Category: poetry

Even Ghosts Yearn

Natural light preferable
to artificial – not the harsh
fullness of noonday sun
but softly filtered rays –
luxurious, inviting.

Love too, should be subdued,
gentle as a zephyr, not mythical
but yielding, mindful;
not worshipful nor boastful,
but comforting, warm

I am waning light,
the mistral wind wafting,
no longer a force of nature –
but smoke, spiraling,
vanishing into non-existence

And yet, even as shadows
spread, I yearn –
heart beating true,
not lost, not forgotten,
but withdrawn, humbled

passion mellowed
by toil of constructing walls –
grit and tar – scar’s long buried,
save the limping gait
of a ghost.

(This poem, worming its way into my thoughts all day, took shape when Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt appeared:  zephyr.   Image is from personal collection.)

Excuse Me?!

Insults and mockery
and off the cuff remarks
all marks of authenticity
merely plain talking larks

so says the republican
in the president’s defence –
we are just oversensitive
those who take offence.

When was it disclosed,
I ask the figure on the screen,
that authenticity is ascribed
to spewing things obscene?

Now I am not American,
so neither right nor left,
still I cannot help but object
when justification is so bereft.

Authenticity, I cry out
implies honesty and trust,
building a self that is hospitable –
openness and compassion a must.

To equate such a concept
with this poor excuse of a man
has really pushed the boundaries;
I’m ready for a Trumpian ban.

(Today’s prompts are as follows:  Fandango’s word of the day:  object; Ragtag Community: hospitable; and Daily Addictions is disclose.  I am not usually political but hearing Trump’s recent comments described as authentic got me going – apparently. Photo is from my personal collection – reminds me of an angry forest spirit.)

Storms

More black than red,
blood gathers in the tube
puncturing the crux
of left elbow –

a drip, drip of saline
curtails effects of dehydration,
while the newly infused
Gravol spreads – a calm
settling nausea; I sigh

Tests indicate an invader –
infection toppling an already
fragile system, cannot afford
the onslaught..

Hours later, I lie watching
as a storm rages outside –
the sweltering heat
having peaked,
now clashing with
cooler air advancing

Partner tracks the weather
patterns on apps, alerts
me of approaching systems

but I don’t need technology
am feeling resonance with
nature’s thunderous fracas.

(Today’s prompts are as follows:  Fandango’s One Word Challenge is curtail,
Ragtag Community’s offering is trace, and Daily Addictions is afford.)

Photo is from personal collection.  With the help of wonder drugs, I am at home recuperating.)

Fizzled Out

Let’s resurrect the fireworks
pretend we’re young again

we laugh to hide the sorrow
the ludicrousness of it all

reliability applicable only
to sentiments, little else

post surgeries, chronic
illness and radiation’s turn

fireworks are for the young,
we agree returning to our screens.

(We’ll blame this poem on the prompts of the day:  Fandango’s: fireworks, Ragtag Communities: resurrect, and Daily Addictions: reliable.)

Fisherman’s Wharf

Viewed from the shelter
of Fog Harbour’s luxury,
Pier 39, a serene snapshot

vessels tethered silently
waiting, a single gull
bobbing nonchalantly by

sea-inspired dishes satiate
appetites, as we ponder
the legacy of Alcatraz

watch the ferries line up,
load up and slip away –
robotic whale-like rhythm

on a far dock, a gigantic
mass of darkened bodies
indiscernible from this height

the pungency of their odour
and discordant bray of roars
unavailable from our perch

afterwards, we will join
the serried rank of onlookers
attempt to determine who

is gawking at whom –
the oily swarm of lazy flesh
or the camera-toting fans

fulfilling our contract
as tourists, memorializing
San Francisco’s wonder.

(Daily Addictions prompt is gigantic, Fandango’s word of the day: contract , Ragtag Community has offered serried.  Image is from personal collection:  Pier 39, Fisherman’s Wharf, SF)

Craving

Fan whirs,
like a cyclone
building pressure

head craves silence

thump –
automated shutoff
ears ring in aftermath

mind craves silence

shrill peep
shatters calm
pierces closed pane

heart craves silence

emotions churn
burning tears
anger screaming

soul craves silence

dissonance
a monotonous roar
bouncing off bones

no silence here
only craving

(Written for Manic Mondays 3-way Prompt: Silence)

Speak No Evil

Suspect
these sentiments,
gnarled and ungrateful,
only serve to tip the scale
in favour of cynicism

have, therefore,
decided on self-
imposed quarantine;
will be keeping thoughts
to myself, thank you.

Suffice to say
that having confronted
multiple betrayals,
and insurmountable
heartache, all pointing

vile accusations
at a lack of discernment,
and questionable self-worth,
I am currently not imbibing
romantic dribble –

Oh, dear! I’ve said too much.

(Inspired by the daily promptings of: Fandango (suspect), Ragtag Community (scale), Daily Addictions (intimidate), and Sammi Cox’ Weekend Writing Prompt (quarantine).

Image produced by yours truly.)