Category: poetry

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.)

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)

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
 
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)