Category: poetry

Afraid To Fly

I chase dreams
never daring to rise
beyond the water line

keeping to the reeds
and shoreline of familiarity
afraid of being shot down

Afraid that dreams aren’t mine
to claim, that I am damned
doubled cursed as woman
and child of sin

I will fall often
drown in pools of stagnation
till one day these wings

A mind of their own
will lift me up
and catch those dreams.

(Image my own)

Colouring Lessons

Favourite colour?
Black, says she
without hesitation;

I falter, stumble
mind reaching –
who likes black?

Is that a colour?
It’s all colours,
she’s nonchalant

intent on task –
carefully keeping
within the lines

Of course it is,
ill equipped am I
to disagree, images

of dark somber
corners, sorrow
and death crows –

Why black? ask I –
composure forced –
had anticipated pink

equate childhood
with primary shades
splotches of yellow

and rainbow skies
candy red apples
on lollipop trees

but black? no –
black obliterates,
negates, destroys

It holds the colour
inside, she explains;
It’s the outline.

Not annihilation –
order; her mind
conceives of order

so much to learn
from innocence
have long forgotten

the art of staying,
within lines, finding
good in all things.

(Drawing from a different granddaughter: her GG)

Clothing

I would befriend hesitation,
take her shopping with me,
invest the time,
but impulse
is my constant companion.

Hesitation,
born of shared trauma,
labours over pain-filled decisions

My need is palpable,
throbbing,
must suffocate it,
weighted beneath
layers of numbing fabric

Afraid to show myself,
afraid that she will find me,
block any progress,
or worse

make my pay for these layers
of stolen moments…
encounter crazy reflected in her eyes

(Poem first appeared here June 2016. This version has been edited. Image my own)

This Life A Road

This life a road –
the way prepared
signs to guide me,
and still, I get lost.

Construction, distraction,
disobedience – throw me off –
tendency to choose tougher routes,
broken down and been sidelined

And yet, the road still beckons,
invites progression, thrills.
A rolling stone gathers no moss,
my father liked to say, and so…

I push ahead, keep motoring,
trust the obstacles – more lessons –
will polish off the rough patches,
and eventually learn to shine.