I honour
that passage, recognize
the making of a woman.
(Making of a Woman first appeared here, December 2021. Image: self portrait in ink)
Where Are The Dogs?
Contemplating risk –
a reunion with a former self
looking for an exit
When did I become a snake
restrained?
When did I become persona non grata?
I slither between stories
convince myself I can fly
distraction a ruse
I have big cat energy
overstepping boundaries
socially adverse
A faulty jewel
dreaming of abundance
 but there’s a dragon to disarm
My mother’s burden on my back
identity a slippery grasp
always outrunning disaster
Fraternize with celebrity, but
too busy boarding
Warehousing:
spiders in the cellar
straight pins on the floor
newspapers akimbo
How will I put self first
while catering to others, upended?
Unable to park this relentless ache
Boundaries, my soul cries
Enact self protection
Install dogs at the door.
(Image my own)
Turning (tanka)
Mother
When I had a mother
my hair would cascade
in curls of auburn perfection
a red velvet bow to accentuate the wave
And I’d wear my best
newly sewn frock
with lace at the neck
and fishnet stockings
and patent Mary Janes
And the girls giggling with delight
would skip hand-in-hand
to the school prom
and the boys shyly perched
against the back wall would wonder
how to behave, and we’d blush
in return, begging them to dance
But now I have no mother
and no matter how hard I try
I cannot tame my too wild hair
it’s bi-coloured frizz
a nest of betrayal
And no girls invite me
to join hands
my state of dishevelment
a conundrum to be ignored
So I stand against the back wall
and hide amongst the boys
and stay far away from the gossip
And everyone says it’s because
I have no mother.
(Image my own. This poem originated from a dream, so is meant to be metaphorical, not literal.)
Lull (tanka)
Self-Sufficient
Isolated and incapacitated
I am prohibited from partaking
of the influx of information incessantly presented
consequently cut off
from prescribed expectations
dictating costuming and culture
external expressions of acceptance
are sorely missing, suggesting
an overall lack of self-worth.
Interestingly inverse to such conclusions
is the sudden contentment that arises
from escaping the mayhem
Internal relief overrides dictated performance
surrendering willingly to intrinsic motivation
and renewed self-acceptance.
(Originally written in 2014. Image my own)
Backroads (haiku)
Collared and Distant
I side with mundanity
caution-led momentum
still, anxiety interjects
Every day presents beauty
wonder, and where am I?
Slinking away from some black dog –
collared and distant
Life offers me a bridge
and I shrink, ducking into
sheltered viewpoints
praying the moment
passes me by
No wonder the black dog
catches me, straining its leash
to sniff this trembling old woman
its handler oblivious to the
fear mounting in the room
I will project the spots of the past
into silent scenarios, and
brace myself as if riding a tiger –
unprepared and hanging on for life
Avoidance is a fool’s game
for life is challenge
and if I’m honest
it’s not the dark that quickens
but rather that which resides within
Â
I am the black dog –
collared and distant
I am my spotted past
and I am, in essence
the spirit of the tiger
And I am the very shelter
that I seek
open-doored
and ever-present
for every weary passerby
My walls may be worn
my countenance aging
but I am not without purpose
I shall seek out bridges
and contain these nerves
and cross into the unknown
instinct and intuition intact
Leave anxiety,
collared and distant
behind.
(Image my own)


