poetry – Page 162 – One Woman's Quest

Glue

Glue, she mutters, massive locks
of blonde hair, piled atop her head
mysteriously held in place despite
the breeziness of her top-down sports.

Not even the wind can undo her,
I marvel at the glint of gold
at her neck, the sparkle of a rock
as she waves, free-wheeling by

What does this woman know that
I don’t; how has she kept it all
together – the years refusing to
drag her down, always riding high?

Glue, echoes the young mother,
from the doorway of her two-story
mansion, children running amuck,
her life, like her bright red sweater

ostentatious, showy – no amount
of material possessions, no career
or besotted husband can blot out
the turmoil churning within.

Glue? I question the dubious advice;
caught off guard by the bluntness,
unprepared to accept guidance
from those I’ve judged so harshly.

What can these women, so far
removed my disabled existence,
know of my plight, understand
about my needs – my failings?

Glue, mumbles a forlorn figure
once a mighty director, a mentor
a man who saved me from myself
his shadow self weak and distraught

Down and out, proclaims the mother,
shaking her head in disapproval,
Sold out, quips the blonde snapping
her bejeweled fingers; I am stunned

had not anticipated such a source
of strength to have fallen so deeply –
disillusioned are we both, broken
by heartlessness, lost in apathy.

Glue, I’ll run it by my doctor, maybe
there is something to it – can’t be
worse than the molasses coursing
through my veins – is adhesive

enough to bond together fragments
cease the rattling of this mind –
give me the backbone to recognize
myself in all and apply forgiveness?

(Ever in pursuit of new understanding of my dreams, this poem is a companion to the change of perspective piece written on One Woman’s Quest II.)

(Note: This is an edited version of the poem Self-Delusion, originally written in May of 2014. The imagery was inspired by a dream of a wagon traversing the prairies carrying the individuals described.)

Obsessed, she presses onward,
feet digging in, body sweat
blackened by relentless dust
swirling in the prairie heat;
she is fatherless, widowed –
charged with the command
of horses, and everything,
and everyone – she is a pioneer
bent on delivering her cargo
to a promised land.

Wounded, a body lies
curled, shamed –
only straw for a mat –
teeth clenched in pain
determination overriding
suffering – feigns sleep,
braces against jolts,
stifles gasps – bravery
a necessity – longs for
a destination, an end
to the bleeding.

Laughter bubbles up
between bouts of fear
and boredom – children
bear the bumps, try
to be good, but the ride
is never-ending –
youthful spirits yearn
for cool waters to splash in,
ache for games of hopscotch –
cannot control the spontaneous
bursts of adventure – bear no
sense of responsiblity, trust
unwittingly in the journey.

A young man has visions,
sees beyond the confines
of wagon walls – senses
purpose, smells gold,
passion raging –
a fighting soul,
willing to strive,
fearless – rails
against the trappings
of obligation, held
captive by elders –
is overlooked.

The faithful seek inspiration,
all-believing, hopeful,
prayerful – caught in a web,
pleading, asking, forgiving,
accepting and wondering –
What can I give of myself?
What does God want?
Am I not good enough?
How have we sinned?
Are we being punished?
Must we bear this cross
to be received in Heaven?
Help me, they pray
to be more worthy,
more deserving,
when Judgment Day comes.

A mother worries,
cares, hopes for the best,
caters to all – in many ways
still a child herself – bears
each experience with borrowed
strength, selflessly focused –
drawing, drawing
from a well seldom replenished –
tired, oh so tired
she carries on.

Frail, the aged are wise
have endured adversity
surrendered to the knocks
know that in time all things pass
guard their wisdom with silence
acknowledge the value
in each journey
in each interpretation
understand that delusion
is commonplace and
destination is temporary –
recognize the power of now;
are patient and accepting
that life is as it is.

Application Submitted

Eager, I am, but limited,
somehow stuck in the past,
revisiting old disruptions –
as unmanageable as before –
Why do I seek validation there?

Vow to write a solution –
end up re-committing –
am I growing extra skin?
naiveté blocks me –
am fascinated with fame

Want to believe I am magical,
possess gifts that inspire, but
I am no more than a circus act,
possess the skills to mesmerize
only the young, uneducated

lack the resilience to adhere
to protocols, abide rules –
destined to repeat mistakes,
easily persuaded to take on
the guise of others – no matter

how poor the fit – will don
unsupported risks, expose
insecurities – for sufficient
flattery – have no boundaries
to counter this need to belong

I am principled, but socially
awkward, have prayed to
a higher power, proposed
promotion – need approval
to make this fractured life work.

