Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
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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“A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes where she will without pretence and arrives at her destination prepared to be herself and only herself.” – Maya Angelo I fear living. No, that’s not it. I love living… …but I fear engagement… …drowning in engagement Except, I love engagement… […]
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Two mothers were wefrozen in disbeliefas smoke rose Cried for the lossesfor our childrenfor a future devoidof peace Two mothershand-in-handshattered A Christianand a Muslim War destroys all dreams. (Image my own.)
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Inessential am I ghost of a woman burden avoidance Imperfect am I each flaw a step towards deepening blue And yet, I exist purpose unknown shadow dancing. (Image: Self-portrait)
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Green eyes captivate, he whispers, warm hand resting on youthful thigh Stomach somersaults reviled by whiskey breath yellowed fingers clutching Not these eyes! I stand tossing my drink in his face; coming of age moment.
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Wore green shoes – a shock of colour to highlight business – attire aimed to succeed. Walked ten blocks rode fourteen floors passed security, heels continually clicking. Navigating male-dominated passages, I was driven ignored patronizing comments exercised for corporate ladder But the lies, the betrayal, the dirty little secrets, they taunted me – sold me […]
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Didn’t have to say it – read between the lines, the “and you too” as an afterthought pathetic attempt to cover truth – ugly I was, unlike sisters whose beauty raved Only in flashbacks, time gifting objectivity do I see it wasn’t true – depth shines through. (Image from personal collection.)
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