Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Censor tendencies
to exaggerate –
tremendous efforts
better illustrated
than bragged about
If it’s royal accolades
you seek, be precise –
a message delivered
in plain packaging
is not overshadowed
by unnecessary glitter.
(Tuesdays I borrow from my Twitter account @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Following political tides –
mesmerized by neglect
of actual issues – playing
to an audience of moaners
(standard consumerist
plights) – glossing over
exploitation of women,
verbal slaughter of race,
religion and social values.
Wondering about media –
who commandeer bias,
swallowing atrocities and
spewing contrived truths,
absent sound voice, or will,
jeopardizing the security
of so many trampled in
the race for what? Surely
not responsibility – what
lapse of conscience has
allowed hateful rhetoric
to bloody progress, no
consequences? Who will
bear the burden when in
the absence of morality
or respect for humanity,
the margins will increase?
The world quakes at the
failure to acknowledge
this broken path, see only
a devaluation of assets,
perceive a race that did
no more than increase
the monarchy of a king,
grant power to absolve
sins – a sleight-of-hand
trick – nothing to do with
the common habitants –
have so many questions
about how they’ll proceed.
(First penned in November of 2016, I am resubmitting this piece for Reena’s Exploration challenge#120. Image from personal collection.)
What ideology is this –
the feminine clothed in conservatism,
carting creatures whose nature is wild –
are we to believe women, too, are tractable,
or that girls should aspire to control
their beastly selves, become pets
for mass consumerism?
Glances say it all –
the inability to face the authors
of this myth – subdued by shame,
powerlessness, or conditioned politeness –
do not be fooled; there is more to this story –
it may be invisible, we may all pretend
it does not exist, or downplay its significance –
but one day, rage will have its say.
(Written for the dVerse pub, hosted tonight by Merril, with the theme: invisible. My poem is a reaction to the featured image, offered up as a prompt by Willow Poetry for her weekly challenge: What Do You See?)
Shipwrecked –
tossed ashore by blatant lies,
women’s cries lost
in political gales
Collins says
#MeToo
is valid,
should be continued
Just not this time
Might as well
throw one life preserver
for the millions drowning
Hope GOP have
their own life jackets
handy for the tsunami
that is imminent.
(Written for 50 Word Thursday.)
This actor,
this ego
demanding
submissive idolatry
Humanity is distracted –
controversy, like celebrity,
vying for social attention.
Opposition barks
obediently in response
to dick-waving antics
their questions only
inciting more rage –
he is inaccessible
gloating,
publicity-sapping
ignores the plight
of dreamers,
of marginalized
human rights
inopportune
for his pocket-
lining agenda
Heroic action
is called for –
there is strength
in quiet amassing
of information
the harvesting
of underhanded
self-serving
motivations
this monstrosity
must be de-throned
before democracy
is completely defiled.
(It’s open link night at dVerse, and I have compiled this poem from the prompts of Fandango (question), Ragtag Community (bark), and Daily Addictions (controversy). Oh, and maybe I’m feeling a little riled by the gong show coming out of Washington.)
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.)
I am contributing!
Are these lessons not
abundance – success?
Authorities are dissatisfied;
want me back in the game,
insist disability has an end –
analyze me to depletion
their plans shutting me down,
unforgiving –
Encouragement is called for,
and hopeful help,
something to prod progress
This bureaucratic tapping
turns on me,
creativity breaks down.
Is the writing on the wall so cryptic –
graphic images depicting rage,
flames of dissonance,
young men bleeding at their own hands
compassion incapacitated.
A sad awakening for a society fixated
on rights and privileges, dominating
culture to the exclusion of nurturing
humanity, preserving lives.
How can we continue to closet
our children’s pain – their vitality
oozing – hopelessly abandoned
by morality’s shelter?
It is the wall, not the spatters
of blood upon it,
which needs amending –
adolescent minds too tender
to wade through the cryptic messages
of priorities so divided.
LinkedIn wants me to connect
with former colleagues, ignores
the fact that they haven’t opted
to reach out to me, fails to
recognize the state of my disability
sets me on the margins of society
Facebook likes to remind me
of things I did in the past, drags
up conversations, or outings
no longer valid, refuses to
honour the value of letting go –
that moving on is moving up.
twitter wakes me up at night
when I’ve forgotten to mute
the phone, announces likes
and new follows of people
I do not know, rubbing salt
in the wounds of isolation
instagram has shut me out
seems I constantly forget
my password, but they never
fail to send me updates of
the picture perfect events
of those whose minds work.
I sometimes visit snapchat,
whose messages make me laugh
and I know that there are others
more hip to possess, but just
the thought of sign ups has me
reeling with new-found anxiety
Please don’t misunderstand me,
of social media, I’m a fan; it’s just
that I don’t need further indications
of my compromised state, and in the
flesh interactions are a preference,
so technology needs to step down.
(The Daily Post prompt today is fact.)
At what point does insecurity subside,
shift into confidence, or are we destined
to infinite life lessons, half-hearted attempts
at moving on, convinced that the past holds
the answers, not willing to admit there is no
going back, and what does that even mean?
We elevate the educated to positions of power,
never questioning the depth of their experience,
nor whether wisdom gained is part of the equation;
what qualifications should someone have to critique
our capabilities, and why let the expectation of other
carve our performances, dictate circumstances that
may or may not couple with our aspirations?
We are creators in our own right: our ideas,
our dreams, all valid testament to our right to be;
we need to speak up when conditions don’t meet
our needs, when obligations exploit or humiliate,
take ourselves seriously, overlook insecurity and
step into the righteousness of our personal path.
(Image: tinybuddha.com)