(Image: bellapetite.com)

Gone

No click-clack of heels –
a fading echo marking retreat

no lingering exhaust fumes,
or squeal of escaping tires

no white trails marking
passage of airplane wings

just a sudden absence
of words, a lapsed date

lets you know I am gone

A Nightmare in Poetic Form

(Note: Inspiration for my poetry is derived from the Dreamtime. Occasionally, a nightmare will evoke the creation of a short story. A recent nightmare continues to haunt me, so I have attempted both forms of literature to garner new meaning. The poem follows and the prose version can be seen here. Which form offers more insights I wonder? objectivity in the form of comments appreciated.

Nightmare: A Poem

Melancholy hovers, haunts,
fed by isolation, taunts
threads of sanity.

Darkness, incomplete,
reveals movement –
trickery of light?

Fear’s grip renders
motionless its victim
serenity shattered

Logic has no tolerance
for the undefined,
ghosts off-limits

Is disease the culprit,
inflammation upsetting
equilibrium, a mind aflame?

The veil between worlds
is flimsy, unhinged, shifts
awareness now peaked

I know you are there!
Show yourself!
Stillness.

Madness threatening,
pleas gather insistence
Come forward – be known!

These are merely games
one reality pit against
another, neither winning

A feminine figure emerges –
her presence emitting an aura
of alarm, indicates a window

Two figures, cloaked in black
towering shadows stalking
live prey, the scent of vulnerability

The ego withdraws, seeks
cover, cannot stop the onslaught
of monsters emerging from walls

Delusion, one last prayer for sanity
but the floorboards recede, reveal
skeletons, there is no escape

Marital Dance

We converse in actions,
words inaccessible –
have not been schooled
in dialogues for two.

His clutter spreads,
pronounce’s a kingly
presence, commands
attention, oppresses.

I clean with insistence,
shuffle papers, wipe up
crumbs, assert my right
to co-exist, belittle him.

Once we studied dance;
he learning to lead, I
to follow signals – the art
is lost on us now, our steps

more interference, blocking
an inconvenience, not
a strategy, we are rhythmless
avoidance more tolerable

than the effort it takes to tango.
How did language fail us?
experts now at skirting
delicate issues, retreat before

we speak, pray time will serve
absolve the problem, but only
distance grows in silent cracks
and we converse in actions.

(Image: source unknown)

No Elephants!

Never marry a man
who keeps an elephant
as a pet – trust me, I know.

No matter how slick
his explanations, please note:
elephants are not justification

for lapsed commitments, nor
hollow promises – relationships
can’t bear the costly weight of upkeep

no amount of toiling, cooking, or
maternal influence can detract
from the needs of animal outweighing

all other priorities – and don’t expect
sympathy from an elephant keeper’s
mother, she is in on the dupe, prayed

to offload this burden – compassion
fades swiftly in the face of giant-sized
demands, and elephants require feeding

If there’s an elephant in the equation,
I’d say cut the ties and the discourse –
no doubt another fool is waiting in the wings.

(Image: www.theapicalview.com)

Needs Not Applicable

Needs, you insolent, little
bastards – interfering
with my independence,
gnawing at these walls

Nasty, you are, and heartless –
pathetic, infantile, cowardly
what part of unwanted
do you not understand?

I am making a stand –
choosing to erect barricades –
a stronghold of invincibility –
quit circling the fortress

your endless chatter
annoying me to distraction –
I will have none of it –
will not tolerate vulnerability

I am strong, singular
do not need sympathy,
empathy, understanding,
nor acknowledgment

I am an island –
self-sufficient and proud –
and your insignificance is a blot
on my otherwise perfect landscape.

(Image: www.dreamstime.com)

Teach Her Well

(Poem inspired by previous post: Choosing Self Love )

A locked door
a screaming sister
a mother in despair

a child rejected,
scorned, neglected
blames herself

carries the cross
of her mother’s burden
through passing years

bears responsiblity
for a husband’ poor
choices; bleeds guilt

is still the child,
wounded, insecure,
her needs abandoned

desperation motivates
her thrust for control,
to orchestrate harmony

cannot see the fallacy
disappointments repeating
loathes perceived inadequacy

needs someone to unlock
the door, quiet the yelling,
hold her through her fears

teach her that in compassion
is detachment, that she is
worthwhile, and deserving

begin a legacy of self-love,
initiate a path to healing,
release these lifelong tethers.

Category: poetry