Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
I am woman questing… a warriorslashing bondsof painful past an aerialistbalancing strifewith fleeting bliss a she-reptileshedding distrustin vulnerability, growing I push throughthe tangled mazeof personas, seek a truth that frees my spiritand roots my essenceinto blessed being For I am womanwith a quest…striving on… (Art my own. I call her The Mother Tree)
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(Warning: this poem discusses the effects of sexual assault, and may be disturbing to some readers.) Back and forth I travel, searchingfor her – retrace every bend, curve,detour – back to the water, the sand,the beach where I lost her…haunted by velvet brown eyes – bedroom eyes,they told her, men with greedy loins,calculating – I […]
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She rises from the river –a culmination of my prayers and tears, I suppose Eyes glow with a ungodly hungerIs she predator or night prowlerI wonder, frozen from fright Disinterested in ego, ignoringperfection, she multipliesher energy frenetic I try to harness her,tame the primal, raw forcefear I cannot house her But she is no one’s […]
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Are we trapped by routinemundanity erasing edges? Request a shift, pray forenticement unveiling passion But we are earth rock steadyfoundation nurturing growth Teacher, Mother, Wiferhythm moulding futures. (Today is International Women’s Day. Every woman is a hero in her own way. Image my own.)
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Your voice, he said, it sounds…different… Project your voiceI learned in theatre,speak to the backkeep it strongdon’t falter I had to replay your message several times…. Hold that notedig deep –from the diaphragmsing from your belly Must be something wrong with the machine… Demonstrate convictionlet your tone convey passionstand tall, be confidentmotivate your audienceDad, the […]
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Concrete is cold, imposingdoes nothing for aesthetics At least we’re protected,I tell the littles, ignoring Snot dripping, slimeoozing from unsealedwindowsills, cobwebsand bits of shedding pink It’s the best I can do:four walls and a roof. Except the ceilingis bulging, mold and rotcertain to rain down on us While upstairs, the manignores the leaks, luxuriatesin his […]
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Cherubic and reekinggrief’s pallor heavyhe comes to me Of course, he doesI am schooled in compassionseldom flinch at raw pain I attend to the woundslisten; reassurebut I am weary My own sorrow unattendedloss and betrayal an inner bleedknow I have only so much to give But he is not alone,there is anothera mere child… Cherubic […]
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A life of servitude,the guru said,surely leads to Nirvana No debate permitted –we are but plebesanswer his every need mere women, bornto serve, to nurture… I flee the cult Why? Because I can.Servitude does notnegate free will. (Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
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Fancy myself pragmaticbut these cherubic facesrender me nostalgic Not for the times –for they were hard –but for the ideal lost Speculate on failingsshallow expectations,pray I did enough. (Found this old photograph of my two girls.)
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Too young to understandethos of beauty regimesshe rejects girlish ritualssees beauty in naturein glitter of make-believe This abnegation of groomingnot rebellion, but appreciationa nuance that escapesMother’s frustrated efforts. (My granddaughters balk at having their hair done, something that drove me crazy as a parent, but now reminds me of myself as a child. One generation […]
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