Children moan
reflect the day’s gloom
We are virus-cautious
confined indoors
While ‘I-wannas’
buzz at windowpanes
and news feeds mount
the terror – I scream
silently, pray for
uncommon patience
Pause as eagle,
soaring overhead
tips a wing my way
bids me a good day.
(Eugi’s Weekly Prompt is soaring. Image my own)
I lied.
The initial seed of disappointment has fermented,
and in the absence of confrontation, grown roots
written sorrowful chapters
conclusion: unworthiness
Why couldn’t I just have said:
I don’t understand
this makes me unhappy?
Where did I learn that prevarication protects
that I alone am responsible for emotions
that I do not matter?
Decades later
I still cannot uproot the weed
the lie remains.
(Image my own)
I am woman
questing…
a warrior
slashing bonds
of painful past
an aerialist
balancing strife
with fleeting bliss
a she-reptile
shedding distrust
in vulnerability, growing
I push through
the tangled maze
of personas, seek a truth
that frees my spirit
and roots my essence
into blessed being
For I am woman
with a quest…
striving on…
(Art my own. I call her The Mother Tree)
Acts of vandalism
are not deserved
Grime of violation
does not wash off
If change is target
then create intrigue
Highlight inequity
demonstrate alternatives
Crash and burn
ineffective as hell.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own.)
Tired of same old endings
in which hopes are slaughtered
and tragedy and insanity win.
Raised by the bottle, learned
to set standards low –
still afraid of heights –
have fallen as the ground
beneath my aspirations crumbled –
a certainly under alcohol’s rule.
Tired of same old endings
in which self is battered by indifference
and ego loses the battle for control.
Mother’s denial a coping mechanism
negating children’s need, obliterating
safety, disregarding long-term damage;
even in older years, when we tried
to get her out, were powerless against
his manipulation, his eternal imprinting.
Tired of same old endings
in which the heroine, resources spent
succumbs to the madness, suicides.
Want to believe in a future, greener,
hopeful, in which relationships
are fulfilling, and life goals are
supported; in which encouragement
is not the ploy of deviousness, and
personal best is rewarded, sustained.
Tired of same old endings
haunting my dreaming hours
unforgotten in waking dreams.
(Tired of Same Old Endings first appeared here June of 2018.
Edited for this submission. Linking up with Reena’s Xploration
Challenge: insanity, and Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: unforgotten.
Image my own.)
Pain circumvents our fears
squeezes relentlessly
Still we proceed
withholding complaint
for this is labour –
a trial that harnesses
depth of determination
unfathomable focus
Somewhere along the process
an instantaneous shift
there is wonder to behold
and indescribable bliss
Birth is happening
and they’ll be no going back.
(Art mine)
Morning melee
with coffee pot –
canister escaped grip
contents scattered
clean up ensued
sharp warnings
to dogs eager
to help –
second round
forgot to empty pot
hot liquid seeping
everywhere –
I’m a tea drinker.
Need I describe more?
Trapped inside
two-dimensional torus
backward spinning
Not even my pulse
emits an echo – would need
a third dimension for that
Am geometrically disfigured,
an illusion, I fear, for human
substance seldom adds up.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own,)
I am gregarious
initiator
risk-taker
eagerly anticipating
the unknown
But the subconscious
alights on old stories
gathers sanctimonious
rumours of unworthiness
spits out shame
and rage
Reveals the truth –
I am vulnerable.
(Facing Truths first appeared here July ’19. This version is edited from original. Art my own.)
House creaks
ferocious
decries starkness
of bare walls
absence of furniture
finality of boxes
stacked and sealed
Sleep eludes me
mind recalling
passages –
his cancer
my fear
twist of fate
that left me housebound
We could not stay here
this place chosen for healing
turned prison
“You’ve been good to us”
I whisper, “Now
you’ll favour someone else”
She grumbles in response
this old house, sharing
my trepidation
of unknowns, change
always precarious
Another groan
and I concur
we grand dams
need extra TLC
but I have faith –
an injection of
new life
will do us both good.
(This is a found poem, excerpted from a post of the same name which appeared on my second blog in July of 2017. Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 